There are people out there who think being an influencer isn’t an actual job, and I’m here like, “Have you ever heard the term digital nomad?”
Yes, it’s a thing.
It’s also a job, whether others want to believe it or not, and they’re always surprised when they find out just how much time and effort goes into my persona. It’s not just a few filtered selfies here and a few well-placed hashtags. There’s a strategy to it. There’s marketing, affiliate marketing, promotions, agencies. A social media influencer is its own little world, a world I’m more than happy to explore at the same time as I travel the real world. The nonstop parties and first-class lifestyle are just an added perk.
In spite of my most valiant efforts, I do end up nodding off on the way to the hotel, only coming to when the driver slams on the brakes and says, “We’re here.”
I look up, surprised, because it seems like I’ve only been in the cab for about ten minutes, and I know for a fact that we’re supposed to be driving all the way to Midtown. All things considered, we made good time, and I feel a renewed surge of energy as we pull up outside the Cadence Hotel, in all its finery. Although Gramps owns a condo here, this is the first time I’ll be using the place. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to luxury New York hotels, but my parents always had a penchant for the Four Seasons around the corner.
“What did you do, turn on the warp speed option?” I ask the cab driver as I take in the outside view. It’s Thursday afternoon, and the city is abuzz with anticipation for the coming three-day weekend, especially here in Midtown, where socialites are already out and about for happy hour, and businessmen in suits are leaving work early. All in all, it’s a perfect day to party, and I plan to do just that.
He snorts. “Sure, lady, that comes standard with every Yellow Cab in the city. Didn’t you hear? We had to upgrade if we wanted to keep our jobs once the ridesharing companies moved in. Now, pay up. I’ve got places to go and fares to earn.”
So much politeness. I slide my credit card to pay and add a generous tip, thinking that I should have gotten Uber instead—at least that way I wouldn’t have been sitting on slightly sticky seats this whole time—and then clamber out of the car as I tuck the receipt into my purse. And look up… and up… and up.
No matter how many times I go through it, I always find it slightly shocking to get to New York and be physically reminded how freaking big it is. How tall the buildings all seem to be. Morrisville, a suburb of Raleigh, might be my hometown, and I might love the southern drama and splendor of the place, the history; but I’ll tell you right now, it doesn’t hold a freaking candle to New York City.
The city that never sleeps. And the city that specializes in buildings so tall, you can be on the twentieth floor and still not be in the penthouse.
So the height of the building in front of me is no big surprise. The fact that I’m staying here though… Now that is shocking. Because the place screams stuffy.
I collect my suitcase and march up to the front entrance of the hotel. The doorman gives me a pleasant smile as I mount the steps, although I can see him eyeing the way I’m dressed, and my stomach sinks a little. So what if I’m not wearing a mink?
Fur is out in NYC, anyway. I’m no prostitute, and I’m certainly no sugar baby, as much as the stuffier old fart Manhattanites might like to think so, and they can go right ahead. It’s no skin off my nose, I wouldn’t have gotten to where I am today without receiving my fair share of eyerolls and hateful comments, and I’ve dealt with it the way Mom always taught me: chin up, head held high, and dressed to kill.
Once through the revolving doors, I find myself standing in one of the most beautiful hotel lobbies I’ve ever seen. And trust me when I say I’ve seen quite a few.
Yes, this place smells old fashioned, but it wouldn’t be fair not to acknowledge its beauty. The architecture is ornate, like something you might find in a palace. The immaculate cream and gold decor are offset only by a massive display of flowers and a dazzling chandelier in the middle. It’s almost enough to rival the one at the Bellagio, but the clientele is decidedly fussier here. Seriously, this place needs a party to remove the stick up its ass.
Right now, though, I have other things to be focusing on, things that don’t revolve around old farts.
Amelia is waiting for me in a plush armchair in the back corner of the room, furiously tapping away on her phone, her brow furrowed in concentration and her tongue sticking out from between her lips. She’s gorgeous, the quintessential social media star with a metabolism that gives mine a run for its money. Model-thin, with a honey brown complexion, and a glossy cascade of black curls that falls down her back. I really need to get her to give me her hair care routine. Most importantly, though, she’s a blast to hang out with, and I’m going to make the most of the time I have with her.
I stride up to my friend, suitcase in hand, and catch a glimpse of her Instagram feed over her shoulder; she’s practically in her own little world, completely unaware of my presence until I clear my throat and say, “And you call me social media obsessed.”
She jumps to her feet, beaming, and shrieks. I join in, rushing to hug her as we scream and bounce up and down like little girls on a playground. A couple of passing guests give us an odd look, but I don’t care. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Amelia, and it’s not my fault some people are overly formal and humorless.
“Okay,” she says after we’ve calmed down a little, “I guess you’re right. We’re both pretty bad.”
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, let’s hurry up and get to the room so I can freshen up. The bags under my eyes are growing bags of their own.”
“You do look a little tired,” she observes as we turn and make our way to the elevators. “Are you doing okay? Have you been sleeping all right?”
“Jeez, you’re starting to sound like my mother. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. There’s a whole world to explore out there, and I’m not about to let something as simple as sleep get in the way of that.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Amelia replies as the elevator doors slide open. “You know what I think?” she asks as we step inside, and there’s a wicked gleam in her eye that tells me exactly where this is headed. “I think you’ve been too busy having one night stands to get quality sleep.”
“How very scientific,” I comment, laughing a little. “It’s not like I have a studly investment banker boyfriend to come home to every night.”
A dreamy look appears on Amelia’s face. “He is quite attractive, isn’t he?” Shaking herself, she eyes me. “Seriously, though, what about you? Has anyone caught your eye for more than a few hours?”
The question catches me off guard, and it’s enough to make me balk. Not because the answer is no, but because the answer is yes. I’ll be the first person to admit that I’m a bit flighty when it comes to romance. It would be easy to blame it on the jet setting, which does get in the way of settling down, to an extent, but Amelia and Daniel have managed just fine in spite of her runaway success as an influencer.