Instagram is tricky. Socially, you can only post so many pictures a day, you can only hashtag so many things, and you can only slap on so many filters. You follow people until they follow you back, and then you unfollow them so that you can keep your numbers down. If you don’t have at least five likes in the first minute, delete that shit and delete it NOW.
Yeah, it’s a bitch.
But for the most part, we sort of know how to Instagram. As attractive (just being honest) women, it’s pretty easy to get attention. People follow us, people like us, and we tend to rake in the double taps. I had honestly thought that we knew what we were doing. Then I followed Caroline Calloway, and I officially gave up.
I kid you not, her account is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And I don’t just mean the photographs.
Her Instagram is a fairytale. Or it would be, if a fairytale consisted of drinking wine, flirting with boys, and studying in Europe. Every picture she posts is accompanied by the next chapter of her life. But not in the “look I’m on a date function, look I got a cat, look I just graduated” way. She has literally turned her life into a story. It’s an adventure and a romance and it just screams “Sex in the City” in the way we always hoped our lives would. I’m not kidding when I say that she has literally won at Instagram.
I was interested in absolutely everything about Oscar. Just looking at his face was interesting. The way Oscar sat on grass: interesting. How he blinked in sunlight: interesting; boyfriend-material. If you’ve forgotten what it feels like to have a crush, let me remind you. It feels like you fucking invented crushes. Having a crush on someone while you’re still in love with your ex, though, is harder to explain. It feels like winning a contest you didn’t enter. Or finding money on the ground and keeping it. As Oscar and I sat on the banks of the River Cam drinking champagne in grass, I realized that being interested in Oscar was the only part of my life in Cambridge that already felt natural, convenient, high-stakes but in the fun way. Even when conversation lulled and I filled the silence with the kind of pre-prepared stories college kids use to explain themselves, I discovered that Oscar, unlike me, could talk about his life without making it sound like bullet points. Me? Born in Virginia, studied in Italy, attended Phillips Exeter Academy. Gap yah. Then New York. Oscar, however, went to a boarding school where once a year the teachers sawed a hole in the frozen lake and threw in all the freshman. Sipping champagne from the bottle, Oscar told me about the shock of Arctic water and the terror of slapping in slow-mo at the underside of the ice. He was from the Swedish countryside and the week before he left for Cambridge his little sister had bought him ice cream with her own money. He showed me the photo on Instagram (similar dimples, pigtails). I nodded. When I asked a stranger to take a photo of us, I realized only when he didn’t that I had expected Oscar to put his arm around my waist. “You blinked,” I said when I saw the photo. “Well,” he said grinning sheepishly, “Perhaps you make me somewhat nervous, Miss Calloway.” To say that I still loved Josh is not wrong, but to say that I wanted to quit loving him is more right. To Be Continued… #adventuregrams PS – If you like my posts on Instagram let’s be Facebook friends! Link is in my bio and recent posts include a sassy interview and day-drinking in a rare books library. Fact.
I KNOW. But it’s not just this one picture. Literally all of them are like this. They’re funny and thought provoking, and so damn good that they make you want to hate her – but you can’t, because she’s perfect. I would say she can sit with us, but let’s be real, she’s the one who has to do the inviting. Excuse me while I try to become her..