A busy night working the floors of a bustling Italian restaurant and I struck up conversation with a table of customers. I deemed them a likely crowd to pitch our Valentine’s competition to; where freebies were available for those willing to share their romantic mishaps on social media. One of the customers informed me she has 150k followers on Twitter – to which my ears pricked up and I was keen to absorb her networking skills.
The conversation went like this:
Me: ‘How do you get 150,000 Twitter followers?’
Customer: ‘Get your tits out.’
Me: *looks down at non-existent chest and acknowledges that it’s probably a lost cause.
In a society where a breast-feeding woman is apparently not permitted to be shown on a Facebook photo, I am confused by the boobs that shout “Hi there! Hello! Here I am, look at me!” in a photo being deserving of the praise from what will undoubtedly reach a quarter of a million online followers. Aside from the ‘when are boobs OK?’ debate, why does this kind of creativity wipe the floor with a lot of Musicians, Painters, Writers, Photographers etc. when it comes to online support? Many long-standing artists have a tenth of that online following.
I think that naked photos can be very beautiful, but if that was the source of the appreciation then the photographers would have equally impressive online-follower statistics. People are maybe just less interested in art than they are their crotch.
All credit to the achievement; I would love to have that much of a following and I wish I, quite literally, had the balls to do it.
I am taken back to the reality of my pregnancy chest – which at its greatest exceeded 40G (which, to those unfamiliar with boob measurements, is the size of Kanye West’s head…) and realise I have potentially walked passed a goldmine. The Tag-line ‘Hannah’s Baps’ could have fed nicely into my catering job and I would be free from the pain of the tax credits system (please see my earlier blog, ‘Friends with Benefits’, to feel this pain).
Perhaps there is a place at work for the introduction of a Hooters-style uniform? Perhaps I should start serving the food on the naked body of a local page 3 lovely? Or perhaps I should just acknowledge that there is room for success online for the flat-chested community. I certainly hope so – once labour was done and dusted, my hefty rack shrunk rapidly: from B-cup, to A-cup, to….egg-cup.
I just need to write harder, and stand up straighter. Come to think if it, there’s an abundance of chicken fillets out the back of the restaurant…
Having just recently set up social media platforms, I now see this as something of a social experiment: can I get to 150,000 Twitter followers, or do boobs beat creating writing…?
Do tits beat wit?
Should the term ‘working for tips’ become ‘working for tits’?
Or am I just making a tit out of myself…?
Either way, I remain several bra sizes away from the success of the loud-and-proud bap-sharing lady; though I strive not to let my determination become as deflated as my chest.