It’s the start of September, so time to bid adieu to the classic holiday selfie: two brown knees. If it’s on the socials there might be a caption – #bestlife, #bliss – and if it’s in a text it needs no explanation at all, because its message is universal. I am in a hot place. I am doing what I please, mainly supine. I have knees.
Everyone’s knees look the same, which is weird given the sheer variety of body shapes, and everyone’s background is mainly the same: a body of water, conceivably a mountain. There might be a cocktail to the side, but there will never be anything interesting, such as a dog, because that would dispel the serenity. It would be good if the knees were just a frame, and between them some distant, barely legible scene were playing out, such as a sword fight or a harras of many-coloured horses, but that would run counter to the vibe: “I am completely at peace and definitely not seeking out horses and lying near them for clicks.”
The knees arrive in May and by August you will have seen most of your friends’, except that since they are all interchangeable, you don’t remember who’s been where and you have no way of telling whose bliss is the greatest. It would really help if someone would sunburn their knees, but if they do, that’s an image they’ll never share, ditto any mosquito bites or knee imperfections or pastiness. But then, I don’t need a gritty, warts-and-all portrait of the holiday season – I just want to be confident that everyone I’ve ever met and many, many people I haven’t have fully hinged legs.
Knee season is countercyclical (almost) with football season, so for the rest of the year we see only elite knees, and that’s fine too. None of this is a criticism, and nobody here thinks there was anything to be said for a time before phones.
