I divide my life into two segments.
The first part was the darkness. I worked as an audiovisual artist taking audio clips of Ram Dass, drenching them in reverb, and using them as the soundtrack to time-lapse video of Los Angeles’ tent cities. While the response to my work was quite good, my Instagram numbers didn’t accurately reflect the person that I felt like inside.
The second chapter of my life began when I found Ainsley.
I was with my roommate Liz whose grandpa died or something and she said she wanted to go to an animal shelter to “feel love again.” She was sobbing while caressing a terrified, shivering chihuahua. Liz looks really hot when she cries so I knew I could get a bunch of likes. I snapped it, added some classic X-Pro II filter action, and posted with hashtag #rescuedog.
Before we even left the shelter I had 33 likes and two new followers. It blew my mind. I was finally receiving the validation I always knew I deserved. “Yeah, people love rescue dog stories. There’s a huge audience for that hashtag,” Liz explained. I was signing the papers for Ainsley the chihuahua before she finished that sentence.
My Instagram blew. The fuck. Up.
I changed my handle to WhoRescuedWhoRescuedWho. That alone got me about 300 followers. With each post I got more likes, followers, and comments than the post before. Ainsley truly saved my social media presence.
To be honest, not everything is great. Turns out, you actually have to put a lot of effort into taking care of a dog. For example, Ainsley flinches every time I go into Warrior Pose. I vaguely recall hearing something about Ainsley’s ex-owner being an abusive yoga instructor.
But the struggles are absolutely worth it in the end. Lisa Motherfucking Vanderpump liked one of my posts. And guess who follows me now? Hilary Duff. Yep, not even Hilduff could resist the gravitational pull of my unending love for Ainsley’s impact on my social media accounts.