Is it just me, or are selfies really sad? I mean, if you don’t have a friend to snap a picture for you, maybe the universe is trying to say something. Friends aren’t around all the time, sure, but why the random selfie with a pickleball court in the background? Just take a picture of the court! It’s not like you’re standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

And then there’s the bed selfie. What the actual hell? Nobody needs to see you horizontal, Mark. Nobody.
Or the car selfie announcing pickleball—what’s the point? The court’s still waiting, the ball’s still bouncing, but somehow you’ve convinced yourself that the world can’t go on without another update of your forehead.

Even better: the “spending time with my adult son” selfie. Funny how it’s still just your face, Mark. If you’re really spending time with him, maybe point the camera at the person you claim to be with. Otherwise, it looks like you’re spending time with…your own reflection.

And let’s not forget the question-asking selfie—the digital equivalent of yelling into a mirror and pretending it’s a conversation. That’s not deep, Mark. That’s not vulnerable. That’s just you trying to turn a Q&A into a solo pity parade.

Here’s the kicker: even teenagers don’t do this anymore. They’ve moved on. They know selfies scream “lonely,” “attention-seeking,” and “please, someone notice me.” When you’re old enough to have kids in college but still blasting out 20 selfies a week? That’s not documenting life—it’s cosplay for an audience you imagine, but don’t have.

At some point, the question becomes: are these selfies meant to capture a moment, or just Mark staring at himself, begging the world to validate his existence? Spoiler: it’s the second one.

The Bigger Picture: Why the Selfies Matter

On their own, the selfies might seem harmless—just another middle-aged man with too much time and not enough friends. But with Mark, they’re part of the bigger pattern: the performance of being someone he isn’t.

Every post, every photo, every filtered grin is about controlling perception. He doesn’t show up for evaluations, medical appointments, or even basic responsibilities—but he’ll show up for a selfie. He won’t log into the court-ordered communication tool to ask how his kids are—but he’ll post his face from every angle as if that proves he’s a present father.

The selfies are just another prop in the ongoing Mark Show—a sad production where image is everything and accountability is nothing. They’re not about memory. They’re not about connection. They’re about distraction: “Look over here, at my face, not over there at my failures.”

And that’s the point. The selfies don’t stand alone—they’re Exhibit A in how Mark lives his life. Always in the frame, always in control of the camera, always telling the world a story that falls apart the second someone looks too closely.