You probably don’t know this about me, but I had a budding career as Twitter Girl Detective.
It was very much under the radar, because that’s how undercover detectives operate.
And Twitter was the perfect medium.
Because on Twitter, the hoi polloi mingle with the famous. Perhaps you’ve heard of my famous Kathy Ireland incident?
That’s right, I sipped from the cup of celebrity and I was drunk on its power. (Full disclosure: I may have been sipping out of a bottomless goblet as well.)
On with my story.
A while ago, Liz Lange and I started to follow each other on Twitter. I was super excited to rub virtual elbows with her because she’s a famous maternity fashion designer icon and I’ve admired her work ever since I couldn’t afford any of it during my pregnancies. And she was nice and funny.
And here she was, responding to my tweets, calling me her heroine and inspiration (I’m paraphrasing) and generally acting like a normal person.
Wow, I thought, famous people are totally great!. And then I decided that if I ever became famous, I’d work on snubbing everyone so that they’d know that they were dealing with the real thing. See? I’m always thinking of others.
And then one day, about a month ago, I was tweeting with Liz and something seemed off.
I decided to take it to DM (for those of you who are still communicating via cave etchings, that means that I sent her a message on Twitter that only she could see).
Hey, I tried to sound casual, how come your account isn’t verified?
(A verified account is one used by celebrities and other well known people that states, basically, that the person is indeed who he/she claims to be. I think there’s some kind of DNA sampling involved.)
So funny you should ask, she DM’d me back. I was just writing to my assistant to get me a verified account.
Hmm. Funny indeed! And what a coincidence!
Apparently this “Liz Lange” person was fooled by my youthful appearance into thinking that I was born yesterday. Well, I wasn’t.
And now I was on to her.
My mind started to race.
Or at least speed walk.
I had no idea what this person’s racket was, but apparently impersonating Liz Lange figured pretty big into it.
I was going to expose her for the fake that she was. The real Liz Lange would then come forward and thank me for keeping an eye out for her. And for all of America. The real Liz Lange would reward me with a wardrobe of maternity-wear which, being only 9 and three quarters years postpartum, I would proudly wear. The real Liz Lange and I would become best friends.
I shed a tear thinking about my friends who’d be demoted as a result.
Those poor saps. I loved them so. Until the real Liz Lange came into my life and I realized that I could do better in the friendship department.
But I still had work to do.
I decided to plant a seed into my soon to be ex-friends’ heads. Doesn’t it seem weird that Liz Lange’s Twitter account isn’t verified? I emailed Kelcey and Wendi. They didn’t think that this was a deep throat-calibre scoop.
“It’s definitely her, though,” Wendi wrote back.
Must be nice to be so trusting.
I basked in my suspicion and imagined the blogging awards that I’d receive for my scoop. “We thought she was just a mommy blogger,” people would say. “We had no idea, that she was also an investigative journalist.”
A hush would fall upon the room and everyone would wait for me to speak.
“I am what you would call a mommy blogger,” I would finally grace the public with a nugget. After the applause died down. Even though there was hush that just fell upon the room. “Although I would prefer if you did not use the disparaging term mommy. I am not your mommy. I am a mother blogger.” There were many drafts of my speech, each inching towards the perfect balance of modesty and an acknowledgement that greatness walked among us and the greatness was I.
Until something happened to ruin it all.
Because on Saturday, I attended the Getting Gorgeous event in NYC. I walked around the room of gorgeousness-inducing sponsors and suddenly I saw her. Liz Lange. The real Liz Lange.
I made a beeline towards her.
“Well, hello,” I said. “I’m Marinka.”
I expected her to say “Who?” or perhaps to call for security.
But she didn’t. She knew exactly who I was and teased me a little of suspecting her of being a Twitter impostor.
Liz Lange is lovely. But it doesn’t take away from the fact that she destroyed my career as Twitter Girl Detective.
I hope that one day I can find it it my heart to forgive her.
One year ago ...
- Conversation - 2012