#WRiTECLUB2021— 𝑫𝑳 (@DL_H) November 29, 2021
The submissions are all in and our Slushpile readers are busy reading each one to decide if it has what it takes to step into the ring. Not an easy task!
The field will be set and daily bouts begin on Dec6th!
Will you be in one of them? 😀
Wednesday, December 1, 2021
Hashtag Fashion Pain #WEP #WEPFF
Oooh, how attractive I look in this! No one will be able to resist taking snapshots and groupies. Hashtag fabulous! Hashtag OneOfAKind! Hashtag BestDressed! All eyes will be on me this evening.
"Your car," the valet dangles my keys. Impossible to believe, but they didn't send a limo for me. I am wearing this one-of-a-kind, photo-snagging, social-media-viral-bait couture, yet I'm expected to drive myself. Just because the event is for charity doesn't mean they shouldn't splurge on people like me.
The outfit's mirrors, sequins, and jewels glimmer and shine, attracting every light on the road. A flashing pink neon sign looks especially elegant. I pause for a selfie. Hashtag RadiantInPink! The rude driver behind me honks. Uncultured savage. No appreciation for the fine art piece before him, which he is getting to view for free, I might add. He can wait while I post. My followers need a sneak peek to admire while I'm en route.
An alert flashes on my phone. I click it as I merge onto the highway.
The designer of this magnificent outfit is dead!
I have the only copy of this in existence! I might be wearing the final design.
And it's going to be wasted debuting at a charity event for burn victims or cleft palates or whatever I'm boosting support for tonight. Should I go to a club first? I have a duty to present myself in this at the finest venue possible, don't I? If I get off at this exit, I can give the world that gift. It's only three lanes of traffic. They'll move out of my way. It's me, after all.
What is this awful white light? And that horrendous beeping sound? And, eww, what low-thread-count fabric is touching me?
Scissors? "What's happening?"
"You've been in a car accident. We need to remove your clothing to save you."
"What? No! Don't cut the couture! It's the only one, it's the last one. Are you whacked? I need to be photographed wearing this. Not in such harsh light, naturally. But somewhere worthy. My followers need to see what I'm wearing. Do you not know who I am?"
The pockmarked doctor sneers. "You're wearing a steering column. There's a turn signal sticking out of your exposed intestines. Is that really an image you want to share?"
Hashtag Recovery isn't trending. My follower count dips below the influencer level. I'm evicted from my luxurious apartment. A newcomer gets it, along with much of my swag, and has the nerve to post pictures along with the tags: #Retro #YoungerAndBetterLooking #LearnToDrive #CoutureKiller.
The last one hurts the most. It is trending. No one can forgive my allowing the final design to be destroyed. Tiny mirrors, sequins, and jewels all covered in blood are posted as a gifset hiding my face. My social media reflection is of a has-been. I should have died wearing that outfit. Better death than to be alive as someone no longer worthy of seeing.
By: Jamie Dorner
According to Google Docs, I have 501 words, but according to WordCounter.net, I have 385 words. Either way, it's under 1000.
Tagline: Fashion becomes pain for a narcissistic social media influencer.
The good news right now is that no one else in my "circle" has died or contracted a new deadly disease or issue in the last month. (Followers here know I've had a rough year.)
Also, I managed to buckle down long enough to write this and to write an entry for WriteClub.