Enouffe has a friend on Instagram,
Her name is Tiffany.
She wished for less ghost followers and more fans,
She markets herself, quite literally.
She complains, “940,000 followers and only 10,000 likes per day,
If I do a little more maybe I could get certified and seal that deal with Mary Kay”.
She is beautiful, this Tiffany, with a voice raspy and deep,
She’ll crisply admit she bought her body and nothing on her is cheap.
Her lifestyle is a ritual of wake up, protein shake-up, tummy tea, gym, and then makeup,
Accessories, spa sessions, get nails, lashes done, and no repetition of clothes on.
In her photos Enouffe observes her hourglass figure in sponsored designs with hair long and brunette,
Bare legs, back arched to highlight her buttocks and breasts over the horizon of her bra like scenes of sunset.
Her skin and makeup in photoshoots are flawless works of art,
In person though, if your eyes scroll slow, you’ll see regular-human marks:
Stretch marks, cellulite, acne, spots and dark circles under eyes.
Enouffe wonders if her following would note these with surprise.
An audience chained to unreality, to drool, degrade or praise.
The men who comment incessantly engaging in the gaze.
Tiffany picks her boyfriend from the inboxes that seem like lottery roll machines,
The lucky winner is usually well-off, well connected and thus gets to claim the perfect prize on his screen.
Her friends witness the frequent breakups where the man leaves her for another glamorous muse,
And Tiffany mourns internally while she posts about new shoes.
Enouffe figures that ‘doing it for the gram’ means a certain kind of identity-disservice,
Because the views never look beyond what you show them on the surface.
Enouffe always reminds herself that “Enouffe you are enough”
But she feels outmoded and inadequate…
Since she’s only able to present an unpolished, honest (and thus plain) reality
Not like Tiffany and Co. who flock towards an acquisitive double-tap fantasy.