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Why do I love the things that are bad for me?

Chocolate cake.
Men with emotional issues that they won’t face up to.
Cheap champagne.
Dipping all my food into peanut butter.
Instagram.

Now, I love Instagram so much that I’m reluctant to admit it may be damaging me, which may be a recurring theme in my relationships… Like a toxic lover it captivates me; it feeds me; I crave it; I adore it; I love it. Yet sometimes it leaves me leaving worthless, sad, fat and ugly… (and poor! Mostly just poor tbh).

Perhaps it isn’t the lover who does this to me, but my own raging jealousy that I attempt to fight off every day with an arsenal of self-love slogans and memories of those couple of times I did something kinda great or looked pretty bangin’. Either way – Instagram is BAD NEWS. For me and my bank account. Here are some of the inane things I have decided I need to make my life a success thanks to the pathetic-aesthetic universe of IG:

WHITE hair. Not light blonde, not grey… it’s gotta be white. I almost lost my mind last week and bleached it myself with a £10 set from Boots. Now, considering I can’t even put my hair in a messy fucking bun, just imagine the damage I could have done. *shudder*
A tan. To really set off the hair, make me look more toned AND make my tattoos look cuter. Black on white, pasty skin can look a little harsh… black on a golden-toned, glowing body = sexy af.
Abs and crop tops. Crop tops have been around for a while now and sadly (so very sadly) do not seem to be disappearing any time soon. Time to loose a few lbs and show a little skin! (IRL though I’m fully aware that this will never happen).
A white house. With ALL the windows, a perfect kitchen and perfect light for ALL the photos, any time of day.
Perfect dishes to go in the perfect kitchen where I will take snaps of my perfectly prepared meals and smoothie bowls! (Again, not a chance – except for maybe a perfectly prepared bowl of super noodles).
Bralets, bralets, bralets. In every kind of lace, in every kind of style, in black, white and grey… Bras are out. £70 bralets are in, in, in!
Selfies in which I have perfectly highlighted skin and somehow manage to not look at all vain. (How do they do it?!)
Unbelievably and unnecessarily stylish gym clothes. I don’t know where they come from and I don’t know how people can afford them, but they exist. And I now need them in order to have a successful workout.
Flexibility. If I can’t do complicated yoga poses on a beach, in my new gym gear, on an eco-friendly yoga mat, while somebody takes photos of me, then am I even living? (Who takes the photos of these girls every day? WHO?!)
Chic city breaks with my best gal friends where we stay in the fanciest hotels and snap pics of each other lounging about in dressing gowns eating macarons or just gazing out romantically from the balcony, as you do.
Sam Edelman over the knee boots. Because the rest of the world can seemingly afford them.
Extremely hard to come by skin care in minimalist, super-stylish packaging.
A shit-load of £45 candles. Equally hard to come by, equally minimalist.
A very good camera!! To take flat lays of the candles, cosmetics, bralets and piles of jewellery I’ve somehow accumulated despite spending all my money on the above.
A bubble butt. Proportionate bodies are OUT.
Massive lips painted with PRO make-up skills, in the most unnatural colours, preferably from NYX cosmetics.
Bunches of white roses, or other fresh flowers, every day. Must be white, to match the house.
An addiction to coffee. (I’m not a fan tbh, it just makes me need to poo).
A pet in colours that match my house and accessories.
Sunglasses and a top knot. Every outfit is 10 times cooler with sunglasses and a top knot.
A high flying career that somehow leaves me time to workout every day, prepare perfect, clean meals, go out for cocktails, go jet-setting with friends, chill at home with candles and coffee AND take photos of everything to post on insta.