Mirror mirror on my wall, look at who I follow to see through it all.
While the U.S. Congress and hashtag-trolls bitch about the all-powerful-yucky-Zucky, ya’ll forget that the devil is in the details you give. You want privacy ay? You want to remain the mystery woman of the night? Boys wanna keep their Tristan Thompson game? Well wee’z about to get real-as-phuck right now. Leave Zuckerberg alone, dis shit is on you.
Having an instagram is like having a home address, it’s a place where you live, and a place that you decorate and constantly reinvent yourself. It’s a place where you discover fetishes you never knew you had, like butt girls, oozing fudge brownies, fuzzy pups, before and after hungry hoes… whatever you look for, there’s a destination for you to travel to on IG. It’s a space to invite your friends and watch not-real-story reality selfie shows. It’s your best fake friend that you share every moment with. Giving your instagram ‘screenname’ (yeah, I’m old school like dat) to someone you just swiped right on is so so very much more than giving your digits. When someone asks for your IG, they are inquiring in the same way of some crystal loving unemployed Venice dweller who asks what your sun sign is. Your instagram can make or break someone’s opinion of you, it can make you undateable, unemployable, and unreal. Keep Reading