Aidan/Emilia: "I would have bet on your sister"

I don't know that it would surprise anyone that I used to be more of a reader than I am now, or that I might have had vague ideas of being a writer as a teenager; just like Ande points out that those of us who turned from men to women have a lot more to post about than those who went the other way, I don't think you can keep posting on this blog or even following it unless you, on some level, enjoy reading and writing.  My life eventually went in another direction - before the Inn, I was a regional manager for a chain of automobile service centers - but it's been good to get back in the habit of reading so that I don't sound completely ignorant at work.

Even if most of it is chick-lit.

Like everything these days, there's a bunch of social media around reading, from following favorite authors to logging what you're reading or have finished (I am told Storygraph is good but Goodreads is bad), and, apparently, a thriving TikTok community.  Now, if I don't get social media that involves text, I really don't get TikTok and Reels and the like, but folks show it to me, of only so they can find out where to find a particular book.  Yesterday, though, I got a surprise:  Instead of someone doing a book review, or was a imprint's official account - with Kutter (or "Katey") enthusiastically talking about a book that had just been released in paperback! 

I made sure to check back later, and to my surprise, Katey had sort of become the face of the division on that app over the last month or so.  They had something up daily, and though Kutter wasn't in all of them, she was in a lot, talking about books, interviewing authors and editors, sometimes shooting out the window when something interesting happened on the street, sometimes showing off books in store windows.

(Yes, "she"; I gave Rusty and awkward "that's my girl!" after trivia and she decided she was doing that once Rusty explained.)

What was really surprising, though, is that the links at the end led to Katey's personal TikTok, and it's been active over the past couple weeks, after previously having its last entries showing her, Monica, and Emilia having fun in Old Orchard.  I've admittedly avoided adding to or even looking at Emilia's social media; it's a strange sort of uncanny about seeing her seem completely at ease in this skin, especially if she's lying on the beach in a bikini or doing some sort of supercut of her trying on various outfits for an evening out, as I find myself both wondering what she was hiding to put it all behind her or perversely wishing she wasn't making me look slutty.  I probably shouldn't worry about that too much, because while I can see where Katey becomes Kutter after the two month break, I can't imagine anyone who hasn't been to the Inn would make anything of it.

It's kind of a fun little channel - "Katey" exploring New York, heavy on the food and touristy stuff, responding to dance challenges and cracking herself up at her klutziness, that sort of thing.  If it were the real Katey, I might be inclined to dismiss it, but knowing it's Kutter, it's more interesting.  I kind of wonder how I'll think of Kutter using whatever social media young adults use in the early 2030s to document his life after college.

For all that Katey in the publisher channel seems sure of herself, though, Kutter was kind of mortified when I mentioned that I'd seen them.  "Like, the work one just sort of started out as part of the job, keeping a schedule of when people are around to film them and making the calls, and I just kept up winding up on camera because Lettie was busy on a call or Ms. Grayson didn't feel like it or something, and, I don't know, somehow it became part of my job."  She blushed a little.  "I kind of think it's part of how I got the job and you didn't?  Like, when they asked you about social media, did you even mention that Emilia had Insta or Tiktok accounts and mostly used Facebook for keeping in touch with parents and scheduling stuff?"

I chuckled.  "No, I think i mostly wanted to give the impression that I wouldn't be distracted at work."

Kutter nodded.  "Yeah, I can see you doing that.  Anyway, it was part of the job, and I turned out to be okay with in, enough that Lettie wondered why I wasn't updating my own, so I started doing that.  At first I was thinking 'what would original-Katey post?', but since it looks like they're never getting back in touch with us, I stopped worrying about that and tried to be myself more."  She shrugged.  "It's actually kind of a good way to figure out who I am as Katey, I guess?  Like, I sometimes get nervous one-on-one, but just being Katey for..."  She made a motion toward the window with her hand.  "... there's no pressure and it's good practice."

"Huh.  I must say, I'm kind of surprised it's you doing this.  I would have bet on your brother.  Uh, sister.  Housemate?  Rusty.  I would have bet on Rusty doing this first!"

"I know, right?"  Every once in a while, both of them will get excited and gush like teenage girls.  "I mean, she's given me a lot of good advice about not being nervous and how I look or come across - sometime's she's even holding the phone, coaching me - but she says she doesn't need guys being pervs in the comments and doesn't want to do something the next Monica will have to deal with.  It's weird, really - there are a lot of people who don't say much in real life but open up online, but Rusty's the opposite.  Sometimes I think she's got a crush on herself and doesn't want to share."

I laughed.  "Maybe.  Well, as long as you're not connecting with strange men or anything."

"Come on, you really think I'm going to get myself into something like that or leave the next Katey stuck in that sort of situation?"

I shrugged.  "That would be unlike you, but maybe not unlike Katey.  I'll just tell you the same thing as when you and Rusty got social media on your phones - be careful what you put out there, and be really careful about what you engage with.  Folks get in trouble, especially girls your real age."

She made a face, and I dropped it.  I suppose I'll have to have a similar chat with Rusty sometime, and really watch the comments to make sure neither of them are getting into trouble.

-Aidan/Emilia

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Internet Famous

Jordan is extraordinarily lucky that my current rotation does not take me to LAX until July at the earliest, because I would be sorely tempted to murder her and then escape to Maine, allowing whoever winds up as Alicia next to deal with the fallout.  For all that being this absurd parody of womanhood has been a constant series of humiliations, this past week has been the most ridiculous.

As you may recall, I stepped in to assist Jordan last year when she required assistance in finishing her student film after her star quit, though I did not truly replace her, but rather played all of the duplicate robots that she would have played.  They were more or less mindless automata, so my work was mainly a matter of standing around in tight clothing and heels well taller than necessary to make up the height deficit with the average man or to appear tastefully fashionable, enough times that Jordan could combine the images.

It was technically impressive work, I suppose, although as somebody who knows all too well that her inspiration for a film in which a man's brain is placed inside a robot shaped like an anatomically-correct woman was not, as many would presume, about an ex-boyfriend who needed to learn a lesson, I cannot much disagree with her professors who apparently found it slight and somewhat juvenile.  It has not been picked up by any but the smallest film festivals, and not getting the best position in those.  This was something of a relief for me as I decided to remain Alicia for another year, and I soon paid it no mind.

Then, yesterday, as I arrived back at the "crash pad" after a flight from Dallas that had been delayed for hours (a delay for which the attendants are not paid!), I heard howling coming from the living room, and with the intent of telling the flatmates to keep it down, I poked my head in, only to see in horror that they were watching "I, Fembot".

I try to back away to write a furious email to Jordan, but I'm seen.  "Guys, she's here!"  Someone hits pause and then all four cluster around me.  "Why didn't you tell us you had a side hustle?  This what you were doing during your leave of absence? "

I took a careful half-step back.  "No, I was just..."  How to explain talking with other people who had lost their identities thanks to a cursed hotel?  "I was using the director's spare room - one of those services - and she had a panic attack about the other girl storming off the set, saying she'd step in herself but she would need far too much padding.  Well, stepping in to help was the only decent thing, although if I'd seen the costumes..."

"But that's the best part!  You look so hot in the outfits and it's so you to just go making guys horny without giving a shit!  Because even if they're programmed to respond, you know the sex-bot doesn't actually care."

"I hardly think that's an accurate--"

"Oh, c'mon, look at you on Insta!  Racking up the followers with all the selfies but never following back, barely responding unless someone comments on the museum or whatever you're in."

I groaned.  "I've told you, I don't take those pictures for 'followers'."

They arched their eyebrows and gave me variations on "sure you don't", but it happens d to be e true.  The only follower, or fan, that actually matters the slightest bit is Daryl, who finds it useful for me to have a social media presence when somebody asks "Magda" about her daughter.  Other than that, it's simply a convenient way for me to have some record of my time as Alicia after I finish it.  I cannot see myself becoming sentimental about this anatomy, but I cannot deny that the opportunity to travel has offset the job which requires it somewhat.  With this application already on Alicia's phone, and sharing the default, it should be a simple matter to extract that which I wished to keep.

Obviously, there was no point of explain that to the gaggle, so I just repeated that my photography was for myself and what others thought of it was irrelevant.  Then I said the shower was mine, ignoring the shouted question of whether a brain in one of those robots would have PMS or cramps simulated the way arousal was, because they wouldn't stick their boyfriends in one otherwise.

The shower was useful; though the Inn has made my body more resilient than it had been for some time, I had been on my feet for some time and just an hour in Texas can make you sweat in a way that sticks even under the perfume and deodorant.  Washing my flatmates' crude comments away was a pleasant enough side benefit.

Afterward, as I say wrapped in a towel, brushing my hair, Alicia's phone buzzed with some notification, and it reminded me that I had set Instagram notifications off, as I did not intend to interact on the platform (and, indeed, most of the messages it notified me of were just men saying how life-changing intercourse would be for the pair of us).  Out of idle curiosity, I brought the program up and looked at my statistics.

I had 20,000 followers.

They came in waves, it appears - some when Jordan "at-ed" me as he put his short online, but I apparently got put on lists as well, from the obvious ("flight attendants of Instagram") to the bizarrely, specifically hostile ("bitches who think they're too good to follow back but ain't all that").  It's more people than I've had students, quite possibly on a par with the number of people who have read my books or attended my presentations at conferences.  For doing little more than taking photographs of myself.

I looked in the mirror and wondered what a picture undressed would do to all that.  It almost seemed to be worth the experiment, just to see, especially since any reputation that came as a result would fall upon someone else in a few months.  If a younger person becomes the new Alicia, she might even find an account with thousands of followers a positive.

As an economist, I find the idea intriguing, creating something of admittedly illusory value from nothing.  The other side, though, is that it could wind up like Jordan's film - harmless enough at the time, but something I shall have to live with until I no longer have Alicia's face.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Social

At some point, I should have thrown the mobile phone that I inherited from Alicia into the Bay, or at the very least deleted all of her accounts and started new ones.  Perhaps not at the outset, when one might assume that Alicia would be seeking to return to her life without disruption, but certainly there was no need to preserve such continuity once she decided to remain in her new life.  By the time I decided to tolerate this existence for another year in order to find one more suitable that has not been damaged by another's stewardship the way my own had, it had become sadly convenient.  When I need to coordinate something with co-workers - and, later, flatmates - they tend to prefer using "WhatsApp" rather than a straightforward voice-mail or text message; on top of that, enough people at the airport remember one Magda or another and ask about her that it is worth regularly glancing at the Facebook page that Daryl continues to maintain to avoid questions of why I don't know what she's up to in New York.

This convenience has generally been worth the occasional moment when Alicia's phone buzzes because somebody has found her Instagram page and decided to leave some lewd comment on a picture of her not completely dressed.  At times, I find it amusing, for I am sure most of the men posting that message would be taken aback by the true identity of the person reading it.  Occasionally one is unctuous enough to merit blocking, and in a few cases people have reappeared with new accounts.  As a man, I admire their persistence, but they are a nuisance, though one that had been tapering off, as I had not added more photographs to keep it current.

Then came "Barbie".

Barbara Matheson was hired by the airline a few months ago, and as fate would have it not only wound up assigned to the same crew as I was in November, but also rented a spot in the same apartment.  It is, I suppose, natural that she would decide to look at me as a mentor and sort of older sibling, and I certainly did little to discourage it initially.  I have always appreciated the attention of young, attractive women, and though I now recognize that it will no longer lead to certain highly-pleasant experiences, I am nevertheless vulnerable to it.

Part of her being young is that she instinctively documents her entire life in real time, and tags her non-stop stream of "selfies", food photographs, and status updates with the names of everybody in the area, frequently including myself.  Every tag becomes a new, current way for people who followed a hash-tag to Barbie's page to find mine, follow me despite the year since the previous post, or decide to make some comment, creating more and more notifications.  On a number of occasions, people came to proposition us before we finished our meal because Barbie had tagged the location!  Thankfully, she has become more conscientious about waiting to post her silly food pictures until after she has finished eating.

Somewhat surprisingly, not all of the comments Barbie attracts are from men trying to get into her pants; or from family members who think that the travel involved with her job makes her life one to live vicariously, but a whole group of young women as well.  And many of them would be shrieking in capital letters not just about the obvious things, but my apparel, which I found strangely gratifying.

Contrary to what Lindsey or Daryl might have you believe, I do dress well.  It was initially emasculating the first time I donned brassieres and skirts, in large part because of the job they represented, but eventually one must work with the reality of the body one has.  Eventually, it became clear that what one wears allows one to choose who speaks to her, and if that means a black skirt, nylons, and matching heels, it is a small price to pay to converse with serious people rather than the people Alicia used to get involved with!  It can be frustratingly difficult at times - my current hips are not as conducive to a nice pencil skirt the way Lindsey's were and presumably are again, so finding the style that best creates the intend impression can require trial and error.  That means more time than I would like in changing rooms, and I've taken to traveling with a small iron in case there is not one at a city's "crash pad".

It is, in some ways, a circle of deception, with me pretending to be Alicia pretending to be a bit more high-class than her means.  The combination of all factors puts me in some strange situations on occasion, like last night, when I needed a new top and found my bank account light between paying rent last week and my pay not being deposited until today.  I took two into the changing room and had a difficult time deciding, and practically before the idea had formed, there were two new posts on Alicia's Instagram account, asking the ladies following her which I should choose.  Surprisingly, there was a flurry of responses saying that the white one with bate shoulders was "v. sophisticated" (and, yes, some would write out "sophisticated" while abbreviating "very"), so I went with that.

The Inn has made me a selfie-posting Millennial.  God help me.

- Harmon Keller