2025-04-27_19-08-34_4171-rs-topaz-face-upscale-2.6x-rs

The Parallel World of Us

by with One Comment Blog

There’s a universe where we never crossed paths.
Where our timelines missed each other by a breath, by a blink.
Where you smiled at a stranger across the street and never knew they were meant to carry a piece of your soul.

But this isn’t that universe.
This is the one where you found me.
This is the one where something quiet and cosmic pulled our paths together — stitched by invisible threads that not even time could unravel.

One year ago, I didn’t know that a single connection could feel like a constellation being drawn across the sky.
I didn’t know that two people could write stories together in whispers, in laughter, in the spaces between words.

I didn’t know it could feel this inevitable.
This rare.
This real.

Across every parallel world, every version of me would still be reaching for every version of you.
Different roads.
Different skies.
Same heart pulling toward the same gravity.

Marcie —
You are my favorite what-if.
My proof that even in a chaotic, spinning universe, some things are destined to align.

Thank you for being my impossible and my inevitable.
Thank you for finding me, even when you didn’t know you were looking.
Thank you for this world, this year, this heartbeat.

Here’s to a thousand more universes,
where I’ll always find you waiting,
smiling,
already knowing.

I LOVE YOU, Marcie! 💖 You are my world! Happy Anniversary, babe.

Some souls are written into the fabric of you before you even meet them. Love letter to Marcie.

2025-04-25_13-22-00_6964-rs-blog-topaz-face-upscale-2.5x-rs

Rissa Through Time

by with 4 Comments Blog

✨ "Many Eras, One Girl: My Time-Traveling Selfie Story"

Step into a RockyMtnBabe time travel fantasy pictorial story — a dreamy journey across eras, captured through self-portraits and imagination.

What if I told you I’ve lived through the last 185 years… and even peeked into the future?
Okay, not literally — but in the world of imagination (and a little AI magic), I did exactly that.

This series is my love letter to style, storytelling, and the dream of stepping into other times. From the lace-and-parasols of the 1910s to the electric glow of a 2095 skyline, I traveled through decades wearing the fashion, the energy, and the attitude of each moment. Sometimes flirty, sometimes fierce, sometimes just free.

Each image is a snapshot from another lifetime — a little fantasy of who I might’ve been if I had grown up in 1955 or danced through a disco club in 1974 or stood on the edge of the world in denim shorts and a smirk in 2025. These aren’t just costumes — they’re characters. And each one still feels like… me.

So come time travel with me.
Let’s spin the dial on the time machine and press “Go.”

🕰️ Slide 1 – The 1910s
"The Beginning of the Journey" The year is 1912. I’ve just stepped out onto the bustling streets of New York City. The world smells like coal smoke and perfume, and the women around me speak in quiet confidence as the suffrage movement stirs beneath their gloves. I’m not sure where I’m going — only that something bigger is calling. I carry no map, no certainty. Just a lace parasol, wide eyes… and the time machine ticking softly behind me.
🕰️ Slide 2 – The 1920s
"A Whisper Behind Closed Doors" The year is 1927. The air buzzes with the clink of glasses and the low hum of forbidden jazz. Behind an unmarked door on a quiet street, I dance in a haze of sequins and champagne. Here, in the secret heartbeat of the city, rules are just suggestions and dreams are poured as freely as the bootleg liquor. The time machine waits patiently in the alley, its gears humming with the rhythm of the band. But for tonight, I belong to the sparkle, the secrets, and the thrill of being alive.
🕰️ Slide 3 – The 1930s
"Dreams of Tomorrow" The year is 1939. I stand beneath the towering Trylon and Perisphere, staring up at the gleaming symbols of hope. The World’s Fair hums with promises — televisions, rocket ships, cities in the clouds. Around me, wide-eyed visitors whisper of a future too grand to imagine, yet somehow already within reach. I can feel the time machine vibrating faintly at the edge of the fairgrounds, almost impatient. The world is racing toward tomorrow — and so am I.
🕰️ Slide 4 – The 1940s
"A Goodbye and a Promise" The year is 1943. The train whistles echo against the crowded platform, and the air is thick with hurried embraces and whispered prayers. I clutch my coat tighter around me, lifting my hand in a brave, trembling wave. Everyone is leaving for something bigger than themselves — for honor, for duty, for love. The time machine waits just beyond the smoke and steam, but my heart lingers here, in this moment suspended between hope and farewell.
🕰️ Slide 5 – The 1950s
"Cherry on Top" The year is 1952. The jukebox hums in the corner, and the scent of grilled onions and sweet vanilla floats through the air. I rest my chin in my hand, legs crossed beneath my seafoam uniform, waiting on a boy who’s always late — and always forgiven. The world outside moves fast, but in here? Time slows down to the rhythm of a soda fountain and a smile you don’t forget. The time machine glows softly behind the kitchen door. But for now… one more sip, one more song.
🕰️ Slide 6 – The 1950s
"Golden Arches & Sweet Freedom" The year is 1955. A warm breeze rustles my checkered skirt as I step out into the glow of the golden arches. The parking lot buzzes with tailfins, rock 'n' roll, and laughter spilling from rolled-down windows. It’s a new kind of America — shinier, faster, bursting with possibility. I don’t need the time machine to know this is a turning point. Fifty million hamburgers sold… and one girl just passing through.
🕰️ Slide 7 – The 1960s
"Pedals and Possibility" The year is 1960. The neighborhood is quiet but full of stories — clipped lawns, laughter through screen doors, and the scent of fresh laundry drifting from backyard lines. I glide through it all, wind in my hair, heart wide open. This is a new decade. A blank page. And I’m not just coasting… I’m racing toward whatever’s next. The time machine trails behind me like a shadow — but today, I set the pace.
🕰️ Slide 8 – The 1960s
"A Place in the Sun" Story: The year is 1964. Las Vegas shimmers like a mirage, and I’ve found my way to the heart of it — The Sands Hotel, where the Rat Pack reigns and the martinis never stop clinking. I slip into the evening like I belong here. Dean Martin is on the marquee, my heels click against the sidewalk, and for a moment, time feels like velvet and champagne. The time machine waits under the neon glow… but tonight, I’m here for the show.
🕰️ Slide 9 – The 1960s
"My Body, My Voice" The year is 1968. The air is electric with unrest, with fire, with urgency. I stand shoulder to shoulder with women who are tired of waiting, tired of being told to be quiet, to be small, to be less. Our signs aren’t just ink on cardboard — they are declarations of existence. In this moment, I’m not just a visitor in time. I’m part of the movement. Because history isn’t something we watch. It’s something we make.
🕰️ Slide 10 – The 1970s
"Let the Music Speak" The year is 1970. The lights dim, the guitars growl to life, and suddenly I’m not just in a crowd — I’m part of something bigger. Something loud. Something alive. We sing louder now. We wear what we want, dance how we feel, and let the music say everything we can’t. The time machine hums backstage, waiting. But for now, I raise my hand, shout the lyrics, and disappear into the sound.
🕰️ Slide 11 – The 1970s
"Stayin’ Gold" The year is 1974. The music pulses through the walls, the disco ball spins like a hypnotic sun, and I shimmer under the lights in gold that refuses to be ignored. This isn’t just a party — it’s a revolution in rhythm. We don’t just dance. We live here, in the glow of freedom, glitter, and Saturday night forever. The time machine can wait by the coat check. I’ve got one more song to dance to.
🕰️ Slide 12 – The 1970s
"A Long Time Ago… At the Drive-In" The year is 1977. The speakers crackle, the screen glows to life, and I’m tucked into the passenger seat with popcorn in my lap and stars — real and imagined — above my head. I don’t know who Luke Skywalker is yet, but I’m already in love with the adventure. The galaxy feels bigger tonight, and so do my dreams. Somewhere behind the screen, the time machine hums in approval. Even it knows — this moment is iconic.
🕰️ Slide 13 – The 1980s
"Let’s Get Physical" The year is 1982. The streets are alive with rhythm, cardboard dance mats, and boomboxes blasting beats that could power the whole city. My leg warmers are high, my shoulder’s bare, and the world feels like one giant music video. This is sweat, neon, hustle — and joy. I pop, lock, and laugh my way through the afternoon, while the time machine chills against a graffiti wall with its shades on. It knows: we are absolutely living.
🕰️ Slide 14 – The 1980s
"The Sky Is Not the Limit" The year is 1984. I stand at Cape Canaveral with my hair whipping in the Florida wind, eyes locked on the rising pillar of smoke and fire. The shuttle surges upward — and so does my heart. The ground shakes. The crowd cheers. History arcs through the sky like a promise. We believed then — as we still do — that the future was something we could reach for. Little did we know that just two years later, the world would hold its breath in sorrow. But on this day, we only felt wonder.
🕰️ Slide 15 – The 1980s
"Mall Magic & Big Hair Dreams" The year is 1988. The mall is my runway, my sanctuary, my social universe. I strut past neon signs and wall-to-wall music, clutching shopping bags and living for the thrill of a new lip gloss and a whispered crush. Everything is extra — the hair, the hoop earrings, the attitude. Time travel can take me anywhere… But for today, I’m just a girl in a hot pink top and a lavender skirt, owning her moment under the food court lights.
🕰️ Slide 16 – The 1990s
"Hello, Angst. Hello, Authentic." The year is 1993. Gone are the mall curls and neon sparkle. Now it’s flannel, eyeliner, and lyrics that say what we’re too numb — or too brave — to say out loud. The crowd sways like a single pulse, and when Kurt sings, it’s like the whole world exhales. I’m not here to perform. I’m here to feel. This isn’t about being pretty. It’s about being real. The time machine waits in the alley behind the venue… probably smoking a cigarette.
🕰️ Slide 17 – 1990s Interlude
"Temporal Miscalculation" The year is… well, supposed to be 2095. Instead, I’m standing in 1995, holding a payphone that smells like metal and regret, wondering why the time machine doesn't have a customer service line. No Wi-Fi. No portal. Just a dial tone and a crop top. Clearly, someone hit the wrong lever. Note to self: double-check coordinates… after caffeine.
🕰️ Slide 18 – The 1990s
"I ❤️ TRL" The year is 1999. Boy bands rule the airwaves, butterfly clips are back, and Times Square is the center of the pop universe. I made my sign with glitter pens and pure adrenaline — hoping Carson Daly will see me from the MTV window. It’s loud, chaotic, and absolutely perfect. I don’t need the time machine right now. This is the future I wanted — and it's playing live on channel 36.
🕰️ Slide 19 – The 2000s
"Dear Future Me…" The year is 2004. I’m curled up on my bed, scribbling secrets into a spiral notebook while my iPod plays Avril, Coldplay, and songs I’ll never admit to loving out loud. There’s no TikTok. No filters. Just thoughts, tangled earbuds, and the glow of a lava lamp in the corner. I don’t need to post it. I just need to feel it. The time machine rests quietly at the foot of the bed… maybe journaling too.
🕰️ Slide 20 – The 2010s
"Playlist = Personality" The year is 2010. I’m walking through an open-air shopping plaza with my earbuds in and my hoodie unzipped just enough to show off a little confidence. I’ve got a playlist full of feelings and a pocket full of nothing — and somehow, it feels like enough. This version of me doesn’t need a destination. Just a beat to walk to. The time machine is probably off grabbing froyo… I’ll catch up after this song.
🕰️ Slide 21 – The 2010s
"There Is No Planet B" The year is 2015. The signs are handmade, the voices are loud, and the urgency? Palpable. I’m no longer just passing through history — I’m standing in the middle of it, shoulder to shoulder with strangers who feel like family. We’re not here to be polite. We’re here to be heard. Because if we want a future worth traveling to… we have to fight for it now.
🕰️ Slide 22 – The 2020s
"Hope & Healing" The year is 2021. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a line — and it’s not for toilet paper. It’s for healing. I roll up my sleeve and close my eyes, not out of fear… but relief. This isn’t the end of everything we’ve faced. But it is a beginning. A chance to gather, to breathe, to hope again. The time machine waits outside, quiet and still. For once… I think it knows to give us a moment.
🕰️ Slide 23 – The 2030s
"The Future Is Now" The year is 2030. The skyline is made of glass and intention. Data hums through the air, cities are smarter, and AI isn’t just a tool — it’s a companion, a co-creator, a spark. The time machine? She’s learned a few things too. And me? I’m still dreaming — but now, the world is finally dreaming with me. I don’t just visit time anymore. I shape it.
🕰️ Slide 24 – 2095
"Decade Not Found" The year is 2095. Neon cities glow beneath glass skies, and the future hums with light and logic. I walk its streets with quiet awe — but something feels... off. I’ve seen so much. I’ve danced through time, fought for voices, fallen in love with eras I was never meant to know. And yet… the one moment I never understood still echoes in my mind. A payphone. A wrong year. A blinking message: ERROR 404: DECADE NOT FOUND. I thought it was a glitch. But it wasn’t. It was me. Back in 1995 — confused, stranded, and alone — I whispered something into that receiver, not knowing if anyone… or anything… would ever hear it. I just needed to believe it would matter someday. Now, a quiet tone pulses in my ear. My voice crackles through the static, older and uncertain: “If you’re hearing this… you made it. And you’re not lost. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” I smile. The time machine powers up. The journey isn't over. But now, I finally know why I started it.
2025-04-22_09-55-35_5677-rs

Almost Quit Instagram 1,000 times

by with 3 Comments Blog

There are days I want to give up.

Not in a dramatic, door-slamming way.
But in the quiet kind of quitting — the kind that looks like walking away from my phone and whispering,
“Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

I’ve almost quit Instagram 1,000 times.

Because it’s exhausting.

Not just the creating, the editing, or the posting.
It’s everything else — the invisible work that no one claps for:

  • Spending 3–5 hours a day creating and planning.

  • Teaching myself video editing, lighting, storytelling, new models and new tools.

  • Learning social media marketing, SEO, and now… Pinterest, Fanvue, newsletters, and AI image and video creation.

  • Navigating Instagram’s ever-changing algorithm like a blindfolded tightrope walker.

  • Running a real business — filing paperwork, building a website, handling legal structures, accounting, ads, contracts.

Every single day I’m learning, adapting, growing.

And sometimes? It feels like shouting into a void.

The Numbers Game

There are days I gain 400 followers.
And others I lose 80 — and wonder what I did wrong.

It’s so easy to tie my worth to the numbers: The likes. The reach. The follower count.

But here’s something I’ve had to teach myself again and again (and again):

The algorithm isn’t punishing me —
It’s just working exactly as designed.

Instagram prioritizes virality, paid ads, and large accounts.
It’s not personal. But it feels personal.

💭 I Wrote This to Reset My Brain

Let me share a truth that’s helped me:

Old ThoughtNew Thought
I only gained 3 followers todayThree people saw me, loved me, and stayed. That’s three hearts who now know who I am.
I lost 60+ followersThat’s the algorithm clearing clutter. I’m building a loyal community, not chasing ghosts.
This feels like a reflection of my worthMy worth doesn’t come from numbers. My magic is not quantifiable.
I’m failingI’m still showing up, still creating, still glowing. That’s courage. That’s power.

"Social media might not always love me back, but I keep showing up anyway."

📁 What Keeps Me Going

  • The sweet comments from my followers that say, “You brightened my day. Thank you, Rissa.”

  • The friends I’ve made across the world through this screen.

  • The ability to create a virtual life and persona that still reflects the most authentic parts of who I am.

  • The thrill of turning emotion into something beautiful.

And maybe most of all:

The hope that someone, somewhere will see what I make and whisper,
“I thought I was the only one.”

💜 To You, the One Who’s Still Here

If you’re reading this, you’re part of the light I hold onto.

This path isn’t easy.
It’s wild, lonely, exhilarating, and sometimes… bitterly disappointing.

But I didn’t come this far to give up now.

And neither did you.

So I’m staying. Not because it’s easy.
But because my story matters.
Because beauty matters.
Because connection matters.

And I believe…
even when it’s hard… especially when it’s hard…
I still have something worth sharing.

If you’re feeling this too — drop a 💜 in the comments.

Let’s remind each other we’re not alone.

I shared more about coming back to Instagram in Navigating My Return to Instagram.

Quest for Her Heart - The Knight

The Quest for Her Heart: A Fantasy in Five Faces

by with One Comment Blog

Some say love is a straight path — a quest with one destination. But what if the one we seek wears many faces? This is the tale of Michael, a knight whose heart longed for a love deeper than time, more powerful than fate. His journey would take him across realms both magical and mortal, where five women would each steal his breath — and teach him something he didn’t yet know about love… and about himself.

As you turn each page in this story, you’ll meet her again and again… until at last, you understand.

Prologue: The Knight Who Dreamed of More
They called him brave. Loyal. Steadfast. But in the quiet hours, when the stars hummed and the world hushed, Michael longed for something no sword could win — not a battle, but a longing. He had heard stories of a woman who was more than beauty, more than magic… a woman made of moments, of mystery, of many truths. They said she lived in no one place, that no man could hold her — only hope to see her clearly. So, he left behind his title, his station, and the life he’d always known. Not to conquer. But to understand. To find her — all of her. And so, the quest began…
The Moonlit Oracle
On the 10th day of his journey, high atop a cliff bathed in silver moonlight, Michael sees a woman shrouded in velvet mystery. Michael climbs the cliff walls hearing the waves of the ocean breaking on the rocky terrain below. He finally reaches the top. He is mesmerized by her beauty. She speaks in riddles and circles and prophecy. Yet she does offer him one clear truth: “You must know me to love me… but do not expect to know me all at once.”
The Moonlit Oracle
“Love,” she says, “is not foretold. It is chosen.” Michael asks if he could be the one she could love. She smiles and summons him closer and just as his lips were about to touch hers, she vanished in the moonlit mist. Michael called out for her. He heard her voice faint and distant, "You must know all of me, find all of me." Michael was not sure he understood but he knew he must continue his quest.
The Queen of Embers
After days of travel, Michael came to a realm where he walked across miles and miles of scorched plains. He reached a palace ablaze in fire. As he enters the grand doors of the palace he is drawn to the firelit throne of a queen whose passion burns as bright as her eyes. She summons him to sit with her at the foot of her throne. He feels his passion for her rise in him. His desire for her builds and burns red hot inside him. She is regal, radiant, and untouchable — or so he thinks. Until her eyes soften.
The Queen of Embers
“Love is not weakness,” she tells him. “It’s the fire you survive together.” She dares him to face the flame of love—not the easy warmth, but the transformative blaze. Michael rises fearless to walk through the flames that surround her but just as his hand reaches to touch her cheek she vanishes into smoke and the flames are extinguished. He calls out for her, and he hears her voice faintly, "You must know all of me, find all of me, Michael!"
The Forest Enchantress
Michael continues on his quest and among the ancient trees and tangled roots of a magical forest, Michael finds her again, this time barefoot and wild, with secrets in her smile. She has flowers in her hair, she seems delicate and breakable. She speaks of love being patient, curious, and quietly blooming like moss beneath shadowed trees. He hears a flock of Starlings fly overhead, and he looks up to see them. When his gaze comes back to rest on her she is gone. He cries out to her and he hears her voice summon him, "I am here Michael." He walks toward the light that breaks through the curtain of trees and vines.
The Forest Enchantress
As he breaks into the light she is there waiting in a glade where time forgets to pass. The forest animals play with her in the lush emerald colored meadow as she laughs. Flowers bloom beneath her bare feet. Her laughter is the music of moss and wind. He thinks she’ll vanish again if he blinks. Finally, her gaze meets his and she says, “Love,” she smiles, “is not a cage. It’s the wind that dares you to fly.” He steps to her and just as his arms are about to embrace her, her form turns into a flock of Starlings, and they circle him once and fly away. As they fly off, he hears her voice in the winged churned breeze, "find me Michael, find all of me."
The Time Weaver
Michael travels for days more, searching. He crosses a barren desert. He thinks he is going mad because he begins to hear the sound of ticking clocks in his head. In the middle of the desert, he finds a golden temple. He enters and realizes that the sound of the clockworks was coming from here. He follows the sounds of the ticking, and they grow louder until he enters a grand room and sees her there dressed and decorated in golden hues. He meets her in a realm of golden gears and forgotten dreams. He watches her. As she moves her hands, they spin the threads of past and future.
The Time Weaver
She shows him that to love her is to accept her story—all of it. The sorrow, the resilience, the joy, the change. Then suddenly the clocks tick in reverse. He sees who he is, who he was, and who he might yet be. She never tells him which is real. “Love is not a moment,” she whispers. “It’s a memory in motion.” Michael loses track of time, he is tired, and the sound of the clocks makes his eyes heavy. He falls asleep and when he awakens, she is gone, and the clocks are silent. He calls out to her his voice echoing through the halls. He suddenly hears ticking and looks down to see a golden pocket watch. He turns it over and sees the engraving. "Quick Michael, before it is too late you must find all of me."
The Siren Beneath the Ice
The Knight had grown weary as he had travelled far to the north to the frozen and icy realm. Michael had travelled much longer this time and was sure he had made a mistake when suddenly as his foot planted on the ice a large crack broke the silence. He held still but in an instance the ice shattered, and he fell into the frigid water below. He struggled to get to the surface, but the current was too strong. He fought and fought but to no avail. His eyes fluttered and he passed out.
The Siren Beneath the Ice
When he came to, he gasped. And found himself in a grand ice cave. And there she was dressed in ivory and as beautiful as he had ever seen her. But something was different. His heart felt so heavy. She was beauty and grief, longing and silence all in one. It is here that he almost turned away as he is overcome with sorrow. Her voice cracks the icy silence of the cave. “My love,” she said, “isn’t always safe or happy. It can be scary and at times it can be cold. But it’s always worth the plunge.” She beckons him closer, and he dares to reach for her. But just as he was about to touch her, she melted away.
Epilogue: The Woman Who Was Always Her
Michael made the long trek back to his realm feeling dejected and lost. His mind wandered back to the women he had met on his quest. He knew in the icy cave that he had failed as he called out to her many times and heard nothing from her this time. Then one day high on cliff overlooking his castle he heard a snap of a branch and turned towards the bordering forest behind him.
Epilogue: The Woman Who Was Always Her
There, he sees her. Not the Oracle. Not the Queen. Not the Enchantress, the Weaver, or the Siren. All of them. One woman — layered, complex, infinite. And he finally understands: Love isn’t one thing. She isn’t one thing. But she is everything.
Lairissa Lee

Instagram Isn’t What It Claims to Be — Let’s Talk About That

by with 2 Comments Blog

Instagram’s CEO, Adam Mosseri keeps saying the platform is about two things:

“Creativity and connecting with the people you care about.”

That sounds lovely. But the reality? It’s something else entirely. Let’s unpack both of these claims—and hold them up to the light.

"Creativity" — But Only If the Algorithm Approves

We’re told Instagram supports creativity. That it’s a place for artists, influencers, photographers, and dreamers. But here’s the truth:

Instagram doesn’t support creativity. It curates it.

Just like the record executives of the mid-20th century decided which artists got a shot at fame, Instagram’s algorithm now decides which creators get seen. You don’t get discovered for being original—you get discovered for being algorithmically optimized.

That’s not creative freedom. That’s creativity with strings attached.

If your art, your style, or your voice doesn’t fit the mold—if it’s too sexy, too raw, too real, too niche—it gets quietly suppressed. Shadowbanned. Buried.

Instagram promotes content that aligns with ad-friendly, brand-safe norms—not necessarily what’s bold, innovative, or artistically meaningful.

And let’s not forget: AI now governs what is “allowed” on the platform, enforcing vague “community guidelines” through machine learning filters that can’t understand context or intention.

Creativity? Instagram has turned it into a numbers game. A branding exercise. A filtered illusion.

Further, the platform encourages homogenization. It says “be yourself,” but the content that wins is often formulaic and trend-driven. The more unique you are, the more invisible you become.

True creativity challenges the status quo—Instagram’s algorithm buries that under what’s already familiar.

"Connecting with the People You Care About" — Really?

This one’s almost laughable—because Instagram’s design actively prevents you from connecting deeply.

Let’s look at the science.

Dunbar’s Number, a well-studied concept in anthropology, shows that humans can realistically maintain about 150–250 meaningful social relationships. That’s our cognitive limit. Beyond that, the quality of connection breaks down.

So if Instagram truly cared about helping us stay close to the people we love, they’d cap follower and following counts to reflect this reality. Maybe 250, max.

But they don’t.

Instead, they encourage infinite scaling. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Millions of followers. Why? Because your “relationships” aren’t the product. Your attention is.

Instagram isn’t a digital dinner party—it’s a broadcast network.

It functions more like TV or radio than a tight-knit community. You post, and if the algorithm likes it, your content gets pushed out to the masses. You perform. They watch.

That’s not connection. That’s performance culture.

You’re not connecting. You’re performing—for hearts, not hugs.

Let's Go Even Deeper: Other Incongruities

Instagram Says: “Be Real”

But Rewards Facades. Filters are everywhere. Facetune culture is thriving. The pressure to post polished, curated content hasn’t disappeared—it’s just gone underground.

Instagram rewards performative authenticity, not actual vulnerability.

Instagram Says It's: "Empowering Creators"

But Fuels Comparison and Addiction. The platform is engineered for dopamine hits. Scroll traps. Vanity metrics. Creator burnout is common—and sometimes celebrated.

If Instagram cared about mental health, it would be less addictive—not more

Instagram Says: "You Control Your Experience"

But The Algorithm Is the Gatekeeper. You don’t choose what you see—the machine does. Even your own followers don’t always see your content.

Every interaction is mediated by machine logic.

Instagram Says: "Everyone Has a Voice"

But It’s Increasingly Pay-to-Play. Reach is throttled. Boosting is essential. Visibility is now often tied to ad spend or monetization deals.

The feed doesn’t reflect what’s best. It reflects what’s bankrolled.

Instagram Says: "We Support Community"

But Suppresses Controversial or Marginalized Voices. Content moderation is opaque, inconsistent, and frequently unfair. There’s no real appeals process. No transparency. No recourse.

True communities don’t exist where one side has all the power and no accountability.

So What Can We Do?

This isn’t a call to abandon Instagram. It’s a call to see it clearly.

Understand what the platform is—and what it isn’t. Know that it’s a stage, not a salon. A billboard, not a journal. Use it with intent, not illusion.

If you’re a creator: Make art that matters to you first. Use Instagram as a tool—not a validation machine. Build outside the platform. Own your content. Grow your audience in places where creativity isn’t controlled by a feed.

If you’re a follower: Be mindful of your attention. Don’t confuse likes for love or visibility for worth. Seek out creators who offer depth, not just dopamine.

If you’re a thinker, a rebel, a builder—let’s imagine and create better spaces. Platforms where creativity is unfiltered, connection is real, and authenticity isn’t gamified.

Instagram isn’t going to change. But we can change how we use it.

And that might just change everything.

Easter 2025 Steampunk Photo Shoot

Steam, Silk & Springtime: My Little Easter Fantasy

by with One Comment Blog

This Easter, I decided to trade pretty dresses and bonnets for something a little more… me. 🌸⚙️💜

I’ve always loved the idea of spring as a soft reset — a season where the light returns, the flowers bloom, and we get to reinvent ourselves just a little. This year, I let my imagination run wild. What if the Easter Bunny had a corset? What if spring softness came with brass buckles and lace?

Wrapped in lilac lingerie with golden gears glinting in the morning light, I stepped into a world where sweetness meets power. This look is my way of saying: I can be delicate and daring. Romantic and rebellious. A pastel dream with a steampunk soul.

Because sometimes Easter isn’t just about chocolate eggs — it’s about showing up in your full, radiant self… ears and all. 🐰💫

So here’s to mixing aesthetics, breaking molds, and bringing a little lace to the long weekend.
Happy Easter, my loves. May you bloom wildly — in whatever color, shape, or vibe makes you feel most you.

With all my love,
– Lairissa 💜
rockymtnbabe.com

If you liked my playful steampunk Easter vibes, you might enjoy my Fun Halloween Illustrations too!
2025-04-15_22-04-32_9357-rs-blog-topaz-face-upscale-1.9x-rs-blog

She’s Always a Woman – Grace in Her Gaze, Strength in Her Hands

by with No Comment Blog

There’s a certain magic in femininity that can’t be measured by numbers or metrics. It’s not something you scroll past. It lingers. It asks nothing, yet stays with you. That was the energy I wanted to capture in this image and in the feeling behind it.

When I first heard Billy Joel’s “She’s Always a Woman,” it struck a chord so deep I knew it would one day become a soundtrack to one of my moments. Not just because it’s romantic and wistful, but because it speaks to the complexity of being seen — fully seen — as a woman.

She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes. And she does, sometimes.

But there is also tenderness in that strength. There’s resilience in softness. The quiet confidence in wearing lace, not for anyone else, but for herself. The decision to show up, beautiful and unapologetic, is not for approval. It’s a love letter to her own power.

I wrote this small verse to hold the spirit of that energy:

She’s the hush in the chaos, the calm in the storm,
A flame in the quiet that keeps herself warm.
Unfolding in beauty that nobody planned—
Grace in her gaze, and strength in her hands.

It’s about the woman who moves through the world with poise and fire, knowing that she doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. She doesn’t have to conform to shine. She just has to be.

So here I am, in my element, sharing this moment with you. If this speaks to you—if you’ve ever felt the push and pull of being soft and strong at once—then I hope you feel seen here.

You are allowed to be both gentle and fierce. Delicate and determined. A whisper and a wildfire.

With love, always,
—Rissa xoxo

For a deeper look into love and admiration, read A Love Letter to Marcie.“

2025-04-13_23-24-59_1425-topaz-face-upscale-3.9x-rs-blog

Cheer From Within: Why Your Inner Voice Matters Most

by with No Comment Blog

Sometimes the loudest encouragement doesn’t come from the crowd—it comes from within.

There’s a quiet, personal kind of power that blossoms when you learn to become your own cheerleader. It’s not always easy. In fact, some days, it feels like the world has gone quiet, and you’re left standing on the sidelines of your own life wondering if anyone sees your effort, your heart, your hustle.

That’s when your inner voice matters most.

When I created the images for this post, dressed as a cheerleader in a locker room, I wasn’t just playing a part. I was reminding myself of something I often forget: the importance of self-encouragement. The power of looking yourself in the mirror and saying, “I’ve got you.”

📣Why Being Your Own Cheerleader Is Essential

We live in a world where external validation is addictive. Likes, shares, comments, followers. It’s easy to fall into the trap of believing our worth is reflected in those metrics. But what happens when the numbers slow? When the applause fades? When the feedback doesn’t match the effort?

That’s when your inner cheerleader has to step in. She doesn’t wait for permission to speak. She claps loudly for your growth. She believes in your worth before the world does. And most importantly, she sticks around, even when things are quiet.

🔗How to Strengthen Your Inner Voice

  1. Affirmations That Feel Like Truth: Say things that ring true to your soul. Not just generic mantras, but personal reminders of your strength, your journey, your dreams.
  2. Celebrate Small Wins: Don’t wait for a milestone to feel proud. Every step, every effort, every choice to keep going deserves recognition.
  3. Talk to Yourself with Kindness: If you wouldn’t say it to a friend, don’t say it to yourself. Be the voice that lifts you, not one that tears you down.
  4. Visual Reminders: Whether it’s a sticky note on your mirror or a photo shoot that made you feel powerful, surround yourself with proof of your progress.
  5. Unfollow Negativity: Online and offline. Curate your digital and physical spaces to be supportive, inspiring, and real.

If you’re looking for encouragement during hard times, Creating Beauty in the Mess might inspire you.

🦁A Final Whisper - No Roar

You don’t need pom-poms or a uniform to cheer yourself on. You just need a heart that believes in you, even when it’s hard.

And if you ever need a cheerleader to borrow, know this: I’m rooting for you, too. Always.

With love, Rissa xoxo

00000-2509846381-topaz-face-upscale-1.8x-rs-blog

Wrapped in Light: A Morning in Robin Egg Blue

by with One Comment Blog

There’s something about soft light slipping through the curtains…
Something about a breeze that carries no weight — just a whisper of stillness.

That’s how this morning felt.

Wrapped in sheer turquoise and lace, I let myself slow down — not for the camera, not for the algorithm, but just… for me.

This wasn’t a planned shoot. Not exactly.
It started with coffee. A little music. A glance in the mirror that said, “Yes. Today, I feel beautiful.”

Not the loud kind of beautiful. The quiet kind.
The kind that says:
“I don’t need to be seen to know that I’m glowing.”
But today, I let myself be seen anyway.

Because sensuality isn’t always about seduction.
Sometimes, it’s just about softness.
About allowing space to breathe — to feel good in your skin — to wear something delicate just because it makes you smile.

And if you’re here reading this, you already know…
this isn’t just about lingerie.
It’s about choosing joy.
It’s about reclaiming confidence.
It’s about letting the morning sun remind you that you’re a whole story in a single photograph.

Thanks for spending a little time with me. 🩵

Until next time,
– Rissa xoxo

White Lace Confidence

Behind the Lingerie: Why I Choose to Be Seen

by with No Comment Blog

For a long time, I believed visibility had to be earned — through perfection, approval, or the right kind of modesty. But when I began modeling lingerie, I wasn’t just putting on delicate fabrics and posing for the camera — I was stepping into the deepest kind of self-acceptance I had ever known.

To some, lingerie is provocative. To others, it’s fashion. For me, it’s power. Not because it’s revealing, but because I choose what I reveal. I choose when, how, and why. And in that choice lies my freedom.

This journey didn’t start out with confidence. It started with curiosity — and a quiet hunger to reclaim a body I had been taught to shrink. Wearing lingerie became a way to rewrite my story. Every strap, every curve, every gaze into the camera was a declaration: “This is me. Unapologetic. Unfiltered. Unafraid.”

There’s a myth that women who share photos like mine are doing it for attention. Maybe sometimes that’s true. But for me, it’s about intention — the intention to own my femininity, to honor my sensuality, and to challenge the idea that being seen means being less.

When I post a photo in a beautiful lace set, I’m not asking to be objectified. I’m asking to be witnessed. There’s a difference. One reduces me. The other sees me.

Behind the lingerie, I’m still the same woman — the one who cries when her heart hurts, who lights up at the first snow, who writes love letters she’ll never send. The lace doesn’t cover those things. It highlights them.

This isn’t just about lingerie. It’s about liberation. It’s about choosing visibility on my terms — in a world that constantly tries to decide what’s “appropriate” for women to share, to wear, or to feel good in.

So yes, I wear lingerie. I post it. I celebrate it. Not because it defines me, but because it reflects me.

And if my softness, strength, or sensuality makes someone uncomfortable — that’s okay. I didn’t dress for them. I dressed for the woman I’ve become.

— Rissa

If you want to read more about embracing your beauty online, check out my post Real Me vs. Digital Me.