If you can’t take a good fake-candid picture of me, are you even my friend?

There are only so many selfies a woman can take, and the same goes for mirror pics, group shots and #TBTs. Any girl worth her weight in post-bar street tacos knows that the holy grail of Instagram pictures is the not-so-candid candid picture. And a good fucking friend would take a great one for you.

When a friend asks me to take a good picture of them, I morph into Terry Richardson minus the rape-y glasses and also the alleged actual rape. I’m staging a full-blown photoshoot. I call on our other friends to properly light the situation with their iPhones. I’m directing everything from the angle of the gin and tonic in your hand to the degree of your smile (“More coy! OK now just a little more teeth on the left side. Yes, yes, hold it right there!“) to get that perfect shot that I know is going to result in 70-plus likes and a slew of ??? emojis. Because that’s just the kind of friend I am. 

And that’s what makes your failure to reciprocate so painful. I don’t even recognize the person in the photos you take of me. Literally, because they’re blurry as fuck.

Is it too much to ask for a naturally gorgeous picture of me that I didn’t have to take with a selfie stick? All I want is something that makes me look literally exactly like Emily Ratajkowski.

C’mon. I thought we were friends.