The Morning After the Wedding Before. Laura Ziepe
Emma pulled her phone out to get some videos of the pool party to upload to her Instagram. She knew she would be inundated with messages asking where she got her beautiful white bikini from (a freebie from a new swimwear company) or people asking for advice about Vegas and where to go. Posting on Instagram was addictive. Emma honestly couldn’t remember the last day she hadn’t posted something. She’d been ill the previous year and had felt guilty for not posting as much as usual after spending nearly a week holed up with tonsillitis. She had even created a video just to apologize to people who liked being updated with her new make-up routine or what new outfit she was wearing. People were actually messaging her and asking where she was, as if it was the end of the world that she hadn’t posted in a while. As though they needed their Emma fix. It was crazy, but it had become normal life for Emma. The amount of people wishing her well that week had been incredible. Emma felt like some kind of celebrity. She felt like someone valued, special and important. She couldn’t deny it boosted her ego and made her feel good in a way nothing else could. Watching as hundreds of people liked her photos, reading their lovely comments and receiving the private messages; many offers from various companies and brands wanting to send her freebies just so she advertised them in a post. Her numbers of followers just kept on rising and rising. The amount of likes she received continued to increase every week. Her business was growing at a rapid speed – Emma could hardly keep up. That’s when Charlie reminded her how lucky she was to have him to help; he often dealt with lots of the enquiries. He often told her what she was doing and when.
She wanted to get a quick video before she had to leave to look at the flowers. Emma put her camera in selfie mode and smiled, whilst waving her hand in time to the music. She then turned it round in the direction of the others who waved and cheered. Everyone apart from Charlie, who pretty much rolled his eyes and turned the opposite way. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to Emma.
‘Does it ever get exhausting always having to update your fans?’ Frankie asked, standing beside her with a grin as Emma tapped away on her phone adding the location of where they were to her video story.
‘Sometimes,’ Emma answered truthfully. She’d never really admitted that before. Charlie had recently been making snide comments, especially if she was posting something in which he wasn’t included. He was always fine accepting the free trips and gifts she got from companies that included him. If he was in the photo, he always seemed more than happy to pose. It just seemed that recently, he’d been putting Emma’s job down and making her feel as though she should be doing something normal like working in an office or cutting people’s hair. He made her feel as though she was vain for constantly taking photos. She constantly had to remind him that it had all been his idea in the first place. Emma had actually asked herself the same question on many occasions: did it make her narcissistic indulging in so many selfies, even though it was her job?
‘Certainly not a bad job though, is it?’ Frankie said encouragingly to reassure her he wasn’t putting it down. ‘I guess it’s just one you never really get a break from. Still, not your typical nine to five. I think it’s great. I know I’d happily be a blogger over working in finance,’ he admitted.
He was certainly right that Emma never really got a break from it. If she was really honest, there were some times where she felt like she wasn’t actually living these moments she was capturing on camera and showing the world. The trip to the Maldives was an example. She’d gone with Charlie for the New Year and every time she saw a beautiful setting, she just couldn’t help but think, this will make a great photo. Had she truly appreciated it or just admired it through a lens?
‘Why don’t we just go out as we are tonight?’ she remembered Charlie saying one evening. They’d been on a boat and for a swim in the sea. Emma looked like a drowned rat with her tangled wet hair and her face free of make-up. She was only wearing a cheap, plain kaftan too.
‘No,’ she recalled protesting, ‘I want a shower and to get ready. I want to wash my hair and freshen up.’
Had she really wanted to do that though? Or was it just because she wanted to take the stunning photo they got that evening of them in front of a sunset on the beach? Emma had wanted to look nice in the image so she could post it. There wasn’t any room for ‘normal’ on her Instagram feed. She wanted to keep up the pretence that she had the perfect, magical life and just so happened to always look amazing twenty-four hours a day. She and Charlie had argued that evening and she remembered going to bed without even saying goodnight. That certainly hadn’t made it onto her Instagram feed.
Then there were the horrible comments from the trolls. It was funny, the name ‘troll’, a term used for people who made nasty remarks anonymously from behind a computer screen, but it was a perfect really. When Emma thought of that word, she thought of a little green goblin kind of person, cowardice and ugly on the inside. Emma could never quite get her head around the fact that people could be so mean to someone they’d never even met. Someone they didn’t know. Luckily she didn’t get too many horrible comments, but just like anyone who had a lot of followers, it came hand in hand with the game.
You’ve airbrushed your photo. So pathetic, she clearly recalled someone writing once. (She hadn’t actually ‘airbrushed’ anything, didn’t have a clue how to Photoshop, but she couldn’t pretend she didn’t pick the most flattering filter and adjust the lighting and saturation of her images. But everyone did that, didn’t they?)
Your forehead is sooooo big another had said. (Emma was looking in the mirror at every chance she got that day and even measured it and Googled average forehead size. Hers was completely in range.)
You’re way too skinny. I preferred you when you were bigger. Time to stop the dieting now. She would never get over how people felt they could tell her what she should and shouldn’t be doing when it came to her weight. It was up to her, surely?
Not as pretty as you think.
Some comments stung. They really, really hurt and there were days when Emma felt like she’d had enough of it all. Couldn’t take another malicious remark. They got her down and made her feel rubbish about herself. Worthless and insecure. It didn’t matter how many nice and lovely comments she received, it was always the bad ones that stuck. It was always these ones that would whirl around her mind all day long and make her wonder if that person was actually right.
Emma was brought back to the present and turned to Frankie. ‘There’s pros and cons I guess. It’s not as easy as it seems sometimes. It takes over my life a bit.’
‘Still, you get free stuff as well as holidays though, don’t you? I know Charlie was chuffed when you both got sent all that sportswear recently. He was saying how he managed to convince the company to send him some too,’ he laughed. ‘Always manages to wrap people round his little finger, that one.’
Emma forced a laugh, but she felt a little rattled by the comment. She wasn’t aware that Charlie had persuaded the company to send him clothes too. He’d told her that they’d offered and she rarely checked her emails; she had always trusted everything that Charlie told her.
Frankie continued, oblivious to Emma’s troubled expression. ‘When people click your links and purchase the same outfits you wore, you get money for it, when essentially all you’ve had to do is post a photo. It’s pretty cool,’ Frankie reminded her. ‘And it’s far more interesting than a lot of people’s jobs.’
Emma nodded and smiled warmly at him. Frankie was always so upbeat and complimentary. They had always got on from the first day they’d met. Emma felt truly comfortable around Frankie as soon as they’d been introduced and could honestly say he was one of the nicest guys she knew. A great friend. He was a couple of years younger than Charlie, being twenty-eight, but he and Charlie were really close. She was pleased Frankie was going to be part of the ceremony; it