The Easily Swayed Friend
In my fifth job before I turned 30, I met a female coworker I instantly clicked with.
She had zero interest in the company, openly saying, “One day, I want to work in aromatherapy.”
Even during work hours, you could smell her lack of motivation — yet she was always smiling, cute, and somehow impossible to dislike. I was 27; she was 35. Despite the age gap, we often went out for lunch or drinks together.
Back then, she was dating an aromatherapy entrepreneur. “Ah, so the hobby came installed via the boyfriend,” I thought. She liked to present herself as a bit intellectual, but the truth was she adopted her boyfriend’s hobbies at lightning speed. Honestly, I found that endearing — probably because I recognised a bit of myself in it.
For the record, the boyfriend was one of those Twitter guys who posted inspirational quotes in poetic style, with a profile bio that read, “In the process of changing the world.” I kept my What a guy… reaction to myself.
Later, after I went freelance, I somehow ended up doing work for him.
Payments were late, my schedule was ignored — I officially upgraded my mental note from “mildly shady” to “confirmed jerk.”
The Scent of Doubt
Even after I left the company, my friend and I still met up from time to time. One day, she said,
“I’m actually working as an essayist now! I have 2,000 followers on Facebook, so I have to keep posting regularly.”
Two thousand. Impressive — the kind of number you might celebrate with a milestone post. Inspired, I started Facebook too. Back then, freelancers and entrepreneurs liked to network there; it felt cool.
But when we became Facebook friends, her posts had… five likes. You could count them on one hand. I guess follower count and engagement don’t always correlate. I dutifully gave her posts a thumbs-up.
Her writing was… how should I put it? Mild and inoffensive. Less “essay” and more “polite social nicety.” But maybe my slightly warped sensibilities made it feel that way.
At the time, I was producing my free magazine, doing interviews, photography, writing, and design myself. Even if people didn’t read it, I made sure to give copies to those I wanted to reach — her included.
Back then (around 2015), Facebook still had some spark. Every time I posted about the magazine, I’d get at least around 50 likes, sometimes from friends of friends. With fewer than 300 followers, that felt amazing.
Meanwhile, she had broken up with Mr. Aromatherapy and gone full-speed into dating mode: “I just went out with a jewellery designer…” “Met someone at a networking party…” Every story featured a man with an exotic job title, like she was curating an exhibition of eligible bachelors.
The Confirmation
Not long after, she married a designer from a well-known, publicly traded company.
Now that was serious. All the previous guys had indeed been warm-up exhibits.
I was invited to the wedding. Dressed up, I congratulated her: “I’m so happy for you!”
Her first words back? “Wait, you didn’t bring your camera?”
Excuse me? Today I’m a guest. Wearing heels, in a dress. This is not a paid assignment.
Sure, as a freelancer, I often carried my DSLR for interviews — but I didn’t expect to be cast as the unofficial wedding photographer.
As I handed over my gift, I quietly thought: Consider this the friendship severance payment.
Writing this now made me check her Facebook again. Her follower count had grown to 7,000.
And yet… I still haven’t read a single one of her “essays.”