The average Instagram feed rolls like Vogue meets a friggin’ rap video meets Martha Stewart. Everything looks so f**king fabulous.
Ladies’ faces never have moustaches, broken capillaries or croissant crumbs on them. Legs don’t feature varicose veins so thick you could use them as a ski rope, nor do they sport beards that could rival a Clydesdale’s.
Arses (clearly on display with 80 per cent of bikini material happily marooned in bum cracks) never have pimples on them. Nope, those things are smooth, pert and peachy – the sort of bottom that could receive a little smack and not even wobble. Mine has been shaking like a Chihuahua from a spanking I received in 1997 for f**k’s sake.
And the food. Good lord, the food.
The other day I was innocently scrolling when my eyeballs were accosted by a pancake with tiny ornamental flowers on it. My garden doesn’t even have any bloody flowers and this Instagram yahoo is adorning pancakes with them?!
And don’t get me started on the smoothie bowls that are more colourful than a urine specimen obtained after a Contiki tour and require a fine arts degree to con-struct. Those lines of rare fruits are so straight they could be used to test Pythagorus’ theorem. Christ on a bike, I haven’t seen such commitment to line formation since my 2009 trip around South America.
These things might be pretty to look at but are they giving us unrealistic expectations? F**king oath they are!
These perfect meals that require four hours of piss-farting around aren’t realistic for day-to-day life. We don’t have the f**ks to spare for that.
For most, reality isn’t spotless homes, flawless skin or outfits that would require you to remortgage your home/start pimping out your anus for cash-money. For many of us, reality is paper towel as napkins, slap-up dinners and trackies.
Those perfectly curated images are not from the real world, and the problem with them is they can make you feel like a knob in comparison. Just like at Chrissie when you’re faced with countless photos showing that ‘perfect’ Christmas Day and you’re left wondering if you’re the only one with photos of adult tantrums. Or of a preschooler sulking because Nanna f**ked up and got the wrong train.