Briella story

Since TikTok and Instagram turned everyday people into their own reality shows. Heres a story about when delusion fade and reality sets in. Her name was Briella, at least online. Offline, she still answered to the name on her birth certificate, but she hated it. Said it didn’t sound “luxury enough.” That should’ve been my first clue something was off. Briella didn’t grow up rich. Neither did I. Same type of neighborhood the ghetto, beauty supply stores on every corner, everyone knowing everyone’s business. But once she got a smartphone and Wi-Fi, she started living somewhere else entirely inside the internet. On social media, she curated herself like a celebrity. Filters sharp enough to carve cheekbones. Angles that turned a regular body into something dramatic. She posted quotes about “knowing her worth” and “never settling,” always next to photos of rented cars, borrowed handbags, or restaurant plates she couldn’t afford to order twice. And here’s the part that always puzzled me: she genuinely believed it. I don’t mean she was pretending. I mean she thought she was a ten. Not metaphorically. Literally. Like the Kardashians had personally approved her ranking. I remember once she said, “Men should be grateful I even answer.” I wanted to ask, answer with what? A Cash App request? In reality this is harsh, but I think it matters she wasn’t special looking. Just average, with a big round backside she leaned on like a brand identity. No gym discipline, no education grind, no skills she was building. Just confidence borrowed from influencers who made money selling fantasy. She followed celebrity drama like scripture. Cardi B said something about rich men? Briella adopted it as policy. City Girls lyrics became financial advice. Every viral “soft life” clip convinced her that struggle was optional and reality was a mindset problem. She stopped working steady jobs because they “felt beneath her.” Quit a warehouse job after two weeks because her supervisor didn’t “respect her aura.” Tried selling lashes online, but spent more on packaging than she made in sales. Lived off short term help friends, exes, relatives while posting motivational quotes about abundance. It’s strange how delusion can look like confidence from far away. Dating was where it all collapsed. She didn’t want men she wanted lifestyles. She turned down guys with actual jobs because they “didn’t match her energy,” but entertained men with flashy photos and empty pockets because they looked like something. Eventually, people stopped helping. Friends got tired of being “temporary bridges.” Men got tired of being auditioned for roles they never applied for. Family got tired of excuses wrapped in Instagram captions. The last time I saw her, she was sitting in a bus station with two suitcases and a phone at five percent. Still scrolling. Still watching influencers vacation in Greece like it was a tutorial instead of a highlight reel. No apartment. No savings. No man. No audience that cared anymore. And here’s the part i still think about She didn’t fail because she was broke. She failed because she believed a fake version of life long enough to ignore the real one. I don’t hate her for it. I think the internet lied to her in a very specific way it told her she could skip effort if she felt important enough. It told her aesthetics mattered more than structure. That looking rich was the same as being secure. It isn’t. By the time she realized that, the likes were gone and so was everyone else. And maybe that’s the real danger of delusion it doesn’t hurt while it’s growing. It only hurts when you finally wake up and realize you built nothing underneath it.