The other night, my best friend and hubby-in-law, one of the most in-sync couples I know, had an argument. The reason? He had ‘liked’ some random girl’s selfie on Instagram – mouth open wide, staring into the mirror with an expression of blank stupidity on her face – bref, the usual Instafuckme pic, just like the million others sweeping the Internet like some fast-spreading digital plague.
While I normally mock unreasonable jealousy, deeming it is a completely fruitless pursuit, this one hit a spot. To start, I would hardly call it jealousy – nobody actually thinks that their boyfriend/husband is going to run away with some girl who stacks her breasts on a selfie stick as a hobby. Rather, it is the idea of men virally following these girls – quite literally, like a bunch of dogs following a foul smell – that is unnerving.
This wasn’t the first time I had heard of this. During a trip to Russia a few months back, my childhood best friend complained about her husband’s questionable Instagram activity. Going through his phone, we discovered that 100 of his 200 followees were indeed Instasluts: gym selfies, car selfies, mirror in the mirror of a mirror selfies – how many reflective surfaces can these girls find? Please keep in mind that his wife is gorgeous and works very hard on retaining the same physique she had in high school when they met, after having two children. Granted, I did her a favor and unfollowed them all.
In the past few years, it appears that the number of professional Instasluts has spun out of proportion, their million+ followings driven by men who are often in committed relationships. I understand that men are visual creatures and this is technically just eye candy, a harmless distraction from the mundane, similar to Sports Illustrated or soft porn. Perhaps, it’s the continuity and accessibility of it that bothers me so much: while porn is time-sensitive pastime designated for a specific purpose, Instasluts provide men the opportunity to ogle tits and ass on every single crosslight, bathroom stall, business meeting, and kid’s dance recital. And something about that simply feels wrong.
Thoughts? Am I being crazy, bitter, jealous that my waist-to-hip ratio will never resemble a 4th grade math equation and my mirror selfie will never garner 7,142,388 likes? I think I might be. But do I also have a point?
Let’s talk about this!