How To Become A Quarantine Influencer Queen In 10 Mildly Infuriating Steps

Quarantining is so weird, you guys! Like, so weird. Times like these just make you want to do less and eat more, you know? The first logical step here—for, like, coping, yes, but also for, like setting the tone on the feed—is to make something comfortable. Accessible. Something you know will taste good, feel good, and, most importantly, resonate. Is it possible that you may even inspire people to get out there and bake in the process? Maybe! And wouldn't that feel good? Banana bread it is.

You 🙌did 🙌it 🙌. You made an entirely beige loaf from past-their-prime fruit, and now you are thriving. If you can do that, what can't you do, you know? At this point, in your fragile yet ego-inflated state, you should test the limits of your skills. Because baking is therapeutic, they say, and what else do you have to do on a Saturday than pound dough until it's elastic, watch it rise for hours, and then braid or score it to your heart's content? We're talking challah, people—and sourdough, and brioche. Pick a bold loaf, any bold loaf, and do what has become a hallmark of the entire world's quarantine: your best. You already know the finished product will be Insta gold, massive fail or huge success.

Creative juices are flowing by this point. Your blood pulses with complicated yeast-y projects and the possibilities of absurd bakes to come. The bread served its purpose in taking you to a higher level of at-home creativity and "look what I can do if I put my mind to it," yes, but did it really get you to the point of influence? You look to a platform not yet breached by most of your (surely steadily increasing) followers for ideas. And there it is, right in front of you: pancake cereal. People on TikTok are making pancakes small enough to front as tiny pieces of cereal, and that is exactly the kind of energy you must bring to Instagram. It's fine that you lifted it from a 17-year-old who is very depressed about having to miss graduation! You're gonna make it go v-i-r-a-l.

You have baked all there is to bake. You are out of flour and yeast, and the delivery estimate on your refill order is two months from now. You feel lazy, lethargic, fine to waste a day away bookmarking DIY projects you'll never to do your Instagram save folder, watching three dozen versions of the same TikTok dance you never actually intend to learn yourself, and *adding to cart* with abandon not caring that no one will actually see your new summer wardrobe. And while most mirror selfies feel a little trite these days (seriously, babygirl, no one's gonna witness that pretty lil' dress but you come June), there's one thing that's still worthy of a double tap—and that's merch. Merch that yells at you to stay the fuck home, merch that boasts the logo of your favorite restaurant, merch that gives back to those in need. Spend your money, save the world, amirite?

Philanthropy is exhausting! The high of a mitzvah (that's a "good deed," you goy) aside, you are ready to transition back into the physical sensation of feeling good. (You know the fans are too, as at least two of your aunts have requested you "make something fun again!" and post the recipe.) "Ina is the only one doing this shit right," you declare in a spur-of-the-moment Instagram live during which you crush a tumbler of vodka. "Who wants to drink with me!?"

Your fans (sure, yes, your two aunts but also your group of girls from middle school) loved your Insta live—loved it. And if the internet has taught you anything, it's to capitalize on the measliest amounts of success. So you decide, You know what? I'm going to turn this into a theme party! Just because we can't see each other IRL doesn't mean we can't see each other, you know?! Two hours later you have scrapped together an invite with all the Photoshop knowledge you could pull from your high school yearbook class. It's a collage of quarantined celebrities drinking and reads: "Join me this Friday at 8 p.m. on Zoom for a much needed night of virtual *hugs* and booze. Come prepared with your fav celeb-inspired drink in hand (dibs on Tucci)." You proceed to take a picture mid-video chat in which you look beautiful and everyone else looks...not beautiful. You don't notice; you only look at your tiny Brady Bunch square. It's feed-worthy, you decide, with the caption: "Can't wait to do this in person again some day soon 💕."

It is Friday, probably, and you've spent a lot of time and energy focusing on how you can give to others. Naturally, you have accumulated a lot of messiness and emotion in the process. For dinner, wine! Also, a stir-fry with rice, frozen veggies, eggs, the contents of your now-unidentifiable plastic bag of herbs, and oil, I guess? Really anything left in the fridge can justify its place in your meal. Just in case anyone out there is feeling similarly scattered, you make note of the ingredients slide-by-slide on Instagram and post a photo of whatever it ends up being alongside your mostly drained wine glass to the feed. Are you the Marie Kondo of your followers' quarantines? Who can say!

In your haste to make your 650-square-foot studio livable (because omg the clutter was suffocating!), you unearth a memory box filled with cards your friends and family sent the first year you moved to the big city and photobooth strips and the number of that guy you never mustered up the courage to text but still might some day. You decide to deal with it post stir-fry—which is now. And by deal with it, you simply mean continuing to spam your Stories with the #memories and increasingly depressing captions. You start with a "😢" and finish with a "IDK TIME DOESN'T EVEN MATTER ANYMORE." Your friends agree. It's sad, but engagement is engagement.

The next morning, wine-hungover and not quite liberated of bummer thoughts, you call your mom. She can always tell by the tone of your voice whether to "aw, sweetie" or tough love you. You don't know which one you want quite yet, but when she answers and starts in on a tough love speech you know it wasn't that. So you, "moooooooommmmmm, I just needed someone to listen to me!" her, and the conversation continues as the two of you trade mundane stories of the things that happened since you last spoke 12 hours ago. Your day is decidedly better, and you owe it all to her, so you post an old photo of the two of you—maybe from when you were a toddler or from your wedding day. She doesn't have Instagram and she'll never see it, but, like, it doesn't matter.

Oh god, you think, doing a 6 a.m. scroll-through of the content you've amassed over the past nine weeks. This is a fucking trainwreck. You emerge from your tangle of sheets, a half-human lump of shame and unrest. You make coffee. You take some time to reflect on all that's brought you here. You spot three overripe bananas softly rotting by the coffee machine. Banana bread will help.