Reaching 10K On Instagram- Party Time Or Anti Climax?

I don't set myself many goals in life (call me unambitious if you like), but the one thing I've had in my head to achieve these last few months is reaching that Magic Number- 10,000 followers on Instagram. Whilst I appreciate I'm not exactly 'bettering' myself (or anyone else) in pursuing such a shallow, futile and pointless aim; every blogger out there will know how important hitting that particular target is. But what if it's not all it's cracked up to be? Time for one of those heated debate thingies.

The Torment Of 9999

So, there I was last Sunday thinking 'Could this be the day?'. My follower count was edging up and when I skimmed through things at 10am I was on 9996. 'Of course I'll do it, no probs', I told myself and went off for Mummy's Day lunch with da fam. The urge to check on my account was great but I resisted until 2pm. I then logged in and saw I had 7 new followers. 'Yasssss, I'm sure I've done it, I must've done it!', I thought, mentally buying some Gucci loafers by way of a celebration. But no, #pitythefule, I was on 9999. Nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety fucking nine. Is there a worse possible number in the whole universe? And so it went on, up and down like a ho's knickers all the rest of the day. To say I wasn't exactly racing to the finish line would be an understatement. 

The Power Of 10

But then it happened. However, because of the precariousness of dipping back down again I didn't dare be pleased. I just couldn't. A sweet boy called Jack congratulated me, and I thanked him, but I knew I was on the edge of a tall building and could fall off at any second. 

Finally It Has Happened To Me

I only ever joined Instagram for one reason- coz my beautiful friend Mrs Mission Style said I should. I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my iPad over Christmas 2013 telling myself to join. I had a false start that time when I thought I couldn't handle the stress of 'putting myself out there'. And I panicked when I thought I'd published a picture of my knee as my cherry-popper and promptly deleted my account. Four months later though, I bit the bullet. And Holy Social Media it's been difficult. I don't think a week has gone by where I didn't wanna quit. But as I lay in bed that Sunday evening, trying to watch both 'An Officer And A Gentleman' and 'Something's Gotta Give' at the same time- (I means srsly- how can a girl choose between those two?) I let myself finally say it out loud- 'I've got 10k'.

What Now?

So, is it nirvana? Have I reached The Promised Land? Well, yes and no. The buzz of it definitely hasn't worn off. But to say my 'IG life' is easier now would be a lie. I expected a rush of followers, but it hasn't happened. The struggle is still ever-so-real. It seems like followers are even more unlikely to stay following. (I stayed on 10, 015 for two days FYI). In my head I'd wanted to do an innovotive 'thanks for 10k' post (as I've been so inspired by lots I'd seen in the past whizzing through my feed), and these pictures were what I came up with. I think the moment for them has passed on IG so they've landed here. (God those M&Ms smelled so good). I said to myself once I got to 10k I'd chill a bit. Try and sign up to Snapchat, try and sell some stuff on Depop, and maybe just take a day off here and there from IG so I could actually Do.Some.Other.Stuff. Hasn't happened so far....I wonder if it will?

M&Ms- Waitrose (lol)//Severed Hand- The Local Art Shop

How Real Is Your Instagram?

Ever since EssenaGate, a veritable deluge of articles analysing the 'faux reality' of Instagram have sprung up- not only in the big ole' blogosphere- but in 'trad' media too. As ever, I'm late to the party. But I wanted to weigh in with a few thoughts, nonetheless. So here goes. 

What You See Isn't What You Get

The pictures you see here are ones I took myself. I haven't posted them on IG yet, but I might do. (I try not to 'double-up' too much on images as it can get a bit Boris Boreoff). You're probably thinking- 'Hang on, has she gone and got an Acne Raya now? Lucky bitch. She probably bought it with that PPI money she doesn't stop banging on about'. But wait. Oh no, she hasn't bought a Raya. She actually just flatlayed her year old H&M cardi and artfully arranged the Acne label off her Skin 5s on top of it. Sound that faux klaxon. Loud. Your brain and the image were telling you one thing, but the 'reality' wasn't real. (Unless you're massively adept at spotting a Raya at fifty paces, in which case, props to you). Is it morally dubious to try and suggest that something from H&M has all the caché and luxeyness of something way more expensive from Acne? Probably. But it sure as hell makes the image more......lookable. And it certainly gives it- shall we say- a lot more Instagram leverage. *NB I did actually post a version of this pic on IG yesterday- and guess what?- it smashed it out the park. Which goes to prove.....summat or other).

I Grammed It My Way

So, how real is my Insta? Well, on the Essena Faux Scale, I'd say it's about a 9. (10 being as faux as you can go). Do I sit around cross-legged all day on a piece of white card wearing trainers? Nope. Do I artfully grab at black coffee placed at the perfect angle on a marble table-top? Nope. Do I stand in the street, pidgeon-toed, staring endlessly at the watch on my overly-tanned wrist? No, I do not. So, why why why am I actually doing this shit? Am I trying to make priddy pictures? I sure am. But to what end? Essena earned hundreds of dollars off each of her grams. Do I earn a single penny? No, sadly I don't. Do I ever even get sent anything to promo? Nope, not that either. Every day I hope beyond hope that a nice brand- you know- the ones that everyone else get sent stuff from- will hit me up. But they never do. I've kind of accepted it now. (She said). Some girls are like the Pied Piperesses of IG. I'm deffo not one of them. Keep working, keep hacking away, and maybe something 'good' will happen, I tell myself. And if this is all getting a bit woe is me- apologies. I can only really admire Essena all the more for walking away from the money-making machine she had going on.

Rinstragram v Finstagram

So, if it sounds like I'm about to 'do' an Essena and flounce off- you're spot on. I cannot tell you how sick I am of the backaches, the fake-tanning, the desperate scrabble to create more storage on my phone, the stress of hitting my target to gram twice a day, every day. The hope as I tag that maybe, just maybe, this time I'll get an RG. The pathetic game I play to try and hit 100 likes in twenty minutes. (Still my aim, still haven't reached it). The bitterness and jealously that eats me up everytime I see another rival peer getting a lovely gift from a lovely brand, or thousands of likes for another tagless pic. I never even used to think I was that ugly until I got on IG- but I now I know my face repulses people- and makes them unfollow- I'm assured of that fact. Quite frankly, I don't like what I've become. I'm not naturally someone who has a chip on their shoulder, or is jell of all and sundry, but I'm fast going down that road. To that end- yes I wanna quit. But I also know that the one day off I've taken in a whole year of gramming (after the Paris attacks, coz to me it didn't feel right to post) made me miss IG terribly. Even.After.One.Fucking.Day. (#theaddictionisreal) Perversely, I also wanna start another account- a 'rinstagram'- to post the reality of my life. The mundanity of it in all its glory. (For me- 'Fakestagram' sums up my current gram, and 'Realstagram' would be my new reality- although I appreciate I may have that arse about face). Not an original idea obvs, but it might be a way to help me reset and stop chasing my tail and hating on everything. We'll see.

How's IG treating you lately? Lemmie know xx PS Soz if this a downer

Cardigan- H&M//Watch- ASOS