Hubris
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A few summers ago I was tricked by a promotional Instagram video into thinking I could easily make money selling feet pics. I’m sure you’re familiar with the on-the-street interview format; in this particular rendition, a happy and guileless every-girl (non-derogatory) with white toenail polish claimed to have an absurd amount of money in her checking account, all to the credit of a website specifically set up as a platform for selling ~the goods~. Whether I was feeling entrepreneurial or simply in need of a creative outlet is lost to me, but my immediate thought upon watching was “challenge accepted.”
I’ll be the first to admit that my feet, while perfectly fine (potentially even nice), aren’t really of the caliber that come to mind when thinking of the genre, but this felt more like a merchandising issue than any sort of real hurdle. I did a quick survey of the comp set, taking notes on what I deemed to be weaknesses and strengths. My husband, long inured to whatever it is that’s wrong with me, wished me luck. I paid sixty bucks to set up my profile on the website in question, started an auxiliary Instagram account, and I was off.
Thanks to some strategic hashtag usage, I had a handful of followers and messages within a few hours. Across the board, this demographic’s feeds were filled with extreme closeups and enthusiastically misspelled gratitude for the feet-wielding women who’d previously bestowed kindness upon them. Please forgive me for this, as it’s a journalistic observation and not a dig, but I’d be remiss in not further painting the picture: they all presented, gender-wise, as elderly white potatoes. And thus began my education.
It turns out a well-merchandised pair of perfectly fine feet is the floor, not the ceiling, and it dawned on me that to really make it in this town, I'd probably have to flash vag. Another critical mistake was assuming that these photos would more or less sell themselves, spurring the realization that online sex work, in all its myriad forms, probably amounts to 95% customer service pleasantries. This is where my skillset falls wildly short. I did consider that just being myself (read: impatient; sort of mean) could potentially be lucrative, but I was already worn down from the relentless pursuit of attempting to find my angles—and this is why I've always worked behind-the-scenes on creative teams (rather than on the frontlines of operations).
As quickly as it began, my career as an IG foot model ended. Do I think I could've figured it out, given time and inclination? No, I do not. This is a highly specialized industry, and I simply don’t have the juice (also my toes aren’t long enough). All due respect to the website in question for a truly effective piece of sponcon; they more than earned their money (and made it incredibly difficult to cancel the subscription when I wanted out…so very well-played). The only lingering evidence of the entire ordeal is a folder on my desktop titled “feet lol," and if you’re interested in seeing its contents…a D-level customer service experience awaits.
“Hubris” emailed out 10.22.2025 with newsletter-only exclusives. Subscribe here.