Image caption: “Her DMs are open.
(So is her spreadsheet of fools).
Let’s talk about the “hot girls” you’re following on Instagram/Facebook/Snap/Telegram/etc. You know the ones, lips like inflatable kayaks, waist snatched within an inch of its digital life, and captions like “A bit of cuteness for you xoxo 💋” next to a suspiciously pristine bed and a copy of “String Theory” that’s never been opened.
You follow. Of course you do. You’re human. Or close enough.
Suddenly you’re ten photos deep, full of admiration (and other things), convincing yourself she’s just “not like the other influencers.”
But here’s the thing you may not have factored in: “She” might be a bloke, or several blokes.
Or a room full of underpaid digital grifters in Nigeria, Serbia or a Bangkok basement, all logged into six iPhones, running “Sophie_Bby_98” and her five sultry sisters like a factory line.
Meet Darren. Or Gary. Or Rajiv.
He’s got your type nailed. Likes a brunette with a nose ring? Tick.
Caption reads: “Just thinking about you, babe 🖤”
Easy cut and paste that’s been tested for engagement.
You’re not special. That caption’s been served to 4,726 men since 9am and it’s not 9.03.
Behind that glowing ring light and pouty Boomerang, there’s a spreadsheet — and you’re on it.
Column D: Potential PayPig.
Column E: Asked for feet pics.
Column F: Reacts to every story with a flame emoji.
Red flags breakdown:
-
She’s got 237K followers and follows precisely 9 people
= You are not the chosen one. You are meat in the algorithm. (PS. Followers can be bought) -
Her stories are mostly her whispering in bad lighting with captions like “Can’t sleep, thinking of you 😘”
= She’s not thinking of you. She’s thinking of how to upsell you her “premium snaps.” -
Her bio says “No DMs unless serious 🔒💋” and then DMs you 4 minutes later asking you to join her OF. It’s only $3/month – I’ll make it worth your while…
= That’s not serendipity. That’s a virtual pickpocket with tits.
Still convinced she’s “just a bit lonely”?
Tell that to your bank account when you’ve dropped £50 for a picture of her toes (which, by the way, belong to someone entirely different).
Stock image sites are full of feet. They’re archived by skin tone and nail polish for a quick and easy DM.
And if you’re thinking “Well, at least she replies to me,” let’s revisit that:
You’re sexting someone called Geoff.
Geoff has a full beard and a crypto side hustle.
Geoff is sipping instant coffee and typing “U make me wet daddy 😘” while googling “how to set up 20 VPNs at once.”
You’re not her “favourite.”
You’re a revenue stream.
A walking direct debit with a libido, a password weak enough to guess and bad eyesight (spot the AI bot/head that just doesn’t seem to quite look genuine.)
So next time you find yourself furiously double-tapping a picture of “Kimmyxx” in Mykonos with a drink she never touched and a tan that came from an app, take a moment. Tap “Kimmyxx” into the search button and suddenly you’ll see
kimmy.xx, kimmyy.xx, kimmmy.xx. kimmmyy.xx, kimmy_xx, kimmy__xx…
Same pic, same link to her OF…
Ask yourself:
Am I in love with an online fantasy…
or am I being lightly finessed by a man named Clive in a scam hub just off the motorway in Skopje?
And then laugh.
Because, somehow, you’re turned on…
by another guy’s comment section.
