After securing a free pair of sunglasses in exchange for an Instagram post and appearing in the STM social pages twice, Felicity knew she had reached the peak of Perth’s celebrity ladder.
Once the milk from the Perth fame cow had run dry she traded it in for a handful of magic dreams that would soon blossom into a mighty shit-stalk which she could continue to climb to the land of giant egos: Shitney.
Armed with a parental credit card she moved into a chic $1000 p/w Bondi pad with a new-age hipster dick-pull who could teach the crew from the Deadliest Catch a thing or two about getting crabs.
For the first few weeks, she lived off a diet of free coke, beach yoga and brunch items that make you want to put your fist through the menu. Not a cheap lifestyle and it soon became apparent that she would need a job.
She was struck with an epiphany while taking her 7th cocktail selfie at Icebergs: why is it called social climbing? When “social leeching” is a far more accurate term. She needed to find an established influencer and become a glorified P.A.
Unfortunately, the waiting list to be Roxy Jacenko’s paid parasite was too long, so she settled with a wellness blogger with over 200K Instagram followers and believed that the range of smoothies she was plugging could cure anything from a yeast infection to full-blown Ebola.
For a month she was living the high life, $200 p/w to buy soy lattes and monitor her social media pages for people calling her out on her wellness bullshit. It was the perfect job, for people that didn’t want to work.
Sadly, her dreams of becoming one of Sydney’s elite hit a snag when her influencer boss stumbled upon Felicity’s little side project: a fashion blog where she’d upload photos of herself wearing her bosses lingerie.
How fucking dare she. She was a Bonds range influencer at best, yet she was trying to flaunt the Honey Birdette pieces that her boss got for in exchange for trying to inflate some life into a Wolf of OX-flog street’s coke-riddled softy.
Felicity was banished to the retail world of a MAC cosmetics at one of Sydney’s many large shopping outlets. It soon became apparent that a 3-hour commute on crowded public transport while getting stared at by Western Sydney’s finest wasn’t her best life.
Before making the decision to move back to Perth, she pulls one final play in the useless-bish playbook: slide into the DMs of Sydney’s B-C list celebrities and athletes with the persistence of an Indian man with a fever for the bobs & vagene.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?