Let’s gossip about love and insta!

I am well aware that with the following lines I am peeing on one or the other “we” on the leg, no, on the legs. But I have to. Because my anger is real and my questions are real.

I’ll get to that in a minute: I recently met Lara while doing yoga. Lara and I are love at first sight. After the third lesson, before and after a long chat, we go for a beer.

As we sit there at the counter telling each other about our lives, she pulls out her cellphone and takes 1758 selfies of us. Then she works with many filters, crops the best photo and asks if she can post it.

I am not an Instagram person. I’m not a Twitter, TikTok, Facebook, or Guess-the-Gugger-knows-what-others person.

Can she tag me? Yes Yes. Must she.

We keep talking. But Lara is constantly checking whether and how many likes, and especially from whom, she has already received for our photo.

After we say goodbye, I get on the bus and do what I do when I’m on Instagram: I stalk profiles. Lara is at the moment. Well, no, it’s Lara and Stefano’s account. I’m not entirely sure if it’s officially a Pärli account, but here’s loads of pictures of the two of them.

We see Lara and Stefano on the beach, at the Christmas market, on a city trip, in the mountains, at home in front of the Swedish stove, on a Sunday walk by the lake, at a dinner party, fooling around with a dog and there are many more photos of Stefano Lara hitchhiking.

I don’t know why you do that. Why show your love. Why you should force your love life on everyone in an almost passive-aggressive way. Also, I wonder why you want the boss, the janitor, the neighbor, the ex, you name it, to see all those pictures.

The account is public. So the more you see of this life, the better.

Why?

But it’s not just the pictures that annoy me, there’s more that isn’t mine at all: massive declarations of love. “You are my everything” is the most innocent thing there is. Entire collections of poems are written there. Soulmate, heart person, best man ever, my love, my life, my blablabla.

Last Valentine’s Day he gave her a living room full of heart balloons, a necklace with a heart pendant with his picture on it. And Lara: “Oh gosh, how much I love you, best man ever.”

I wonder: is English deeper than German?

And then I wonder, am I an asshole for finding all this oberpeino? Because I judge it? Because I even take it a step further and wonder if I’m jealous?

Sandro isn’t even on Instagram. And there are only three photos on my account. The one that shows me as an eight-year-old in my mother’s Pippi outfit, which I made myself. The second photo is my kitchen as a battlefield, when first a jar of honey fell to the floor and shortly after that the bowl of flour.

The third picture is of my Velochörbli after the bike had been parked on Langstrasse overnight. It contained beer cans (half full), tissues, a (used?) condom and some brochures.

Done Instagram.

And also a bit fed up with my newly budding love for Lara.

I show Sandro Lara and Stefano’s account. He takes a look, tells me not to date a couple, and then snatches the phone from my hand. He ends up on Beatrice Egli’s profile. He makes no secret of the fact that he really likes the good girl (and her breasts).

I have to laugh.

This is us. We and Instagram. A threesome with bass.

In the affect I take a selfie of us. And in the same affect, I actually posted the result on Instagram. Without saying profoundly. Without hashtags. Without ulterior motives.

Shortly afterwards a message on WhatsApp. Sandro’s sister wants to know if “Are you OK?” is. Cleo sends a question mark. And Sandro’s buddy “WTF”.

Meanwhile comes the first Like, well, who do you think?

Spoilers: it’s not from Papa Bruno. Although this one is on Instagram.

I find myself checking likes every ten minutes. And I’m a little offended that these aren’t in the single digits. I will delete the message after two hours. The selfie is now on my bulletin board in the kitchen. It makes the person who is supposed to make happy happy: me. And Sandra. Well no, he has no eye for wall decorations. Some. Well done.

Back in yoga, Lara now wants to take some pictures on the mat while we do couple exercises. Especially for this she took Stefano with her. Nota bene, who hates yoga.

I’m sticking with it. I don’t care about this love-on-Insta flaunt.

Her?

(#nobadfeelings)