Your Life as an Instagram “model”
By: Pete Ross
Tags: Social Media, Satire, Life, Instagram, Culture

Your Life as an Instagram “model”

#blessed

You wake up, bleary eyed at 6am. You have to be up early for your shift at Starbucks. Ugh, if only Insta followers translated into dollars, you’d be totally set. Shouldn’t have gone out clubbing again last night, but you’re running out of pics showing that you live this amazing, glamorous life that’s the envy of all your followers. Thank God you didn’t actually have to buy that bottle of Dom Perignon for the pictures, you managed to swipe it when it was empty before the staff picked it up from the table next to you. Good job, your followers remain blissfully unaware that your life is nowhere near as lit as you portray it to be.

You scroll through your feed — your follower count has definitely slowed down some. Still good, but you’ve only just cracked 6 figures and you can’t afford for followers to only trickle in at this point. Maybe it’s time to post another ass shot in a thong? The last couple did really well, and they were really just “side ass”. If you turn a bit more, show some of the other cheek and flex in just the right way, that should get those follower numbers moving again.

You try to put it into the back of your mind that most of the followers you’re likely getting from such ass posts are guys just looking to ogle your bits. Hey, no one said this life would be easy (though that was your hope all along), but at least it gives you a chance to talk about how hard you #hustle and #grind to #inspire and #makeyourdreamscometrue. “It’s ok, I’ve got plenty left in the bag”, you think, as you consider all the things you haven’t done yet. You’ve still got whole ass shots, sheer tops that show your nipples, that thong that you can use to show the tiniest bit of your privates if you bend over just right. Yep, that should get you to a million followers soon enough.

You check your bank account. Ugh. You’re either going to have to start getting more shifts, or hope that fit tea offers you another ad opportunity. You were stupid enough to actually try their product the first time around, gotta be authentic, amirite? You found out that it certainly does help you lose weight, because the diarrhea it induced didn’t stop for hours and sucked all the water out of you. Authenticity has to go by the wayside when the bills gotta be paid. You’d never tell your fans though, their diarrhea and cramps were definitely from something they ate.

You have another photo shoot this weekend, that’ll take your mind off of your crappy financial situation. You’re starting to get really good at them too — slightly bend one knee, show them just a hint of ass, sultry look with hands in the hair, gaze into the distance, both hands up in the air to show how amazingly #blessed you are. Oh, and of course the obligatory video where you’re shown laughing in the middle of it all, because you’re so down to earth and keepin’ it real! You know to tell people you’re in Columbia or Mexico, when you’re really just on a beach a few hours drive from your house and they’ll eat it up. Hire a Ferrari or a Rolex so people think you’re living large — after all, that’s why you got into this in the first place right? To inspire people!

Ok, time to get ready for work. You make it through your shift feeling entirely unglamorous — no one in the real world actually recognises you (fucking peasants on the way to their cubicles), adding double insult to the fact that you’re working in a demeaning customer service position. You’re like, so much better than this. Why is no one recognising your talent!? You need to trade your unfamous boyfriend in for someone with actual cache — is that the right word? Yeah, you’re sure that’s the word and you’re using it right. After all, that other chick with a bazillion followers is only 22 and she’s dating a rapper. Dammit, she has implants though, and you don’t. You only have sausage lips money, not implant money.

You make it back to your apartment feeling entirely defeated and shitty at the world for not recognising your talent and beauty. A quick check of Insta and a bunch of likes on your recent picture is enough to get your dopamine level back to a place where you don’t hate your life. Fuck, you really need to write an ebook or something so you can go full time on this shit and make some real money. It’s ok, breathe. Your time is coming, just be a little more patient. That chick that flashes her ass on every single post got taken to the Grammys this year. Jesus, you’re like, so much better looking than her and way more classy. For sure you’re going to strike it big soon.

You don’t really have the energy for anything tonight, so you veg out on your $20 couch you bought off of Craigslist and watch Netflix. Gotta put up a post before bed though, and it’s been too long since you wrote about how you’re not glamorous all the time, that you have to love yourself for all the imperfections, that you get insecure sometimes too and that everyone is beautiful in their own way, inside and out. You do a side by side of one of your “hot” pics with one of your “ugly” pics — strategically ugly though, not actual ugly. God, you’re not going to make that mistake again. Aaand post. The likes start pouring in, and the comments. “Wow, so true babe!” “This is why I follow you, you’re so authentic!” “You’re such a beautiful soul”. At least these posts never get those “nice tits” comments that some of the others get.

You drift off to sleep, a satisfied smile on your face. You don’t even notice the old urine stain next to where your face is nestled on the couch anymore.