My life has been invaded by out of this world, beautiful creatures. Flipping through my social media platforms I am bombarded by images of stunning girls living unreal lives; lives that I secretly (and sometimes quite openly) wish I could live.
Before I ventured into the now growing market of fashion blogging I was not only unaware of the adventures of strangers but possibly happier for it. I did not think that life could be a series of selfie-taking, beach vacationing, perfect lunch eating scenarios. More so, it never occurred to me that this is what some people called work. It seems too good to be true right? Probably because it is.
When you are watching from the sidelines, the life of a blogger is daunting to say the least, it was not until I started a blog of my own that I realized how much work goes into portraying oneself to represent this lifestyle. I would scroll through my feeds and see perfectly tanned bodies taking "candid" shots of themselves in professionally arranged bedrooms eating breakfast in bed wearing the latest $800 pajamas.
My self-worth would drop every time I compared their hashtag I woke up like this to my hashtag I woke up with my hair in knots, a giant zit that wasn't there yesterday, to an apartment full of laundry that needed to get folded. How do they do it? I would think. And how come I don't compare?
Most of us (blogger or not) do not get the privilege to fly to the most exotic corners of the world weekly. Most of us are lucky if we have an hour in the week to watch House Hunters International. What I had to realize (and quite quickly as my self-esteem was hanging in the balance) was that being a "pretty" blogger girl was a constructed image. An image created as a marketing ploy delivered for the purposes of representation of a brand. In this case the brand was myself and the message was quite simple; I am pretty too.
I'm honestly tired just thinking about what one has to do to continue to thrive as a blogger.
A regular free day which used to involve sleeping in, having coffee and catching up on some Netflix now involved waking up at dawn, downing two espressos and hitting my laptop, hard. I spend several hours of each day researching new fashion trends, applying for media coverage for events, and auditioning for brand representation.
When I am not pounding my nails (that have to be professionally manicured regularly) on the keyboard I am photographing products and outfit options. All of which include me piling on pounds of creams and makeup for that picture perfect face that I then have to retouch to a doll-like appearance. At the end of the day, my skin is dried out, my hair is teased to the texture of hay, and the bags under my eyes make it look like I am a heavy weight boxing champion and not a blogger.
So pretty girl? I don't think so. More like pretty overworked girl I would say. Looking at the blogs of the highest earning boys and girls in today's timeline, I become overwhelmed with the amount of work they must fit in a day. There is the constant travelling and missing home, non-stop photo taking, research, writing, social media posting; the list just keeps going. I'm honestly tired just thinking about what one has to do to continue to thrive as a blogger.
Technology is changing continuously and as one app gets exhausted, another one rears its head. Between Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Tumblr, and the rest of them to be a blogger you may as well duct tape your phone to your forehead and press record. Sure the top bloggers have teams that help them run their blogs but what about the rest of us that are doing this all alone? There is no marketing guru to post our tweets and no professional photographer to get the folds in our dresses just right. We have to rely on ourselves for every functioning part of our blogging careers.
The world of blogging is really not all it's portrayed as being. There are no glass slippers and pumpkin carriages, it is midnight at all times and we are scrambling to get home on time before the prince sees our rags. So no, I am not a pretty blogger girl, nor do I want to be one. I am just a girl playing dress up who at the end of the day much likes the person she is under the designer gear. More importantly, I know that no matter what the photos of me might represent, they are not real but I am.
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