Throwback Thursdays are the pits.

"#TBT to Cabo last year!!1 Miss yur face!"

"#TBT to Cabo last year!!1 Miss yur face!"

By Sunday Scaries

Man Crush Monday. Transformation Tuesday. Woman Crush Wednesday. Throwback Thursday. Flashback Friday. Selfie Saturday. Scared As Fuck Sunday.

They're all completely awful. But one, just one, takes the cake for being the worst 14-year-old-girl-internet-created-self-absorbent-holiday that drives me absolutely bananas. And, unfortunately for me, it's the king of them all. The crème de la crème. The cat's pajamas. The bees knees. The cat's meow. It's the one that everyone fucking loves the most.

Throwback fuckin' Thursday.

It's not that I specifically hate the photos. Or the people. Or the phrase #TBT. It's just the whole fucking charade that surrounds the self-serving day that is Throwback Thursday. What motivations compel everyone on Instagram to go deep into their Photostreams and retroactively edit a photo that didn't make the cut in the first place?

You haven't posted in a while and you're craving some likes. We're all guilty of it. Fuck, I'm guilty of it. If you scroll my Instagram, you'll notice that 99% of my photos are posted on Sundays when I'm scared out of my skull. I just want to know people still like me, and getting 40+ likes is a great way to do that. Fortunately for me, I'm mentally-beasting every Throwback Thursday (because it's almost Friday) and I don't get the need to post anything. On Thursdays, I feel like the toast of the town. On Sundays? My brain is a minefield and I need. those. likes.

You want to relive a vacation. Newsflash, Diane Sawyer: None of us gave a fuck about your vacation to Atlantis in the first place. We don't really feel like seeing round-two (or three or four) of it on Instagram every fucking week. In no particular order, the things I hate listening people talk about are:

  • Their dreams.
  • How healthy they eat.
  • Their vacations.

If I want to hear about your vacation, I'll ask you about it. And if I ask you about it, I need you to respond, "Oh, it was great! So fun." and then we never confront it ever again. Vacations, like dreams, are just personal experiences that are better kept in the comfort of your own mind. Keep 'em off my Instagram feed.

Girls just want to show how skinny they used to be. Ladies, we fucking get it. When you went to Mexico on Spring Break in '08, you were skinny as hell because you wrote "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" as a reminder on all of your food containers and only drank vodka-waters for the 2 months leading up to SB08. Yeah, you were hot. But you know what that photo is doing now? It's giving us a brutal before/after of how hot you used to be before you started giving up at the age of 25. Now go be like every other white girl out there and get obsessed with half-marathons so we can go through this charade again in 6 years when you #TBT a photo of yourself at the finish-line while you're struggling to shed all that baby weight.

Let's all just stick to posting shameless selfies, over-edited horizons, and late-night party photos that we'll end up deleting when they don't get to 11 likes. Life's just easier that way.