DIARY ENTRY .02

I’m alone in my studio apartment, mummified in my sheets with one leg falling asleep under me. I’ve been glued to my phone since I walked through the door three hours ago. I’ve scrolled so much with no memory of what I even looked at—just that it involved a lot of other people’s lives, other people’s bodies, other people’s everything.

It’s officially tomorrow and I’m still wearing the same dress I put on this morning—form fitting, now slightly stretched at the knees from sitting too long. I meant to change. I meant to wash my face and brush my teeth and take a bath and clean my room. I meant to journal and read a few chapters of my book. Instead, I got caught in the current.

Social media is a strange, hungry thing. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but somehow I ended up deep in a vortex of gorgeous people and outfits and morning routines. Girls eating oatmeal in linen robes. Girls who seem to have cracked some secret code to being relevant. I know better than to compare. I still do.

Lately, I’ve had a big appetite: for food, for fun, for something grounding. Even when I try to be “healthy” I eat every last thing on the plate. I’m not ashamed of that. Just aware. Sometimes I catch myself picking  at my body with my thoughts like it’s a project. Then I remember I’m a person, not a project. That helps a little.

This afternoon, I had a shoot with Buci, one of my favorite brands, all romantic shapes and soft silky dresses that make you feel like a slightly chicer version of yourself. We shot on the Upper West Side. I wore a pink halter crop top and matching skirt, and for a few moments I felt really pretty—like I belonged in the city in a way that didn’t feel forced.

Then, mid shoot, a man appeared with a giant camera and started taking unsolicited photos of me. He didn’t ask, just clicked away. He showed me one of the shots and said something complimentary, but I didn’t like how I looked in it. I asked him to delete them. He didn’t. Instead, he ran off like some rogue paparazzi who’d mistaken me for someone more famous.

My posts haven’t been doing well lately. like, at all. Every time I open TikTok, my views are lower. My follower count drops. It’s silly how much it affects me, but I guess when your job is to be consumed, consumption becomes the metric. I try not to take it personally, but sometimes it feels personal anyway. Like the algorithm knows I’ve been doubting myself lately.

I know this is part of the game. The rise, the fall, the blah blah blah. I’ve had good stretches. Maybe I’m due for a slow one. Maybe it’s a chance to recalibrate who I’m posting for. Maybe I’ve been posting for the wrong reasons. The wrong people.

I’ve been staring at a screen so long today my eyes hurt. I’m scared to check my screen time. I don’t want to know how much of today I gave away. I want to feel more present. I want to create more than I consume. I want to remember that being online isn’t the same as being alive.

Anyway, I’m headed to the Hamptons tomorrow. I’m looking forward to the salt air, the breeze, the hydrangeas and sound of sprinklers at night. Just being somewhere that isn’t here. I’m happiest when I’m away.

xo Isabel