Trust Me, I'm An Instagram Influencer.

Every Day, I Save Millions from Leading Insignificant Lives. Like Yours

Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

I’m an Instagram influencer, as you can see by the little blue checkmark next to my name, my impressive number of followers, and the infinitesimal number of people I’m following. 

Frankly, that number shouldn’t even be that high, but my PR person insists it makes me look “relatable,” whatever that means.

As you scroll my feed filled with staggeringly gorgeous, staged shots of me and my kids wearing matching PJs from my colossally successful Mommy & Me collection, laughing with Santa — don’t you just love the one of me on his lap? — and lounging on our private jet, it’s possible you’ll feel, well, in a word?

Inferior.

That’s totally normal.

You are inferior. But that’s why I’m here. 

My role is to help you aspire, to give you hope that one day you too could have closets crammed with couture you received free, wore once, and gave to the cleaning lady. 

That you too could man hop and baby drop your way to nine single-name sweeties all your own. 

You just better have help. Otherwise, bath time’s a bitch. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Seriously. A few of my Influencer friends actually bathe their own kids. I won’t name names but I’m like, hello, nannies? What about your nails?

Sometimes I really question people’s priorities.

Beyond that, I’m here to show you all you need to prove you’re living your best, most pretentious life is the exorbitantly overpriced automobiles, clothes, food stuffs, and vacation destinations I promote.

Yes, they pay me. If they didn’t, how would you know about a $4,000 a night hut in Belize staffed by the sweetest homeless orphans ever? Or a $250 bottle of soy sauce that turns Chinese takeout into a gastronomic marvel?

Not that I eat Chinese food. Or any kind of takeout. And I’ve never even laid eyes on a bottle of soy sauce.

Influencers live on air and teeny and tiny pours of Prosecco. How else do you think we stay the size of stick insects?

It’s ok to want to be me when you grow up. Millions do. 

Of course, it’s no picnic, smiling in kickass cars and painful clothes, always having the paparazzi hot on my heels — those guys make it so tough to sneak a cigarette — but it’s worth it.

Every day I have the honor of setting the example of what can be achieved through hard work. Commitment. And a huge inheritance.

And because of me, everyday, millions of people like you are saved from leading insignificant lives.

It makes my heart so happy. Oh my god, my mascara; I’m getting teary just talking about it.

You know, maybe I really am relatable.

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