I Guess I Dun Pulled an Icarus. (Patreon)

This is the picture I was planning on posting. It had just been taken, the sun was bright in my eyes, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us. It was a heavenly day in a wonderful place, with an exquisite person. Nothing can take that away; the rest of this saga is pretty incidental in comparison.

Anyhoo. I opened the Instagram, and poof, it was gone.

I’m not a fame whore, or anything. I really don’t think of myself as one. If you would’ve asked me a few years ago if I ever thought I would have 140,000 effing followers on Instagram, I would’ve laughed in your face.

I know why they follow, don’t get me wrong. I’m no dummy. Natalia and Olga are the stars here, and I have become more content about the idea of playing second fiddle. But heck, man. Behind the tits, there is a sentient human being is kind of coming to terms with the idea that she’s technically an influencer.

Until, of course, you fly to close the sun.

I’m not sure of the picture that did it. I think it’s this one. The straw that broke the camel’s back:

Oldie, but a goodie, Not so bad, right? Though I’ve been informed that hand bra is a big no-no. I understand that there’s a line between dressing like a prostitute, and dressing like you’re some ankle-fearing puritan, but come on. It’s a couple-uh boobs.

In addition to some support, mainly from a lot of you saying that my stuff was actually not very lascivious, I’ve received some good advice… Appeal the living daylights out of it, send a letter to Instagram every day until they kick it back into place. And while I do, because it takes about a second, I’m really not too concerned.

In a rare fit of cleverness, I decided to start a beck-up account a couple of years ago. If you’re reading this, you’re probably already following it? @that_heather_beck, just in case.

Kind of came to the conclusion that this account harbored a whole bunch of my nearest-and-dearest, which is really all I care about in the first place. Bonus points to Twitter, too, for letting you be just a but more free as as that whole self-expression thing goes.

And of course, you guys. You throw some money into the hat, which I sincerely appreciate. Keeps it fun, keeps it loose, keeps it organic. I always say, if this whole “me-journaling“ thing ever starts to feel like a “job“, that’ll be when it starts to become double-plus un-fun, and it starts to crumble.

But still. You know? 140,000 followers on Instagram. If anything, I’m not gonna lie – it was a funky little notch in my belt. Right? Conversation starter, 37-year-old gal with internet boobies.

And, I actually made some pretty good friends with that type of venue. I’m not talking about advertisers, or bullshit. I hate that crap. But cool, honest people, and some of them women who aren’t too dissimilar. It was nice to cultivate a place where people could feel comfy and welcome in that little slice of life.

Although, that perceived 21st century street cred really goes to the girls. I guess THEY’RE the ones who had that gravity. Probably the reason the person attached to them got taken down, too. Ah, well.

I’m not gonna use this as a forum to launch into some tirade about how “Instagram is being negative of certain body types.” I mean, they are, but we all know that. I guess the free market will ultimately decide? Late-stage capitalism?

I’ll tell you what. I don’t really know where ya’ fall on the political spectrum, but I think we can all agree that there’s all sorts of ish that’s way more worth spending our emotional energy considering, rather than a couple of random nipples attached to giant fun bags. But, that’s just me.

And still! I do actually contest that this is… Kind of refreshing. If I have it up to me, I’d much prefer to have a small little club than a giant arena. Keeps it personal. As an old theater geek buddy once said, perform for five people the same way you would for 50,000. I like that.

Anyway, stay tuned. I’ve actually been branching out a little bit, and have been experimenting with things like makeup, exercise, lighting, and — gasp! — somebody else actually taking the pictures. Beats the hell out of reclusive ol’ me and my little tripod. So, plenty of that to come.

And hey, in the meantime… Take care. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been going out a bit lately, and I’ve noticed everybody’s just kind of… Tight. I think we’ve all got some PTSD that we’re not even going to consider for the next long while. Maybe it’s the shape of things to come? I hope not. But for real, if you’re reading this, do good, try to be as kind as you can, and remember that we’ve all been through a lot in our own ways. Don’t really know why I felt the need to say that, but there it is if you want it.

Be well, talk at ya’ soon. 😘