How to convince people that you’ve got your shit together

There’s a group of people who go by the names Mrs and Mr Bullshit. They want you to think that they’ve got their life sorted.

But don’t despair, they’re just like you but with a stronger social media stratagem. Here’s what to look out for to tell yourself you’re doing okay next time their Mulberry satchel knocks your folder out of your hand and into a puddle.

Bulking and Sulking

While you’re lying in bed, wondering whether that lecture is really compulsory, you read their tweet: “Off to the gym again with the bois pre-breakfast #neverskiplegday”.

What that tweet doesn’t show you is their tears of exhaustion as they drag themselves to the sweat box once a week cause – you know – they’re still going regularly really.

Gains o’clock

Avocadone

The strategically placed smoothie placed to the side of the birds-eye view of the avocado and poached egg bombards your Instagram feed. You sit there with your toast and never have you felt so below par. The truth of the matter is they probably did brunch once and took enough pics to last a lifetime. They’re eating Frosties as you click ‘like’.

Death behind each smile

The art of BS

You know that acquaintance you have, the one you sat next to in that tutorial who always seemed to be going to the library or returning from lunch at that organic magic fairy cafe? Did you ever comment on how well they had their shit together? Did they respond with: “no honestly I’m a mess, really!” They said ‘honestly’ and ‘really’, they’re over compensating. They cry themselves to sleep at night.

Babe, I am a mess (lol)

Verbal diaryhoea

“I’d love to but I might only be able to help for – like – five minutes, I’ll have to check my diary first. I’m just so busy at the moment! Give me a second.” You only asked to borrow a fucking pen. This person craves your validation. They need you to believe they’re swamped but really winning at life. The truth is that when that diary on their phone opens, they’re faced with a blank screen of shame and disappointment and no one has called them. 

I can fit you into my bullshit

Cactile

In case you ever forget how successful this person is, they’ve strategically placed plant life on their windowsill. Look, it’s not even wilting? Well, it is a bloody cactus. They require no watering beyond the tears people cry into them as they realise that their life is a sham.

Literally my only friends

Exhibitionist

That gallery has a new exhibition on how mermaids and weed helped to shape some new-age Russian painter’s work. You know this obscure fact because that person has instagrammed a photo of their sketchbook that they took with them and made sure to tag the location. They haven’t hash-tagged though, they want you to know that they are confident enough in their filter/whitagram game to ensure they get that all important 11th like.

LOOK AT MY CULTURE

I ain’t no phoney

You have their number. Occasionally you go for coffee (their order: tall skinny soya decaf latte hold the foam). Well that’s if they ever reply. You know their phone is always charged, they have one of those portable phone chargers with a geometric pattern from Urban Outfitters. They’re rubbish at replying because they want you to think they’re too busy living life. They’ve seen your message, but damn they’ve got to go to that play no one’s heard of. Truth is, the only other text they’ve received all day is from their mum. 

It’s a background, not a lock screen

NOTHING set in stone

It hits eight o’clock on a Friday evening and you haven’t bought a ticket to that event all your mates are off to. While they’re planning their outfits and doing their makeup, you’re furiously going through Facebook begging for a ticket from somebody. In vain, you message Miss Bullshit to ask what her plans are and she messages back: “Oh, I’m not sure yet. I’ve got nothing set in stone ;)”. The smarmy bitch.

The truth is that she has absolutely NOTHING lined up and is losing her shit about it. If needs be, she’s willing to photoshop herself into some club photos.

Completely photoshopped

Life is a sex on the beach

In a controversial turn of events, you’ve decided to pre outside the student-loan-safe-hold of a house with Sainsbury’s Basics vodka and you’re in a bar. Mr/Miss Bullshit Together is getting smashed on cocktails in an effort to look classy or at the least, like they are in control of their finances so they can afford them. In reality, they’ll be eating crackers for the next week to afford this one night out.

Rum, coke and deceit

(Inter)course you’re prepared

For once, you’ve managed to actually find a sexual partner willing to get into your bed. They’re not even that ugly, you could face them in the light of day without running. As you try to seductively remove your jeans (your zip will get stuck), you realise that you’re wearing your comfy underwear. A split second later, they murmur “have you got a hole in your boxers?”

Unlike you, Mr/Miss Bullshit Together, has a successful sex life. Rumour abounds that they have sexy lingerie and are always equipped with a condom. Funny thing is, you’ve never met one of their conquests…because ‘they’re all from back home.’

Talk dirty to me

While you may not have saved a small child from a burning building or foiled a bomb plot, neither have they. Beneath the perfectly groomed hair and the totally not thrown together thrown together outfit, they’re just as fucked as you are. They’ll die alone on a small ditch on the M4, with a trucker’s member cellotaped to their face. Face it, that’s going to be our fate guys.