Oh. She didn’t want to be wrong.
Hope took flight in my ribs. “That’s a good sign, right? He was shielded from harm?”
But Axel didn’t seem to care about himself. He pointed to the second fatter file on the desk, getting back to the comments and reactions.
“And the other folder?” Axel demanded.
The publicist’s hesitation was slight but noticeable. “The other, it seems, is full of people that found her apology sincere. That evidently see her as a human being, making mistakes and doing it publicly. They’re showing empathy for her.” The admission clearly cost her. “They found her raw honesty … refreshing.”
“That makes no sense,” I said, blinking in confusion. “I assumed all people would hate me by now.”
At this, her lips thinned further, and something told me that what this woman hated more than my “reckless” apology was being incorrect in guessing how people would respond to it.
“Many of your followers were upset,” she explained, her professional tone returning like a mask sliding back into place. “Very upset. They felt lied to and manipulated and conned by you.”
“Because they were,” I said, running a hand through my still-disheveled hair. “My whole life online has been some flavor of untruth.”
The publicist sighed, a fraction of tension leaving her shoulders. “Yeah, well, there’s one more thing about online culture. It’s, at times, unpredictable.”
“Meaning?” Axel prompted, coming closer until his shoulder touched mine.
She tapped the second folder. “Meaning, by every account, what Dakota did yesterday should have been the end of her social media business.” A note of reluctant admiration crept into her voice. “But it seems many followers were touched by her honesty and vulnerability.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to process this information. “I’m not following.”
The woman could not let go of that resting angry face, the one where she was, at least partly, wrong.
“Have you checked your social media accounts?” she asked.
The memory of my phone exploding with notifications after the live stream made me wince. “No. I didn’t want to subject myself to the hateful comments.”
“Well, your follower count did go down.” She crossed her arms, looking genuinely pissed off that she had to deliver good news when it went against everything she’d advised. “And trust me, there were a lot of hateful comments. But it seems the majority consensus is that they loved what you did. They expressed disappointment in your decisions, but by and large, they were touched by your sincerity and candor.” She spread some of the papers open on the table. “It seems even influencersfound your post to be, and I quote, ‘the tipping point our society needs to peel back the layers of what we hide from everyone and be brave enough to show our true selves, even when doing so could cost us everything.’”
I leaned forward, scanning the comments with thousands of likes and replies:
I felt your pain so deeply. Thank you for being brave enough to show us it’s okay to not be perfect.
I’ve never commented before, but I had to tell you, this post just saved me. I was so lost in comparing myself to everyone else’s highlight reel. You just reminded me we’re all fighting the same battle.
I’ve never felt pretty enough, smart enough, good enough. Seeing you without all the filters made me realize I’m not alone.
I’ve been crying for 20 minutes. Every morning, I look at Instagram before getting my kids ready and feel like I’m failing at everything. This is the first time someone showed me I’m not.
I’ve missed so many pool days with my kids because I was ashamed of my body. You just gave me permission to stop stealing joy from myself.
Thank you for stripping bare for us. I needed to see that people online aren’t as perfect as they seem. I thought I was the only imperfect one.
You are beautiful just the way you are, Dakota Fox/Blackwood. Thank you for showing us that real is better than perfect.
My vision blurred as tears gathered in my eyes. One slipped down my cheek, then another. It wasn’t the acceptance of strangers that had me crying, though that meant more than I could have imagined. It was that my moment of vulnerability had apparently given others permission to be vulnerable too.
Maybe, in the wake of everything I’d screwed up, some good had actually come out of it.
“It would seem,” Rebecca said, “that your unpredictable, unplanned post ironically generated more authentic engagement from your followers than anything else you’ve carefully crafted.”
“They felt like they saw me,” I realized. “The real me.”
Axel smiled, adoration and pride gleaming from his eyes. “Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let them see the real you, Sunshine.”
