I Identify as a Hot Instagram Model

In one of my more recent blogs, I talked about mentors. One in particular named Doug used to tell all of us rookie real estate agents a simple catch-phrase:

“If you can see it, you can be it.” — Doug, the Broker

Lately, I’ve lamented about my writer’s journey. I’ve been open and frank about my struggles with patience. Though I’m offering what I feel is an above-average writing product for reader consumption, things are just not progressing as fast as I’d like them to.

The income aspect in particular is messing with my head. My earnings for September are down 40% versus my record-setting month of August. Though I continue to write two quality, entertaining blogs daily, this month has taken a noticeable downturn. It’s frustrating.

Such developments have me thinking outside of the box. I’ve thought about a number of other things I can do to help build a following quicker or supplement my writer’s income. Going back to doing a bit of content writing for other companies is one idea I’m likely to implement.

Content writing is boring, though. It’s not nearly as fulfilling as blogging, at least for me. I’ve considered adding photography to my list of side hustles I currently am involved in. I take awesome pictures with my phone, so naturally, I’d do even better with a phatty camera and some cool lighting, right?

Who knows? One thing that I do know, however: I identify as a hot Instagram model. There, I said it. If you can see it, you can be it.

If there is one thing I’ve noticed in the decade I’ve been using Instagram, it’s the rise of the models. Now they’ll tell you that it’s much more than just being hot and having half/naked pictures taken of you in front of the ocean. There are many more steps to becoming an “influencer”.

“Influencer”. I love that word. You influence others on social media because you have 100,000 to half a million “fans”. Fans. You know, the people who look at your half-naked pics and videos all day and write you messages that mention how wonderful you are and how influential you have been in their lives.

That’s so inspirational. That’s the life I want to have, in order to build an eventual larger writer’s following. So I’ve decided I’ll identify as a hot Instagram model.

It will be worth all of the struggles and hard work I’ll do in order to become an influencer. I’m willing to dodge five or ten unsolicited dick-pics in my inbox each day if it means I have a shot at stardom. We have to make sack-rifices for our dreams.

Where do I begin? I guess in order to truly be a Hot Instagram influencer, I’ll need to be a sexy 20-year-old woman. Shit. This is harder than I thought it would be. But I’ll make a short list here of some steps I can take to make this happen:

Buy a Gym Membership

Use Gym Membership Daily

Nose job. Then Boob Job. Porcelain Veneers

Body Waxing

Bikini Shopping

Spray Tan

Hair Extensions and dye job

Shopping For Hot Girl Clothes

Network and Connect With Reputable Photographers

Buy a Venti Starbucks and a Small Dog to Carry in My New Purse

Christ, this sounds like a lot of WORK. And these are just the first ten things I thought of that made sense. It’s not going to be easy turning myself into a hot chick. But the following, Man. It’s worth it for the following.

I decide to do the easiest things first. Venti Starbuck, check. I grab one of Mai’s purses and try to stuff Mooch into it. Damn it, I guess it’s a gym membership for two. Sorry, Mooch. No more begging. Salads and fruit for you.

Well, that duffel bag is the best we can do for now. A bit heavy, but at least it has a handle and wheels. Perfect for transporting Mooch with me to restaurants, photo shoots, and on plane rides to exotic locations for my photo shoots.

I’m always impressed with the many tropical locations that models seem to get to visit. I’m sure that this is one of the perks of being young and hot. Free vacations for every photo shoot, with no strings attached. Wait, WHAT?

I don’t want to have to do that. I WILL blow a well-known photographer, though I’d prefer not to. Dammit. Talk about a moral dilemma. But hey, Pina Coladas and an ocean backdrop for my modeling. I need to learn to take one for the team.

The gym thing is going to be the most time-consuming. I’m not even sure how to sneak Mooch in and get her to run on the treadmill next to me. Perhaps put her in disguise and tie a cheeseburger to the front of the treadmill. That sounds mean, please don’t call PETA on me.

Once we get physically fit, we can pare down the number of hours spent at the gym. We’ll just show up, check in, and take a selfie in one of three or four of the same exact poses the Gym-bos always pose in for their social media pics. I can feel the follows coming already.

Checking my followers, I do not see a noticeable difference after the workout. SHIT. What could be the issue? Oh, wait. I’m not very far down my list, yet. Even with makeup, I’m still not all that appetizing to look at, yet. I better get to work.

Well, hell. Maybe the cosmetic surgery will help. Not knowing, can’t afford it quite yet. I notice my Eugene Levy-esque eyebrows though and decide the waxing part of the hot-girl equation should come next. I have no idea where to go.

I ask Mai if she has any cousins in the waxing business. Her glare back at me tells me all I need to know. It looks a bit like, “What kind of racist-ass, bullshit is that, White-Man?” But then she answers back, “Well actually…” and I head downtown to her cousin’s salon to work on this hairy situation.

Upon arrival, her cousin clears the rest of her afternoon schedule. I am a little excited about becoming smooth, but also somewhat worried. I mean, who hasn’t seen this clip from the 40-Year-Old Virgin before? I start to tense up a bit.

My one and only waxing sesh went a bit like this. Italians are hairy.

Mooch pops her head up through the duffel bag, sees the situation that’s about to unfold, whines and hides back in the bag. She doesn’t want to be next. Hearing my painful reactions to the hair being ripped off my entire body causes her distress. She gets on my phone and starts Googling electrolysis places.

Damn it, that’s also going to cost a bunch of money. I never knew how expensive it was being a hot Instagram model/influencer. I guess we better get some lunch and do some shopping now. Sushi it is. That usually photographs well and is likely to help me gain some followers on my Insta.

After throwing down and throwing up about two dozen pieces of sushi (hey, I’m in training, after all), we decide to go wardrobe shopping. Fall clothes, bikinis, and thigh-high boots, it’s all going to help. I start to notice that most of the clothes don’t fit. Evidently, I need more than a week back at the gym to look my best.

I decide that I’ll at least do the bikini shopping. Sadly, there is a logistical problem with the ones I’ve chosen to purchase. While my man-boobs definitely help fill the top half, the bottom half is also full. To the point where it’s weird. I usually love being Italian, but today, it’s a nuisance. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

At this point, I’m dejected. I debate whether to at least try the spray tanning, but what’s the actual point? I might end up with a bad one and look like an orange dick, like Donald Trump. I can’t have that.

I add up the cost of the cosmetic surgery, the lipo and boob job, the ass-filler so I can be all caked-up like the Kardashians, the hair extensions, and the cost of the fashionable wardrobe I’ve yet to buy, and none of it makes sense. Defeated, I pull Mooch in the duffel bag all the way home.

I guess there’s no easy shortcut. This was a dumb idea to begin with. I figure out that I better just identify as something closer to reality and not try to take shortcuts to build a huge following for my writing. Hard work it is.

I’ll focus on the writing and give my best effort to make people laugh. Or think. Mooch is relieved that my eyebrows are growing back and that I’ve stopped wearing makeup. She still likes being pulled around in her duffel bag on wheels, however. &:^)