Freaky Friday

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      Quite recently my Grandmother sent me an email with this article attached. She said she read it and thought of me, and when I read it, I thought of me too. I propose that you actually read the article to understand the rest of this blog. Plus, it's not that long and what's another few words to read? But, in case you are lazy, here is a quick synopsis:

      There are people in  the world who have fake bookshelves. Gasp. Blasphemy. The premise is that you can tell a lot about people by the books on their shelves; not the books they have laying around, but the ones hidden in the dusty corner and turned inside out and backwards on the shelf. So what does it say about people who have fake books or fake shelves? Basically it says they don't have the time, mental capacity or want to read the books they feel are a must. So they hire and buy spines of books to place in offices to give the illusion of being well-read because obviously, that's why books are important. Not. Even if they're not fake books, the article says that many people buy books with the sheer intention to display them, not read them.

      My initial reaction was horror. Horror! How can people buy fake books? Or even buy books that they don't even crack open, but just leave out on the front table for people to see and comment on. But then I got to thinking more on the article.  Low and behold, I came to the harsh realization that we all buy fake books, in some form or another.

      I am the first to admit that I am a memeber of the "books for show" club. Let me first clarify. I DO eventually READ the books that I buy. But, I organize my books according to which ones will be seen first when someone walks in my room. Some of my "sillier" books I even hide in my mom's room. I do the same in my dorm here at school. If I know there will be an unusual visitor, I may leave Dostoevsky out so the stranger can see it. If they ask about him, I can just nonchalantly answer that I just happen to be casually skimming through Dostoevsky in my spare time. Yes, I want that person to think I am just so subtly brilliant while simultaneously the coolest person ever. If I know someone "holy" is coming over, I may leave my Bible open to give the appearance that I was just flipping through the Pentateuch when they stopped by. One time my mom mailed me Anne of Green Gables and a few Roald Dahl books for my Children's Lit class and I purposefully left the books on my bed in an "aimless" fashion so that anyone who poked their head in would see and inquire.

      Does this make me a freak like the people that buy books for show? Probably. But people do it all the time with things other than books. Just think about it. Remember in Pride and Prejudice when Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy surprise the Bennet's on a random afternoon? The girls scramble to hide the ribbons, fluff the cushions, and rearrange the furniture. Who doesn't do that? The in-laws come over and you flip the cushions to hide the coffee stains and dog hair. The neighbor is dropping by for a visit and you throw on some mascara. You've got an important interview and you whip out the "good" suit. The ex-boyfriend might be spotted, so you just happen to put on something saucy with an air of  "Psh. I look this good everyday."

      We all like people to see us in a certain light. Every single person does. If you are denying it right now, then you are just like all the other people denying it.  Sure, this topic has been overdone and hung out to try.  Think High School Musical: You know the world can see us in a way that's different from who we are. But 90% of the time, we do it to ourselves. Heck, if I didn't dress in Anthropologie and use phrases like "Totes Adorbs," the world might catch wind of my obsession with Star Wars. Oops... I guess the world does know now. Too bad.

      Moral of the story? Don't judge a book by its over. Why? Because it may just be a showy, hollow shell. Or, it may be an unconventional cover to a pure gem. Or, it may be exactly what it appears to be. But who are you to decide?

                                                                    Sincerely,
                                                                              Me