I want to tell you a story as old as the internet itself. I’m about to tell you a story about the “guy“. We ALL know this guy. He’s in a relationship with a gal who has an active social media life. Her followers could range from 5 to 500k, it doesn’t matter, the outcomes still the same.
Early on it greatttt, he’s showing his friends her pictures, lapping up the attention he’s getting for being lucky enough to call this beautiful girl his. The bikini pics showing some booty, the champagne glass clinking boomerangs with friends on her ‘girls nights’ and the yoga pants clade gym selfies. They’re all awesome.
Thennnn something changes… It’s difficult to trace the origin of this change, it can be as subtle as a poorly worded photo caption or an overly enthusiastic comment from one of her old ‘friends’ you know, the one you don’t need to worry about. The ones who’s like a brother now. Fuck it can be as innocuous as not tagging him in a meme he thought she might have. Three things are inevitable in life. Death, taxes and the change.
Closely trailing this whimsical little stage in the relationship is what I like to call the “Hyper-analytical stage”. Like the name suggests, each post, tweet, tag and bio change is painstakingly gone over with a fine-tooth comb. Usually the guy in question heavily favours his analysis with a large dollop of his own insecurities. This is quite often when ‘the guy’ unholsters what he believes is the weapon to get them closer towards social media bliss. I speak of course about his pistol full of loaded questions and like an old west gun slinger shooting from the hip, he is unforgiving and frequently off target with his ammo.
Do you really think you should be posting that? Why would you reply to that, they’re clearly creeping on you? Can I see your DM’s?
The way I see it, girls in this scenario have two options, a fork in the road if you will. Cave to his ridiculous idea of what is now suitable for her social media accounts (potentially setting a precedent for their whole relationship together until she dies a shell of her former self in a pit of her own dissatisfaction and contempt) or instruct him to mind his own fucking business and kick him to the curb. This is how I’ve seen it play out anyway…
We all know this guy. Hell I’ve been this guy and I’m sure you’ve dipped your toes in the water as well. Thankfully I’m here to offer a third solution, a third prong to the fork.
My name is Kane and I’m The Insta Hubby…
More to come.