Interview With an Instagram Influencer

Some call it fake news. I call it fake fame. Let me adjust the sound a little. There, gotcha. You know I ask myself the same question every single day.

Knowing what you know now, would you do it all over again?

What do you think, pal? The girls, the gifts, the glitz. Of course, I'd do it all over again. In a freaking heartbeat.

Let me ask you a question. Where else is a royal in his forties going to get famous? I don't want to hear about your British dudes. They've clogged up 98.7% of the market share for royal publicity for decades now. Their stranglehold on the gossip sheets is totally out of proportion to the size of that little island.

Where's the diversity? This crown came to my head from somewhere down in Central America. How many TMZ stories you read recently about the royal families of Central America? Egg-zackly.

You know what? I appreciate you have to ask, but I'm gonna continue to be a little vague on places and dates. Officially, my nation hasn't existed for three hundred years. So that's an issue too.

Call it 1975 when I hatched out on the scene. You had two choices then. Commie or capitalist. You notice what's not a menu option? Monarchs, that's what. Call yourself a king, and people are shooting grenades and AKs at you from every side.

All I want is the quiet life. Trouble is I was born to this crown, and it ain't coming off. So I bop up north. The crown still ain't coming off, but everybody in el norte thinks I'm a big ole ball of green fake, so they just point their fingers and snicker.

Who cares. I'll take a finger-pointing over an AK-pointing any day of the week.

Describe the struggle, you say. Oh, boy. There really wasn't much of one to describe, not for the first few decades. It's pretty cool living in quiet obscurity when you're a kid. A little birdseed. A little ride to the beach once a year. A new brown paper bag or box to chew up every month. It all adds up to a lot of laughs.

My friends say the same thing. I'm easily amused. Maybe you're right and I'm wrong, but maybe you guys haven't given it a fair shot. When you're chewing through that brown paper bag to find a sweet virgin unchewed brown box inside just waiting for the chomping beak of doom...

Oh, man. That's pure heaven. Chew through that box like a chainsaw, and it's such a rush.

We're talking a feeling of blissful accomplishment most people never reach. Tell you one thing-- you never got a high like that staring at your football game while throwing down that six-pack of PBR.

So what happened, you ask? Seriously? What the eff you think happened? I turned forty.

The gold I smuggled in from the old country is finally starting to run out, and Papa still gots to eat. My species has a life expectancy of ninety-seven. Didn't know that, did you? The only creature that lives longer than me carries a shell around on its back.

Since the crown still doesn't come off, I've got to find a new source of gold. So that's when I get on Instagram. You know the rest.

All right. Sure. I'll try. Let's start by telling you how I didn't get started. I didn't do the spontaneous snapping away hoping to go viral by magic. That stuff only works if you're already a celebrity. Nope, not me. I'm leaving nothing whatsoever to the whims of chance.

So I invest my last remaining bucks in setting up with a professional photographer who knows how to catch my best side. Also, my dude's a wizard at how to stage a product.

So it takes off. Nobody believes I'm a real king any more than they believe that Burger King guy, but we still move product. I eat the ranch-flavored whatevs. I drink the algae-flavored vitamin juice. The flavor of that green goo is something else we won't talk about. But you better believe I choke it down with a smile on my beak.

You know the score from there. Insta-fame isn't all that instant. At first, the manufacturers are just sending me free product to pose with. I make a little bit because I can resell what doesn't get too effed-up during the shoot. But the real money doesn't come until I prove it's worth paying me to post a selfie looking all cute with your product.

My agent handled the numbers, but I'll tell you this much. I was no Kylie Jenner. We're not talking $600,000 for one photo. I'm just this humble king from a forgotten nation that hasn't been on the map for a few hundred years. You offer me a few thousand to say cheese, and I'll probably say it.

So I'm posing, I'm moving product, and I'm at the top of my modeling game. It's blue skies all day every day.

Let me ask you this. Maybe your readers can think about this too. How many models break out at 45?

Whatever they say about me, they can't take that away. I did something most people can't do, and I did it with style. The whole reason my critics didn't fall so hard was they never flew so high in the first place.

What brought it all crashing down?

Yeah, like I don't know that's what you really came to ask. Yeah, yeah, you reporters-- excuse me, you entertainment journalists-- you're all alike, you all got the same questions, you never hit me with a surprise.

My answer doesn't change. Sure, yeah. Agreed. It was a screw-up of a goat rodeo of major proportions. I own that. I messed up. But it wasn't what they say. I'm not that arrogant son-of-a-bee who kicked his sponsors in the teeth. That wasn't my attitude at all.

When you see me playing in that box, you're supposed to relate to me as a simple guy. A king, sure. Royal. But down to earth at my heart. After all the game and all the fame, I'm still that same sweet boy who's perfectly happy to chew my way out of the brown paper bag and into the box and out the other side of the box.

The simple pleasures, you know?

So I ask you: How is that arrogance? It's the opposite. Time's going to bear me out there. I honestly believe that.

Sure, Sherlock, you're absolutely right. I should have predicted the reaction from the sponsors. Absolutely.

“We're paying you six grand to pose with our toy, and you're on record playing with a free box you got from that big online retailer which, by the by, is selling our same product for cheaper than we can make it!”

You know what, though? The true fans loved that picture. The real people absolutely did. That picture got a million ♥s. I just looked. Now it's a million two.

Sure, it's still up. I stand by that picture. Posting it cost me my sponsors, and it cost me my career, and you think I'm going to take it down now? That's gotta be a nope.

Anyhoo, those ♥s tell the real story. I sleep just fine at night in my little cardboard box knowing I was right all along. The people love me. And they're the ones who matter. Not the sponsors. Not the crass money guys. The people. They're all that matters in the end.

So you just watch me. I'll be back. Bigger than ever. The real fans are rooting for me.

Oh, and one more thing. Can you mention at the end that I'm selling a course on how to make your first hundred thousand as an Instagram influencer? Cool. Thanks. You're a real prince, and I should know.

Photo Credits

A crumpled brown paper image by Dan-Cristian Pădureț on Unsplash was used to filter the background behind the Author's Instagram photo. The model is a Yellow-crowned Amazon parrot owned by the Author. Collage and photo manipulation by the Author is for purposes of illustration.

If you enjoyed this story, please let me know by hitting the <3 button. Tips accepted. My first Vocal story was Raven Gifts.