I am, without a doubt, the most basic person I know. It’s partly because I work damn hard to earn that title and partly because I truly do just enjoy the pinker things in life. Every fall I take a new plethora of pictures documenting pumpkin picking (which I don’t actually buy, because el oh el at ruining my riding boots in the mud), sipping PSLs and “candid” shots among the changing foliage. At this moment, my house has enough acrylic paint to rival a Michael’s. I dye my naturally blonde hair blonder. I hope you get the idea.
So a little over a year ago, while I was looking for a new job, my heart began to sing with joy when I read the wanted title “Social Media Specialist.” The idea of leaving college with not one but two jobs that were the embodiment of my soul left me weak. Hate if you want, but entering into the real world with the titles “Freelance Writer- Total Sorority Move” and “Social Media Specialist” was exactly what I needed to feel like a real life Elle Woods.
I gave an amazing interview, crushed my trial period, and began my training. I know what you’re thinking, how much training could your average social media whore, such as you or me, really need? Well, in reality, not that much. It was learning some programs that made scheduling posts across multiple platforms easier. I learned some programs that were able to search through the entire Twittersphere looking for keywords that weren’t hashtagged. One interesting thing I learned that everyone has an internet influencer rating. And that my rating was shockingly low.
After I had finished my training and earned my rank as professional Instagram addict. I was ready for my new, glamorous life. I didn’t want to set my expectations too high, but I was fully prepared to change my last name to Kardashian.
But, like, nah. Apparently this job is, like, a real job. Sure, I fucking love it. Not many people my age get to have nights and weekends off, sitting in a dope office. My boss is pretty cool (and hot) and he lets us drink every day and is okay with my dog coming with me every day. But I still somehow feel cheated. Instead of a a suite in Barbados, I got certified by Hootsuite. Instead of posting an #ootd, I get to write email campaigns explaining the benefits of vegan footwear- because yes that’s a thing and no I’m not even vegan.
Maybe it was the wakeup call I needed that I will *probably* never become internet famous or a socialite. There’s still that small chance, but still, probs not. To be honest though, this hurt more than finding out Santa isn’t real. I wasn’t ready for the cold dose of reality.
While I still have a résumé that looks great on the surface, it still feels like a sham. Instead of a background in social and marketing, I feel like I have a background in costumer service and dream crushing. Whatever, still better than retail..
Image via Shutterstock