They’re flown around the world by designers and can charge thousands for an Instagram post, but WHY? The Spoof's lifestyle editor Plagny Toxique investigates how today's fashion bloggers and Instagram starlets make it work.
It’s brunch time at The Dorchester, and I’m feeling a little uncomfortable thinking that by meeting here, I am endorsing the Sultan of Brunei's new Sharia law, but sitting with me are "influencers" Constance Lingus (known to close friends as "Connie") and Nathan Gunn. Between them, they claim to have amassed 6.5 billion Instagram followers and rising. Curled up on a plush teal velvet-upholstered chair, Connie is wearing Langoustine stilettos paired with Gucci ankle socks and Armani jeans while we have frothy lattes and poached eggs and smashed avocado on toast before us. Nathan has gone for a retro gangsta seventies look of fedora and white ermine fur coat with platform boots. In keeping with the era at which he is aiming, he is sipping a pina colada though a straw.
I ask them how they do it, making all this money from what is essentially a frivolous exercise.
“I know like what works and what doesn’t,” says Connie. “I know that if I, like, want 8,000 likes on an Instagram post, then I, like, need to be wearing jeans and, like, a T-shirt with Converse. In general, people like simplicity, like. They’re like looking for reality, because that’s something they can like emulate and buy into. Like, that’s how bloggers took off.”
Not quite sure how many "likes" that would register on the Instagram feed, I tried to communicate with Nathan but he was scrolling through his phone, snorting occasionally, and exclaiming "I wouldn't wear that if you paid me. No, man, that's not true, unless you paid me". He sniggers.
I am interested in their view of the world and current affairs, so I ask their views on Brexit.
"Man, I've never worn Brexit" says Nathan "Is it American? Italian?"
I try again:
"What do you think George Clooney would think about us meeting here after the Sultan of Brunei threatened stoning to death gays and punishing lesbians with lashes?"
Both of them give me blank looks before Connie speaks again:
"I know George, but like who is this sultan guy? Does he, like, have an Instagram feed?"
I take a deep breath, stand up and, before leaving I politely say:
"You pair of fucking airheads. I can't be bothered with you and your vacuous, worthless existence."