BeReal is over

It was fun whilst it lasted, but let’s admit it: BeReal is dead

BeFake again for 2023

There was a time when BeReal made me feel electric. The rush of life I felt in the halcyon days where capturing yourself in the moment, two ways, felt novel. The world stopped when phones received that ping; a rare moment of unity between us all as we scrambled to get the shot before the app bollocked us for being late. Up until recently, I thought the people who ignored the notification and would wait until they were doing something interesting to capture their daily BeReal were the most lawless scourge of society anyone could find. But now I fear they were pioneers ahead of their time, who flouted the rules of BeReal knowing full well one day this silly little gimmick would be over.

Because BeReal, I profess, is dead. BeReal is over. BeReal is gone. Why? Because when it comes down to it, being real is really fucking boring.

In bed again, are we?

Oh look I’m in my dressing gown again!

I am a BeReal user who is always striving to BeReal. No matter what I’m doing when that notification goes off, prepare to experience me being real (as long as I’m by my phone when it happens, of course). I truly have no limits when it comes to this – I’ve been real mid shit and I’ve been real mid wank. I didn’t post cock and balls, but bare legs – I’m not a monster. Unlike literally all my other social medias where I’ve amassed a chaotic amount of randoms following along for the ride, I kept BeReal to my nearest and dearest.

This for a while kept it vastly different than anything else I was social meeding on, and for that reason I loved it. I liked seeing all my friends looking average and me doing piss all in bed. I soon came to the realisation though that there’s a good reason why I normally only take a picture of myself when I’m doing something fun or feel nice. It’s because it’s in those moments where looking at myself doesn’t fill me with despair!

What BeReal is for me now is a frequent reminder of how shite I look when I’m sat on my arse, unwashed in my scruffy clothes. Even if I know full well that I’ve just been out all day looking nice and socialising, seeing myself in grainy lighting doing fuck all in my bedroom is miserable.

If I don’t care that I’ve gone for a pint, why should you?

Not only that, but who cares? Who is this for? If it’s not for me, if I – who can gladly spend a very VERY long time taking photos of myself if I’m feely particularly cunty – am bored of looking at myself then why should my small curated circle of BeReal people give a shit that I’m sprawled on my bedding? Maybe BeReal will have a resurgence when the summer days are here again and we can all capture the stupid joy of a festival but for now I don’t want to see me and my sopping wet cold mates arse about in a duvet.

Let’s all just BeFake again I beg

I look at my perfectly curated Instagram grid and smile. I look back at holidays, nights out, city day trips and great outfits and relish that even if it’s not how I look every second of the day and at every angle a camera can be propped at, it is how I looked in the picosecond it takes for my phone camera to capture me. And I think that’s beautiful.

If you wait to do your BeReal, delete it. If you don’t look at what any of your mates are posting on there every day anymore, delete it. If you do a load of retakes, delete it. BeReal is dead and gone, and the sooner we accept that the sooner the evil will be defeated.


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