Despite having been on Instagram for nearly two years now, I still have no freaking clue how the place actually works. Whilst I've finally figured out to edit my captions (Yay! Fat Fingers Be Gone!), I still don't understand how hashtagless pictures ever get seen. Or why certain Dutch girls think it's okay to follow and unfollow you four times in as many months (babe, I've clocked you, srsly just piss off ). The struggle has been #long and #real to get any kind of momentum going for my lil' old account, but last week, outta nowhere things finally seemed to be starting to happen.
The Power Of The Pink Bag
First up, I posted a pic of my beloved Acne carrier bag. This thing seems to basically act as #gramnip for IGers. I'd like to say I don't know why- but it is an object of desire and it is a thing of beauty- so we don't need to really linger too long as to why peeps go cray for it. But 800 likes cray? It seemed insanely disproportionate to me, but the followers also came along with the likes- so I wasn't gonna argue.
Smug Face
And then the followers- shockingly- kept coming. Ain't gonna lie, on a regular IG day I'll maybe get 10 followers at best, and probably lose 5 along the way. I realise these numbers are embarrassingly impoverished and that even Danielle Bernstein's dog gets more love than that. Way more love. But strange things were afoot. I was getting 40, 50 even- gasp- 60 followers a day. So, although I'm an atheist I kept thanking God periodically just so he knew how grateful I was. This quite amazing deluge happened errryday for four whole days.
The Crash
And then reality bit back. I think it was a pic of some Converse that started my downward spiral- which is weird coz Chucks tend to do okay in my experience. It even got a 'good' amount of likes. But no, the haemorrhage had started and my stress returned to accompany it. Why had I gotten some momentum? And why had it fallen away again? Like I said, IG is utterly unfathomable to me. Even what happened next couldn't stem the flow.
Topshop Girl In A Topshop World
So, on Friday evening I threw on a snap of me sitting on the floor in a Fila sweatshirt and some frayed jeans. (I say threw- my "effortless" photo took two hours of blood sweat and tears). Coz I don't shoot outside anymore and coz my face is a bit like Quasimodo's on a good day this is how picture-taking now rolls for me: I have to spend large amounts of daylight hours sitting on my arse, with my camera balanced on a Nike box, running back into frame (once I've triggered the self-timer and dangled an object in front of the lens for it to focus on), trying desperately to keep my head out of shot whilst attempting to look thin, cool, relaxed and a bit like 'Oh me? Just sitting here casually on the floor again'. I was reticent to put the final 'masterpiece' on IG because, well, I basically feel like that about every pic I take for there. So I crossed myself (the more atheist I feel the more religious I act, go figure) about 18 times and waited for it to bomb. I normally log off once I've shared a piccie as I can't bear to see how unpopular I am, which I duly did. But for some reason I logged on again about 15 minutes later and saw that I had a tag. OMG- could it be ASOS? (About a year ago I got one single solitary like from them and it got me- wait for this- 300 followers). But no, it wasn't them. It was something that I don't think most bloggers ever even dare dream of- it was- drumroll- an RG from Topshop.
The Party Was Short, But Funny
At first I was like, WTF. Then I was like, "LIFE MADE!!!!!". I once read that a regram from ASOS gets you approximately 1000 followers, so I calculated that Topshop having 6 million followers (and ASOS having 3 million) should, in theory, have garnered me more than that. My maths is shit, but the hope was very real. Once again I logged off with a spring in my step and a sunny disposition so rare that my family were suspicious. I knew it though. Only me, with my impeccable Reverse Midas Touch could fuck this up. Who gets a shout-out to 6 million people and "only" gets 250 followers? (For that was my tally). This chica, that's who. I'd like to think that it was the Granny shoes what did it. Most of the girls commenting under my pic seemed to be utterly repulsed by them, and kept calling them 'cabin shoes', and doing Crying-Laughing Emojis. So I can only assume Toppers has a helluva lot of air hostesses following their account. But actually I don't mind a bit that those girls hated them, in fact, I quite enjoyed that aspect of the whole thing. And before you characterise me as some ungrateful ho' who needs to stop number-crunching and chill the fuck out and get things into perspective a bit more (hearin' you btw), I was actually beyond buzzed that someone at Toppers HQ liked what I'm doing. That is deffo more important than putting on shit-loads of followers. To the point that I'd actually like it carved on my gravestone. ("Here Lies Belle, She Was Once Regrammed By Topshop You Know"). But still it niggles. And so does the girl who posts the dullest cycle of "Quote/Food/Converse/Selfie/Quote/Food/Converse/Selfie" on her IG- in some kind of never-ending mouse-wheel nightmare, but has now got 11k. Or that the girl who posts once a week (if that) is the new owner of a Triangl (yes, I'm still going on about that). Or that Auld Muddy Face just breathes in and gets 5k likes per pic. It niggles like hell. And it ain't going away. I'll leave you with Gore Vidal. "Every time one of my friends succeeds, something inside me dies". Amen bro. Amen.
Shoes- Topshop//Jeans- Topshop//Jumper- Zara
