Diary Of A Fashion Blogger

Monday

Woke up to find I've lost 8 followers overnight on Instagram. Try not to be pissed off. But I am. Why does everybody else's freakin' account grow except mine? Throw on this morning's pic and hope that it doesn't go down like a lead balloon. Shiiitttt. It picks up likes super-slowly and by lunchtime I've lost another 5 followers. WTF. Check the account of a girl who not two weeks ago had less followers than me. She's now got 400 more! Four hundred! She doesn't even tag either. (How does that work?) I feel like if I put on a shit, dark snap of fuck all with zero tags I stand a better chance of doing 'well'. I'm struggling to do that (what I consider) 'fake thing' of commenting on everyone's piccies to get my name 'out there'. I only comment sincerely. I only do anything sincerely. Maybe that's where I'm going wrong. I'm feeling so emosh today. A celebrity has died and for some reason I lose it and start crying as I'm reading about her life. I'm not good at being tough. I'm literally the weakest person I know, but I fight the urge to cry more (it only makes my eyes hurt) and also with my plan to quit IG. (How long will that last?) On the plus side, my blog post has got two comments within an hour of being published. Woop-De-Doo.

Tuesday

Exercise this morning. Dear God in heaven I hate it more than my noisy neighbours. (And that's saying something). I think Kayla Itsines would laugh if she saw me. I think most people would laugh if they saw me. Buy New and Grazia during lunch. I love weekly magazines and devour them like a 5-2er on one of their 5 days. Then comes the obligatory lunchtime scroll through IG. I get The Fear (as usual) when I have to face up to seeing how many followers I've lost. (Gained 2, Lost 2, so it's as you were). I then realise that a girl I follow hasn't come up on my feed recently so I do a quick search for her name. This reaps no rewards so I figure she must've deleted her account. But just out of interest I decide to google too....and whaddya know....her account is alive, well and very much kicking. The penny drops very slowly (I'm thick, bear with)-  she's only fucking blocked me. Now this throws me into another tailspin. Why would she do that? What have I done to her? I try and recall if I've said anything remotely offensive, but can find no evidence. I posted one comment under one of her pictures about six months ago and she followed me (back). I diligently liked all her pics, but I never said owt further. I now miserably recall the half-jokey exchange I had with Josie t'other week about blocking on The Gram. Well, that's come back to bite me, hasn't it? I thought blocking was only used when people are being mean or abusive. Silly naive me. (I can google her feed any old time though so she hasn't really achieved much has she? Other than to be spiteful and speed her passage to hell. Plus, I'm a touch bored of her endless culottes and white shirts. Oh, and ever thought of learning to spell, love? Your blog is literally, literary jokes).

Wednesday
I've got a work deadline so I have to prioritise. If I get everything done I need to I'll reward myself with a little Topshop visit. Shopping is my reward, for, well, just about everything. I don't even have to buy. Just being in a shop makes me buzz my face off. That's why I don't really like shopping on-line. Plus, I loathe waiting in for packages, and returning things to the post office is literally my idea of purgatory. Hit my deadline, so it's Toppers here I come. Try on some sale clogs (size too big), look at a very cute dungaree dress (longingly) and end up buying two Celine-dupe hairslides and one of those fluffly pom-pom things you hang off your bag. I'm deffo not a fluffy pom-pom kinda person but it's too cute to resist.

Thursday
Thank the freakin' lord I don't have to shoot any looks this week. (I mean, maybe I should've instead of writing all this shit down), but I despise the whole process so much I'm keen to avoid it where poss. I do however, have to get a couple of FWISs in the bag. So, I put on some temporary fake tan (layered on top of my actual fake tan- yes, I really am that pale), grab some sunnies and head out. Fuck only knows what people think. In lots of ways I'm immune to all the stares and comments now, and at the same time I'm not. Men seem to take the sight of a girl, alone, taking pictures of her feet, as some sort of green light to chat. Which reminds me, I was busy walking along minding my own beeswax last week when some random bloke came up to me and asked me if I had the time. *Warning Siren* I never normally stop or speak when I get asked that question, because invariably it's a complete oddball doing the asking. But for some reason I stopped and said 'No, sorry I haven't'. (All true by the way, I wasn't wearing a watch, and fumbling in my bag for hours for my phone was deffo not an option I wanted to pursue). Guess what he said? Fuck off. Straight up, no messing, he just said fuck off.

Friday
I'm going backwards on IG. Again. I've posted 10 pics so far this week and I have piss all to show for them. An interesting American girl I follow, who up until recently was about 1000 followers behind me now has 600 more. She doesn't tag either. (Literally, how does anyone ever see your picture? Please someone enlighten me). She very sweetly likes all my pics, but I'm baffled why as she's very cool and I'm very not. I see A today. He's looking tanned and hot. H isn't with him. H is the one I really wanna see. I mean A is pure eye candy, and has deffo got a lot about him, but H makes me die. Whenever I update my FB (which is once a week if I remember) I sneak a look at A's account. There's a video on there of A skateboarding, clearly shot by H. Why didn't H just turn the camera on himself for a microsecond? H's face is the stuff of legend. I don't even know how it's physically possible for someone to be as beautiful as him. Last time I saw him was a year ago. A fucking year! I was wearing make-up then. I can't believe how much has changed for me in that time. I wouldn't actually want him to see me now. My eyes are a horror show. I have tried to wear make-up as a 'treat' once a week, but my eyes burn with pain after a couple of hours and I can't wait to take it all off. Still, I rehearse the conversation I am gonna have him when I do eventually see him. It's got an excellent Olivier Giroud reference and a flat-out refusal to pick up where we left off (trust me, he would try, he's a chancer). Anyway, I'm excited to stay at my mum and dad's for the whole weekend, sleep in and dream of handbags, normal functioning eyes and happier times with cute boys.

Watch- ASOS//Notebook- Ikea//Cup- Ikea

Scissors- Bonsai Direct//Hair Slides- Topshop//Cacti- Ikea