Women Vs Instagram Women

Magazine Question: ‘What Kind of Woman Are You?’

And no, I don’t mean Carrie, Samantha or Ms York. I mean who, among the fabulous women of the world, is closest to the polished woman you’d always hoped to be? Perhaps you and she have met at social events or sometimes she may even wear your new Nikes to a group-training sesh.

Maybe you’ve seen versions of her in passing or strutting across your screen. Or perhaps, you’ve seen her as you waited for a friend in a cafe. The waiter opens the doors and in come legs and then her. Suddenly the scones aren’t sweet enough to hold you, and instead you consume the light on her cheeks in ripened peach, with a silvery sheen for desert.

Pausing for another bite, you realise the woman’s legs must be on rent from Heidi Klum, while she’s vacationing in some sea-side resort in Provence with a name too hard to pronounce.

Her handbag is all blue squares. You can almost taste on your tongue the letters: D-I-O-R

( good thing there is no more scones… )

Tiered layers of white frill hover above her heels.  A small act of genius. Who needs to eat the cake when you can look like one?

You can’t deny she is dazzling, in fact to deny this woman anything would be a small mis-adventure for womanhood.

Note: if you are reading this with squinty eyes, then I am guessing her name is already afloat in your mind ( P-E-N-N-Y ) But enough about her—I think you get the picture I’m  painting ( excluding the food ). All the magazines will tell you she’s you—if you want it to be!

Just buy the new collab of Tommy Hilfiger x Gigi Hadid or invest in fishnet stockings with your heels, or dive into the new season with Sienna Miller’s shade of blonde!

Spend, and you will be one step closer to ‘her’.

Upon indulging in a Elle magazine last night, I flipped my way to the celebrity feature article. And after reading it, felt disappointed that not only had I bought it but that I felt like I had uncovered Instagram, if she had a voice. Bravo Elle! 

Meanwhile, I wondered if I was the only reader who also felt the uninvited dampening of a social media bath soaking them in a fresh scent of disappointment and failure. My two new friends, I had the pleasure of being accompanied into bed with.

Thinking about it the next day, I realised my discomfort came from the language of the journalist—too adoring. Too excited. After reading the first page, I forgot the Australian actress was made of flesh and blood and well, the same chemicals of my own body.

The article began with the typical format, her achievements to make sure the reader care enough to read on. The journalist then transitioned into questioning mode with the emphatic statement:

” You’re such a great mother ” full-stop, then onto the question.

My response: question-mark, what?

My personal debates sounding something like this: How could this reporter know something so incredibly personal without even meeting her before? ** Cue snort of dissatisfaction.

I read on, beginning to feel like a milkshake with the liquid slowly climbing to the top and no lid to be seen.


My first point was then confirmed with her next question:

” Do you like to clean? ”

Insert everyone’s response here: The woman is an actress so why build her up only to drop her into the domestic pile of laundry?

I stopped reading after the actress replied with “toilet-brush”.

On the positive end of the stupid spectrum, this article fed me some food for thought on this question: when people spend their work lives in our gaze, on screen, is it morally right to expect them to keep up the act off-screen? Their social media and relationships all on show for our entertainment. Social media today means that the average person’s spare time includes privately investigating what the stars and high-fliers are doing with their spare time. We’re all too hungry for news/gossip that doesn’t belong to us. Just to get a glimpse at the sparklier version of ‘her’ or even to highlight our own.

No wonder it is now a need for celebrities to hire promotional teams, in order to highlight and contour their human imperfections.  It was an exhaustive business and one that we all eagerly fed.

Having recently joined Instagram myself, I wondered whether the small print on social media should sound something like this: just because Instagram can’t leave you, doesn’t mean it’s your friend.

However, the truth about women, I am more clear on. I think we all hoped to be that woman who glides through life. The Daisy Buchananon of the 2000’s, who has every aspect of life topped up like a fully-charged opal card. But in reality I think we all are quite content being us than her.

Although it’s not a widely celebrated truth online, there’s so much beauty in admitting our flaws. In owning them. In accepting the wonder of our own particular (im)perfection.

I know one day my clothing can all clash in an eye-poppin visual-cocaine kind of way and the next day I can trip my way through it.

Life is not a Instagram feed; it’s stuck in a LIVE, free-to-air mode.


Magazine Question: ‘What Kind of Woman Are You?’ 

Answer: The woman who doesn’t buy your magazines again. 

*****And Carrie, because what woman doesn’t like shoes, words and men that walk away first.

** Drops mike.




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