Dear Caroline Calloway,

May 2013.

You could say you had me at, “Hey, Instagram! Get excited for Gothic dorms”.

I began following you as an 8th grader when you popped up in my instagram feed (now knowing that you paid for it to be that way) and was immediately hooked. Each of your posts were like receiving a well-crafted, witty update from a friend: Happy Monday – here’s a cute Sicilian Prince. Happy Friday – here’s some fresh fruit on a silver platter. Hey Instagram! – want to know the key to impressing your music festival Drug Mentor? Pop a few Altoids in your mouth and let him think that they’re ecstasy. I fell in love with the version of you who hid in the bathroom to take pictures of orchids and who adored her beautiful blonde best friend as much as I love my curly-haired other half. European adventure? You served it on a platter. But that picture on the Grand Canal with another girl’s hair in your mouth? You delivered on all the relatable imperfections as well.

Nowadays I know that this wasn’t the full picture. I know that you were simultaneously living a big, beautiful life and battling depression and addiction. But, at the time, I fully believed you were living magic.

You taught me to seek out experiences. When I was a sophomore in high school I applied to a summer program running in Oxford, and I knew I had to seize the change to go. That month ended up being one of the best of my life. My experience there lead me to St Andrews – a place where I discovered unmatched happiness, a home, and in many ways myself.

That path, in a bizarre twist of fate, also led me to meeting you. In an H&M. All at once, I felt like I had found a mythical creature and a long-lost friend. In those minutes that felt like seconds, I had no idea how to express the joy, inspiration, and envy you had stirred up in me… through an Instagram page. Thankfully, you were nervous too. We both fumbled about. I gave you my life’s story. I assumed that would be all: my five seconds of fame in the H&M accessory section.

It was not. A couple weeks later, I bumped into you at my favourite coffee shop — never expecting you to remember me. We made eye-contact and a look of recognition swept across your face. You waved me over.

*insert: more awkward fumbling and excited small talk *

And then – AND THEN. You asked me if I knew any photographers in town. 

“I’m a photographer!”, I replied. 

Now this, I must admit, was terrifying. I hadn’t touched my camera since coming to University. In an attempt to backtrack, I offered up my website first, but in typical fashion you responded, “No need, I like you already.”

Followed by words I will never forget: “How would you like to take some photos for Teen Vogue?”

Those unfamiliar with the short Scotland-era of Caroline’s life, here is my summary: Charming university town with ancient ruins. Academic gowns. Bizarre traditions. Fancy balls. A need to get out and experience something new, to follow a whim.

This small town in Fife was there to scratch an idyllic itch, to provide respite from the demons.

But what was found? Isolation. In a life post-Adderall, post book-deal debt, there was nothing but limbo. Couple this with the experience of not being an actual student in a university-driven, three-street town, and you will not find an enchanting experience. I never knew the full story of Caroline’s St Andrews – and I probably never will – but I know that it was not an easy place to seek solace. When there are no balls or events, when you’re not in class every day, when you don’t live with your best friends, there is a lot of darkness, cold, and boredom. In the end, this meant no Teen Vogue article. No headlines about Caroline Calloway’s Whimsical Move to Scotland and New Facebook Vlog Deal. 

But, dear Caroline — for all the reporters and people who criticize you as portraying the false, idealized life of a social media darling, here is an example of when you could have sold a glamorised version of reality and did not.

I know you tried to love it, and thanks to a chance meeting I was along for the ride. Instead of Teen Vogue I get memories of photographing my teenage idol in one of my favourite places in the world, a pad tai lunch date full of stories untold to the world, and full-perusal of photographs and memorabilia that moved you to tears.

All in all, I want to thank you, Caroline. Thank you for forcing me to take you off the pedestal, reminding me that humans are the creators of profiles, and teaching me to appreciate my own art before I put too much stock in the opinions of others.