*Yesteryear*
and why this is not off- topic
When I read the synopsis for *Yesteryear*, I assumed the book’s focus was "merely" the "tradwife" trend, and I also anticipated a plot involving time travel (silly me🙃). But what I actually discovered while reading this story was a raw and profound analysis of online versus offline personas.
The protagonist, Natalie—much like countless others who make a living (or attempt to) off their online image—takes you on a journey through the nuances of these two distinct worlds she inhabits. And during this literary voyage, you will inevitably pause to ask yourself: "Where have I seen this before?" "Is my online persona truly the same as my offline self?" "Is this online figure still a human being, or have they become nothing more than a product?"
As the book progresses, a crucial question emerges: What becomes of the mental health of someone living a double life?
Before the advent of the Internet, living a double life meant doing double the work. Today, thanks to filters, hashtags, and specialized agencies, it has become remarkably easy. Often, all it takes is a smartphone and an Internet connection to craft a narrative—an entirely different life. A few catchy captions, a flattering camera angle, and the "offline" persona’s terrible day are instantly transformed into the "online" persona’s picture-perfect day. But how long can the human mind endure such a strain?
Another question arises: Why do people flock to follow online personalities, so easily accepting what they see as reality—something never to be questioned—as if what is presented online were the absolute, unvarnished truth?
Natalie has a husband, a brood of children, and a farm—complete with livestock, crops, and all the gruelling labour that such a lifestyle typically entails. People admire her, marvelling at how she manages to handle it all—unaware that the *offline* Natalie can not handle any of it on her own. Yet, all that assistance—every mechanism operating behind the scenes of every single post—is never revealed online. It is two worlds, two personas, two Natalies—and a thousand products and ideas being sold. At a steep price—not just for the consumers, but for Natalie herself.
As I read, all of this reminded me of the mixed signals, the words that fail to align with actions, and the half-truths we have been witnessing right here for at least a dozen years. A life filled with motivational quotes from so many who arrived and departed like comets—lines published in articles containing misleading information. It seems that truth is something uninteresting online, and everything must be part of a performance.
But the ultimate questions this book presents to us are these: Why has what you need to be online become more important than who you truly are? Have you ever considered the price you are already paying—or will eventually pay—for this?
