There I was, brainlessly scrolling through my Instagram feed one day, when I found myself looking at a glimpse of modern-day honesty.
It was this quick succession of videos that made me stop, little things posted by my cousin’s 12-year-old daughter and a friend one night, which she flags with the hashtag “#TBH”—Instagram-speak for “To Be Honest.”
They started the same: these two girls took a selfie together, with the caption “Like for #TBH”—as in, whoever hits the like button will get a video in return, in which these two will say something honest.
The videos all started the same as well: these girls—hair pulled back in ponytails, sitting on a bed surrounded by pillows and posters—peer into the camera, giggling as each video starts and then, when they talk, they always start with three words: “To be honest.”
"To be honest, I don't know you very well, but you're really pretty and you seem cool."
And then: "To be honest, I think you're really good at sports."
And: "To be honest, we've never really hung out but you seem super sweet."
There was nothing strange about them, really, and yet, I kept watching them, replaying the ones I’d already seen, refreshing to see if there were more. I felt like I was flipping through a virtual yearbook signatures of sorts, reading these entries directed at whoever liked the girls’ previous posts. But when I clicked the hashtag I saw there were over seven million other #TBH posts out there—and not all are so good-natured.
Some are bluntly sad: like the one where a blonde girl says to the camera “To be honest, we used to go to school together and we don’t really talk, and I think you hate me.” Others treat honesty like a dare: “You got a big ass forehead,” says one, “But for real, for real. You’re really pretty.”
I caught myself peppering my own sentences with it, and as soon as the words left my mouth, laughing suddenly, and then having to explain to raised eyebrows why the hell that was funny. Over the next few days, these videos kept popping up in my head when I’d notice those three words—to be honest—popping up in conversation, in Facebook comments, in text messages.
I started to wonder, if we all have to say we’re being honest, does that presuppose that everything else we’re saying is actually dishonest? In America, where honesty is cherished as a core value, is the meaning of honesty actually changing? Is honesty the new “literally”—which, by Merriam-Webster’s standards has shifted to mean “figuratively?”
No, says Jeffrey Hancock, a professor of communication and information science at Cornell University—we’re still honest. More honest than ever. He says that’s because of the Internet.
In his 2012 TEDx Talk, Hancock points to face-to-face communication, saying that’s the most common venue for dishonesty. Think of those awkward “does this shirt make me look fat” or “can you tell I have a huge zit” conversations.
“We’re actually bad at telling if someone is lying,” he told me over the phone last week. Hancock (who recently made headlines with a controversial study he helped conduct in which the timelines of Facebook users were quietly tweaked to see how it affected emotions) says online we have time to consider compassion.
“People lie more, typically, on the phone or face to face,” he said. But over text? Email? Social media? He says with that physical distance between us we’re more apt to be honest. And on platforms like Snapchat or Instagram, where people can be even more anonymous, comes even greater honesty.
“If I’m anonymous I can tell you what I really think,” Hancock says. Those platforms, where our communications disappear, signify an increased awareness that what you say online can be like a trail of breadcrumbs. And it can stick with you.
Hancock says these “To Be Honest” videos are a midpoint between face-to-face interaction and online anonymity. But even more, they speak to the evolution of what’s considered “oversharing.”
What’s OK online on social media “isn’t set in stone,” he says. It’s constantly in flux. “Some people might be like ‘this is oversharing, this is crazy.’ Other people might be like ‘well whatever, that’s what we do now.’ Both of those conversations come together.”
And this #TBH thing? He says that’s a direct reflection of that. “They’re a really salient place for those negotiations happening.” Hancock thinks there’s more to these #TBH videos than meets the eye: Right there on Instagram, kids like my cousin’s daughter are showing their desire for authenticity—to be real with their friends in a face-to-face manner, but in a way they can control.