The Flack Files, Vol. 13: Dear Model-Turned-Designer…

by The Daily Front Row

Your favorite flack loves a good hyphenate—as long as she’s paying the bills!

Dearest Instagram model cum designer,

Really sorry to interrupt your photo spree of flat lays with your #ootd, but we need to talk. First, let’s get one thing straight—you calling yourself a model is a stretch. A beautiful Instagram influencer is a far, far different thing than a real, honest-to-god Karlie Kloss. But you’re making a career out of it, so kudos! You’ve now parlayed your ability to pair a faded pastel sweatshirt with some worn-in jeans into a design empire, and next thing we know, you’ll be in a nationwide beauty commercial documenting your front-row life, all with your expert take on the right way to book a blowout. I’m not saying you aren’t gorgeous; you are. But I, too, would look a hell of a lot better if I had finagled free haircuts every week from my best gay at Sally H. and didn’t have a day job that kept me off the pole. I mean barre.

Our differences extend past the point of me sitting here writing a snarky column about you while I eat broken rice cakes dipped in sour cream with a glass of 3-day old vino. They extend to the fact that I am now forced to represent you and your fashion empire because my boss has a girl crush on you. That means today I had to pitch your “perfect for Spring” transition bomber jacket that is just an H&M base with a bow slapped on the breast. GENIUS. I will also have to humor your request to grow your Instagram fanbase by 80% in 2 weeks, because you think having a publicist means you have a magician in your back pocket. I love that you couldn’t compute your acquisition rate, but felt assured that “based on your ROI” you knew your request was totally legitimate. P.S. ROI has nothing to do with this. I suggest a business course or two when you’re in between nail art appointments. My crackpot plan is to purchase those followers for you for the bargain price of $10. Engagement: tanked!

Anywho, I’ll let you go—I know you have to go find the pluck the perfect peony to casually accent the latest shade of mass-market blush (#ad) that you’ve perfectly propped on your reclaimed wood table . Until then, stay #blessed.

Forever furious,
Your Flack

 

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