The following photos are unfiltered examples of my extremely glamorous yachting life. After several engaging conversations online about building a personal brand and learning to be an influencer, I have decided to take this blog thing extra seriously. I am going to work hard at getting infinite clicks, likes and shares for my unusually sensational beauty and fashion sense even if it costs me extra icloud storage to get the perfect selfie from 4,000 shots and 100 filters. Even if I have to stop eating carbs and reading books or thinking. Even if I have to remove a rib to do better yoga poses, or god forbid shave everyday. Even if I leave loyal and loving friends behind because they don’t fit my brand. Who needs one friend when you can have a million? Whatever it takes, I want to be a successful person.
I have pulled material from Instagram and Facebook pros to study. While I realize there is no way I can attain this level of expertise influencing yet, I am completely dedicated to looking good and being popular. Being popular is the most important thing in the world. Being popular makes you money, which is also the most important thing in the world, besides being pretty, of course. I’m absolutely certain from my social media super star research that you can’t have any human value at all without being attractive. Obviously I have that one covered, my mom always insisted I was cute.
People, I will not stop until I get a million likes and advertisers beg me to hashtag their shitty useless products off of my amazing and glorious image. An image I will carefully curate through hundreds of hours posing in the mirror for the best angles. I will work so hard at outfit changes that my creases chafe. I will vaseline my bleached teeth so I can have an extra big perma-smile. I will perfect my sultry duck lips.
I am officially going to let go of any aspirations of content or messaging. Content is super important to ignore when the planet is on fire, people are in poverty, and racism, sexism and homophobia continue to keep billions of people down or dead. I mean, what a buzzkill to my radically lit hype. Nobody wants a Debbie Downer on the consumerism train. Surely all these downtrodden beings can just get a selfie stick and capitalize on something, or at least do a Patreon or Go-Fund-Me, even the Orcas. Orcas are cute, they should get an Instagram page if they want clean water, peaceful seas and fish. They need to earn their keep with impressive choreographed breaches and tail slaps. I need to be entertained to care.
While I am at it, I have also decided to exploit the photogenic people I love, like my boat bitch Eric. Nothing says you are popular like good looking friends and lovers surrounding you with laughter and smiles. He’s so pretty and obediently does what I say: “Turn this way 10 degrees. Stick your foot out, point the toe! Look longlingly to the horizon. Not that longingly, it’s not candy! Come on Eric, do it right, this is SERIOUS!” My reputation is on the line. I want to be popular so bad. It doesn’t matter if you hate each other, are sick or had a shit day, just make the picture perfect so everyone can envy you. As long as the picture says you have it together, you have it all, that’s what matters. Don’t forget to exploit your gender, because everyone knows sex sells. Lastly, remember not to cry at night because you feel empty.
The awareness of my need to change and get my priorities straight all started in middle school. I was studying the Holocaust and reading the first concerning studies of global warming in science magazines. I was very serious about it, and alarmed that such horrific global scale catastrophes could and were happening. I read everything I could find in my tiny midwest town, which was like, two things and a lot of Bibles. I was vocal though, a young beacon of “Hey people, bad shit happens! We should do something about it.” Alas, I was told repeatedly I was not smiling enough and that my clothes were not cool. No one talked to me at lunch. I decided to do the right thing and sacrifice any empathy, life meaning or academic success for popularity. Even though my mom said I was cute, I knew I couldn’t compete for looks. This was long before social media and photo filters. Now average people can be glamorous too with the right technology. So I became funny. Humor is a good way to cope with the plethora of dumbassery in the world. I am confidently good at it. People laugh. Sometimes it’s AT me, but I’m okay with it because it is attention. Besides, if I make fun of myself first and better, then your jaunts don’t work. I mean, any attention is good attention, right?
Again, this needs to be extra clear: attention and money are the most important things in America. Look at our president, a beacon of our values. To be a good citizen in line with the American dream I will now become super interwebs popular so I can fit in and belong. Neurobiologicaly, it’s a survival tactic. If the tribe rejects me I might die. Fuck, I did it again. Too many words, some introspection, not enough pretty pictures. I am sorry, I’m new to this. I will get better, I will get dumber, I promise. It’s so very challenging. I will get younger, thinner, prettier, cooler. I will focus on what’s important, fitting a bullshit unattainable airbrushed expectation. Please click like, please, please. My starving ego and apparently bank account, hobbies and overall human value depends on your constant approval. Below I have started my new brand photo collection. I used actual real life yacht influencer photos to model from. I am pretty sure I nailed it. It is just a matter of time before I make it big and all my dreams come true. Maybe someday I will even like myself. At least in the photos. Namaste, bitches.
This blog was written in a fit of exponential sarcasm building since 1985.