They had appeared just like that \u2013 light, composed. Two slender figures in the evening, well-dressed, a little tired yet determined. Golden sandals, tight dresses, clean skin. No foundation, no eyeliner, no makeup. But well-groomed, intact, \u201cready.\u201d <\/p>\n
But well-groomed, intact, \u201cready.\u201d It wasn\u2019t a statement of authenticity \u2013 it was more of a directorial move. Because the filter would take care of the rest. <\/p>\n
In front of the fountain\u2014baroque, beautiful, in the heart of a postcard-perfect square\u2014the two friends hadn\u2019t started taking pictures right away. First, they had, as they say, scrolled. For quite a while. <\/p>\n
They analyzed the filters, imagining which one might be right: \u201cHollywood3,\u201d \u201cNatural Light 2,\u201d \u201cWarm Kiss,\u201d \u201cMilky Blur,\u201d and so on.<\/p>\n
They weren\u2019t choosing an image. They were choosing an identity. Not a photo to save, but who they wanted to be in that moment. <\/p>\n
Then came the selfies. Dozens. Different angles, smiles, silences. <\/p>\n
A man watched them from a distance. A passerby, the kind who doesn\u2019t look to judge, but to try to understand. <\/p>\n
The girls laughed while editing the images. At first glance, those on the screen weren\u2019t really them. Or maybe they were\u2014just in another version. Fuller lips, smoother skin, doe eyes. <\/p>\n
The man approached. Half out of curiosity, half out of courage. <\/p>\n
\u2014 Can I take one for you?<\/p>\n
\u2014 Sure! But you have to use the \u201cCharm\u201d filter. <\/p>\n
\u2014 Why that one?<\/p>\n
\u2014 Because we like it.<\/p>\n
\u2014 You like looking different?<\/p>\n
\u2014 We like looking the way we imagine ourselves.<\/p>\n
He took the shot. Handed back the phone. Looked at the screen and, for a moment, saw another version of them. <\/p>\n
Then, almost playfully:<\/p>\n
\u2014 Can I pick a filter too?<\/p>\n
\u2014 Of course.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Then put \u201cCute\u201d on me.<\/p>\n
They laughed. Took more pictures. <\/p>\n
He looked at the photo and, looking at himself, said:<\/p>\n
\u2014 Oh. I look differently me. <\/p>\n
The man said goodbye and left. But that phrase stayed in his mind, like a small gentle truth. \u201cDifferently me.\u201d It wasn\u2019t a judgment. It was an acknowledgment\u2014or maybe, a discovery. <\/p>\n
He thought maybe we don\u2019t always want to seem real, and he wondered: in the end, what does it even mean to be real? He asked himself if one truth could be more true than another, and he answered that, sometimes, we just want to explore who we could be. <\/p>\n
Not to fake it. But to play. To say: today, I feel like this. Tomorrow, we\u2019ll see. Or rather\u2014you\u2019ll see. <\/p>\n
He concluded that maybe the filter of truth didn\u2019t exist. Maybe there was only the filter of the moment. Even if it was just for a story on Instagram. Even if it lasted a second. And the next second\u2026 who knows. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
They had appeared just like that \u2013 light, composed. Two slender figures in the evening, well-dressed, a little tired yet determined. Golden sandals, tight dresses, clean skin. No foundation, no eyeliner, no makeup. But well-groomed, intact, \u201cready.\u201d But well-groomed, intact, \u201cready.\u201d It wasn\u2019t a statement of authenticity \u2013 it was more of a directorial move. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1021,"featured_media":900436,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[84],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-900435","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-omnibus"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n