“Good Morning Mamas! Let’s practice hard work and gratitude today!” 

Every morning she posts just before the sun rises; a gleaming thumbnail of billowing sundresses, a picturesque landscape with fresh flowers and smiling children. An effortlessly crafted peek into the slow and peaceful world of domesticity. The perfect mother christened with a following of millions of devoted patrons. Baby on hip, the shot snapped, “Happy wife, happy life!” The comments start to flow in almost instantly. 

“This is #GOALS”

“My dream life” 

“How do you do it all!!?”

A charming home for a deserving lady. A simple farm, only 300 acres. A little slice of heaven in God’s Country, a place for us, and by us. You know what I mean. 

Behind the lens baby is passed to nanny, it’s time to start the real work. Her team hurries her along. We don’t have much time, golden hour has just started, and the lighting will only hold for so long. Next we move to the kitchen. The chefs have prepped all the ingredients needed to create the perfect farm to table breakfast for the little ones. It’s her oldest daughter’s birthday…or half birthday? Nevermind that, celebration sells. Blueberry pancakes with sprinkles, homemade, no red dye for the tots. Have the intern throw away that funfetti packaging, outside trash can, we don’t want it in the frame. Can we have hair and makeup, she wants undereye circles, not anything grotesque, just something that conveys grit, passion, something that says sacrifice. 

Hurry to the barn, there’s something special waiting here. She’s been teasing this all week, a family heirloom, authentic, people love authenticity, they crave it. The barn, adorned with warm lanterns and fresh hay. A simple wooden stool surrounded by industrial ring lights. A milk cow called Edna. She tells her followers she’s her favorite heifer, the name tested well with her target base. On top of the stool sits a small tin bucket, rust creeping up the side. 

She turns to the cameras and lets them in on a little secret: 

“This milk pail was actually my great great grandmother’s.” She smiles warmly. 

“I had my parents bring it up to honor the generations of strong women who came before me, and to celebrate hitting four million followers.” She stops and gingerly touches her heart.

“I know great great grandmama would be so proud of me…well let’s milk this cow, the old fashion way!” 

As she starts the process, her hand sticks against the pail, cameras rolling. She can’t seem to pull away, it’s pulling her in? Her team doesn’t notice, she looks flawless—God has anyone ever looked so pretty milking a cow? Someone mouths to her:

“You look amazing, keep going.” 

The milk is warm and sticky, she’s working with one hand now, and making a bit of a mess. The hand that grazed the pail is swallowed by the bucket, almost fully engulfed now. 

“Don’t Stop, Keep Going”

The bucket is halfway full, and the metal is snapping like gum, pulling her in deeper, does anyone notice? No, the shot is perfect. 

She’s completely enveloped, gone; all that’s left is the bucket, slightly dented, still warm, and tacky. 

“Someone else jump in! We don’t want negative space.”

“Grab her daughter. Yes over here, smile with the bucket.”

Perfect.