Friday, 2 May 2014

The day I stopped following Rihanna on Instagram

photo via Vogue Brasil

Right. Correct me if i'm wrong. Are we all a bit fed up with Rihanna? I have recently stopped following her on Instagram. It was too much to handle! But let's rewind to the beginning of our relationship.

I mean, there are millions of followers. 12 millions to be exact. I'm sure to Rihanna our relationship was not anything special. It all started with me saying that men must be crazy to consider her beautiful. Then I repeatedly made remarks on her lack of talent. I despised her songs until recently. Still not a great fan of her music but I get slightly emotional when the piano kicks in at the beginning of 'Stay' (no Jared Leto, you didn't manage to ruin it for me completely but you were close!). 

She started appearing well dressed in magazines and on gossip websites. Changed her style completely and more to my personal liking. Not that she cares about my personal liking but she was a pleasure to look at with a fit body and great fashion coving it. 

As a Radio 1 breakfast show listener I could not help but be influenced by Nick Grimshaw's Riri obsession. He commented on her fabulous Insta-life on a daily basis. We live in a world where we love stalking people and with social media it couldn't be easier as well as guilt-free. So I started stalking Rihanna. Just casually. Not obsessively. And yes, I was mesmerised by the colourful cocktails and bikini choices. I even used to say that if I had a body like Riri, I would wear nothing but bikinis as well. My employer wouldn't be impressed. Clearly. 

Our happily ever after lasted for a couple of months. I was disgusted by the 'Pour it up' video but treated it as a minor set back and carried on admiring those beautifully toned thighs. And then it hit me. I know Rihanna's boobs better than my own. And I do spend a lot of time in front of the mirror desperately looking for progress in my leaning down process. That was the painful moment when I clicked 'unfollow' and that was my very own tiny manifestation. I'm not a prude. My neighbours can confirm as they normally find me getting changed with the blinds open and sunbathing topless in my garden (on my front, I'm not a flasher). But dear Rihanna, keep your private bits for your private friends. We're not them. We are just a bunch of saddos California wishing they lived like you. How about you go back to singing? In the end of the day, you're not too bad at it! 

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