“Yes.”
“Is it run by a small business?” I’m distracted by the half-naked bodies thrusting and rolling on the screen and the strobe lights are giving me a headache. I glance through the industrial glass window to the rest of the office where employees are set up in a co-working space. A guy sitting at the corner in a beret bobs his head to the music. A woman with hot pink tips looks like she’s humming under her breath. Everyone is completely unperturbed by the three-woman rave happening in conference room two. “Does it have an interesting story?”
Maybe I’m missing something.
“You’ll be sponsored by Covergirl,” she tells me. The screen changes to a video I did about a month ago, a clip from one of my accounts of me holding up a bright orange tube of mascara, a gust of wind blowing my hair over my face. I think you see the actual product in use for less than a second. The tiny number in the lower right corner is highlighted. Over 4 million views. I wince.
I had agonized over this piece, iffy about such heavy-handed product placement. Most of my income comes from sponsorship, sure, but it lives on my blog in ad spaces. In a place where people expect it to be. But Sway had been insistent that it could be a strong experiment for more branded content and I was tired, distracted. I caved and posted a stupid video of myself promoting mascara.
And look at me now. A Covergirl sponsorship.
I should be overjoyed.
Why am I not overjoyed?
Because this isn’t where you’re supposed to be.
I shouldn’t be panicking about partnerships and promotions and music festivals. I’ve spent all of this time creating content and breaking off pieces of myself for public consumption and what do I have to show for it? An empty apartment and millions of strangers following my every move.
I’m so tired.
“I think I need to take a break.” The words slip from my mouth with a sigh, quiet but gaining strength as they settle in the space between the three of us. I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath. I lift my chin. “I’m going to take a break.”
Josie does a tiny fist pump on her side of the table.
“I’ll book you a spa package at your hotel in Okeechobee,” Kirstyn says. Something tells me Okeechobee is not known for their spas. “Oh! If you wanted to extend your trip and start in Miami, I bet we could snag you a couple of club sponsorships.”
I shake my head and nudge my teacup back to the ornate porcelain saucer. I absolutely do not want to go clubbing in Miami. “No, I mean I’m going to take a break. From all of … this.”
Kirstyn blinks up at me from behind her screen. I can see the dancing bodies from Okeechobee reflected in her oversized lenses. It’s disorienting, like something from Alice in Wonderland. She gapes at me, hands held perfectly still just overtop the keyboard. “Like a hiatus?”
“Sure.” That’s a fine word for it. I have plenty in my savings account to support a mini-vacation, bolstered by years of meticulous financial planning. An influencer’s income is hardly stable and I’ve always been afraid of the attention slipping away as quickly as it arrived. Social media is a fickle thing.
Maybe some time away is exactly what I need. Space to refocus, realign.
I turn and look over my shoulder through the big windows to the empanada shop below. I start gathering my things.
Some space to eat empanadas.
“But you’ll keep posting, right?” There’s a thin thread of unease in Kirstyn’s voice as she slides from her chair, trailing me to the open door. Josie waits for me at the entrance to the room, quiet pride in her big brown eyes. She’s been ready to leave since we got here. I’m not even sure she packed her laptop. She bounces on her feet, curly hair bouncing with her.
Kirstyn follows us, hanging onto the edge of the industrial glass window like she’s about to leap from a plane. “You won’t, like, go completely dark?”
I shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it yet.” But now that she’s mentioned it, completely ignoring my social media channels for a couple of weeks sounds amazing. I shrug on my jacket and curl my hands in the sleeves. “Do I have any sponsorship things I’m on contract for?”
She practically sprints back to the table, flipping through her pink notebook. “No,” her face falls in dismay. “No, nothing you’re obligated to post. But we’ve got some interest from Ray-Ban if you want—“
“That’s alright, thank you.” I try to smooth the edges of my quick refusal. “Listen, Kirstyn. I’m thankful for the work you did on this pitch, but I think it’s best if I take a step back right now. Go into planning mode for a couple of weeks.”
Her face blanches. “Weeks?”
I need to figure out what I’m doing, why everything suddenly feels like shrugging on a sweater that’s way too small. I keep waiting for this feeling to go away, but it’s not. It’s only getting worse.
“I’ll keep you updated, okay? Check in. Feel free to keep sending me options, but—” I glance at the screen, the strobe lights and the face paint. “—this doesn’t feel right. I’m looking for something different than this.”
Kirstyn nods. “We can do that. We can support something different. I’ll have options in your inbox tonight.”
I start backing my way to the elevator. Josie is already aggressively jamming the button with her thumb. “I won’t look at them tonight, so take your time. I’m serious about the break.”
She follows me like a baby lamb. Some of the people at the collection of tables in the center of the room are half-standing from their seats, watching our progress. There’s a woman at the front with blunt bangs, her teeth sawing her bottom lip. A man behind her in a short-sleeved button-down stands, his palm against his forehead. I feel like I’ve just flipped a table and drop-kicked one of their mothers. All of their faces are stricken, concerned. I give them a wave and what I hope is a reassuring smile. They stare blankly back.
“Always a pleasure, guys!” Josie waves over her shoulder, not bothering to turn from the elevator. The doors slide open and Kirstyn follows us, right to the edge of the sliding doors.
“Your followers would miss you,” she tells me as I slip into the tiny vestibule, green fern wallpaper wrapped floor to ceiling. There’s a gold framed mirror on the ceiling and white shag carpet on the floor. It is the most ridiculous elevator I have ever been in. “Everyone is going to wonder where you went.”
It’s not the incentive she thinks she is. If anything, it makes me want to drop my phone right down this elevator shaft. They’ll wonder, and then they’ll find someone new to follow. Another account. Another collection of reels and posts and … dances. The elevator doors begin to close. I give her a reassuring smile.
“We’ll talk soon.”