Posted on 14 Apr 2020
Thanks to its vainly visual nature, Instagram provides the perfect habitat for thousands of self-obsessed buff bods.
Like a digital alternative to posing in Amsterdam shop windows, these preened and polished plebs love nothing more than taking to the grid to display their abs under the pretence of motivating others to get fit.
But, like the red-lit window pane they writhe behind, it’s so transparent.
You know what motivates me to get moving?
Rabid dogs chasing me down an alley.
The threat of having my leg sawn off to be used in feeding time at the zoo, courtesy of hypothetical diabetes.
Also, and mostly: the endorphins and satisfaction of using my body for something more fun than taking the bins out.
(And cleaning up the rancid bin juice which inevitably leaks everywhere only when I’m already having A Fucking Terrible Day. Fuck you, bin juice.)
You know what DOESN’T motivate me to move my body?
Looking at bulging veins that resemble thick egg noodles painted purple.
Seeing a trillion butts.
Reading every inane detail of someone’s dull-as-fuck daily routine which prioritises deadlifting over any other human pursuit (when do these people take a piss, or do their bodies just convert urine directly into muscle?).
Motivators, fitstagrammers, influencers; whatever you call them, I’ve gathered the worst of the bunch right here in the name of pointless pettiness.
They are the bin juice of social media.
Better get scrubbing.
In brief: Transformers actor on a quest for an eternal life (one that’s not worth living)
Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/markwahlberg/
Follow if: you want to feel ashamed that the most productive thing you’ve done today is take a massive shit
Mark Wahlberg, or as I’m sure he still loves to be known, Marky Mark from the Funky Bunch, is certifiably insane.
He’s giving you serious receipts on the Gram, doctor; take him and throw away the key.
In 2018, Wahlberg used his Instagram account to chat with fans (or… the… Funky… Bunch?) and he explained his MONSTROUS daily routine to the absolute fucking bafflement of the entire universe.
Kudos to whichever floating plankton decided to ask him about it, because the answer had the potential to be throat-slittingly boring, and yet somehow turned out to be a motherfucking diamond.
A related aside: do you remember that one time when a cheap daybreak flight seemed totally worth the saving, but then you had to actually rise from your grave at 5.30am to shlep to the airport, and you realised you’d rather have your skull punctured by a rusty bear trap than ever see this time of day again?
Well Mark gets up at 2.30am.
Just, y’know, routinely.
Like every day.
That’s half past two in the goddamn morning.
It’s the night.
It’s half past two at NIGHT.
And he works out for an hour and a half because he has SO MUCH ENERGY from his twelve minutes of sleep, then has second breakfast, showers for ninety — NINETY — minutes (because maybe he killed a person before second breakfast?), plays golf (GOLF AT 5AM), submerges himself in liquid nitrogen — cool cool cool — and by 8am, has third breakfast (“10 turkey meatballs”).
What an easy-going guy.
Um, what the fuck, Mark?
Classic Mark: https://www.instagram.com/p/BmfocM6HRqO/
In this video, standing in a hotel gym, Wahlberg gives thanks to the manager for opening early for him, as he’s got “shit to do”.
Bet they can’t wait till he comes to stay again: picture 20 bellboys taking a leak into a room-service spinach smoothie.
In brief: Gravity-defying yogi spends a lot of time at the beach
Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/amandabisk/
Follow if: you need a reason to delete your hundreds of tedious Ibiza photos from Facebook
Look, I’m not going to dunk on this woman, mainly because she’s unacceptably talented and also kinda helpful (with videos like ‘Busy People Workout’, ‘Low Back Pain Stretches’, and ‘Ankle Injury Workout’, it’s almost like she can imagine a world outside of her own life experiences).
I can’t look at another palm tree.
I can’t take another breeze rippling through the long grass.
I can’t swallow another golden sunset over the ocean.
The rest of us live in filthy little boxes surrounded by concrete, Amanda Bisk, and you need to shut the fuck up about your beautiful, enviable life of serenity.
Fuck your inner peace.
Fuck your outer riches.
We’ll keep our gnawing insecurities and corrosive anxieties, thanks.
Classic Amanda: https://www.instagram.com/p/BwUFu25leFO/
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After a full day of rain, it really feels like summer has come to an end here in Perth 😢 I L O V E summer. Probably a little too much 😜 I’m ALREADY itching to travel to my sunny @activeescapes retreats this year! 😄💪🏼☀️🌊 Next retreat dates: •BALI Festival (Our biggest retreat EVER! 150ppl! 😱) – May 19 •MALDIVES Luxury Retreat (Kids welcome! 🙌🏼) – Aug 29 •BALI Uluwatu Mega Escape (Limited places available 🔥) – Oct 12 . Come join me on the sunny side 😎 #fitnessretreat #bali #maldives ab♥️x
Her lithe limbs flung back in an arc, Bisk glows under the rose-pink sky of a Perth beach at sunset.
Suspended in mid air, it seems almost as if she’s flinging herself into the sea, and frankly, that’s where she can stay.
Goodbye, sweet Bisk.
In brief: Just torso and bulge, torso and bulge
Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/ulf_gym_bro/
Follow if: you’re really into torso. And bulge.
Ulf is really, really, really happy with his torso.
He’s worked hard for it, and he’d like you to look at it now, please.
Sure, there’s the occasional jarring photo of a cathedral or botanical garden interspersed amongst the snapshots of taut flesh, but you’re looking at 98% abs when you scroll through his grid (and it seems like his almost-100k followers aren’t mad about it).
But hey, if you think it sounds repetitive… well yeah, you’d be bang on.
It’s not Ulf’s fault, though.
I mean FFS if you call your child “Ulf Gym Bro”, what chance does a guy have, other than to grow up as an Austrian fitness and pilates trainer who posts far too many disembodied knobbly-body selfies online?
Classic Ulf: https://www.instagram.com/p/B71YWHGn0vt/
Quite often, poor Ulf can’t decide between one chest and balls portrait versus another chest and balls portrait.
They all have their merits, dammit, so why must he choose?
In these cases, his lucky followers get to enjoy a compilation of four low-angle chest and balls photos, all wrapped up in one.
It’s essentially a Rocky training montage in picture form, with the classic soundtrack, “CHEST. CHEST. AND BALLS. CHEST. AND BALLS. CHEST. AND BAAAAAALLS.”
Sing it with me.
In brief: Bieber meets Sonic; muscles and moodiness ensue
Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/jeff_seid/
Follow if: … if… if… No, I’ve got nothing.
Well, well, well!
If it isn’t our old friend, Pecs ’n’ Pout.
A black hole in the shape of a human in the shape of an overgrown carrot, Jeff’s not just YouTubing, but he’s also here on Instagram, serving us steroid realness every day.
Classic Jeff: https://www.instagram.com/p/B4dtzppgwyf/
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The very epitome of a badly drawn boy, the Seidmeister clutches his dog lead uncomfortably, as if it might contain plutonium.
He wears the obligatory Die Hard vest stretched over the kitchen sideboard (where you might usually expect a set of shoulders), and he looks to the camera with an expression that reads only as a man who has just shat his tiny shorts.
Even the collie is embarrassed to be seen with you, Jeff.
Have a word with yourself.
In brief: personal trainer + lip fillers = everything has flowers. Say what?
Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/caseylovesfitness/
Follow if: you’re suggestible to product placement and really want to drop some unnecessary dough on questionable ‘supplements’
Does Casey of @CaseyLovesFitness really love fitness?
There’s very little in the way of training advice or demos on her grid, so who’s to say?
What IS clear, however, is that Casey loves posing with a basket of strawberries under a cherry blossom tree.
And Casey loves fake laughing while spooning yoghurt from a mason jar.
And Casey loves the cold, hard cash she pockets for pretending to enjoy a vessel full of overpriced sour cow spunk.
Look at her dead eyes.
Casey loves nothing.
Classic Casey: https://www.instagram.com/p/B4pvmxnJdGS/
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She sits down to a bowl of noodle soup while wearing nothing but a plunging, lacy bra.
And why not?
Can’t imagine any terrible scalding accidents that might happen here.
She balances a spoon in one hand and a bottle of ‘LIPOSOMAL VITAMIN C’ in the other, the branding carefully framed by her boob cleavage for a fully voluptuous vitamin vignette.
And although she hasn’t had time to get fully dressed yet, she’s somehow got a truckload of makeup on and is — of course — laughing heartily into the middle distance, clearly cracking up at the possibility of getting first degree burns while she eats her tea.
While ladling vitamin C into noodle soup.
In her underwear.
TOTALLY NATURAL, FOLKS.
So… have you been influenced by any of these bozos?
Have you discovered a great new workout routine for your keyboard (block and mute, block and mute, block and mute, 12 reps)?
Can you explain what Jeff Seid is doing to his hair to make it like… that?
As we mop up the bin juice of fitstagram, let’s wash our brains out with saline, and take stock.
Do we all remember the most important lesson from social media?