Hi. It’s me. The Invisible Man.
No, not Kevin Bacon Hollow Man Invisible. Not the Chevy Chase kind, either. I mean, what was that scene where he put makeup on? Creepy is what is was.
Think of me more as the classic trench-coat-and-fedora-style menace with a modern twist and a slightly better data plan. After decades of creeping through labs and being misunderstood by society, I decided to pack up my transparent duffel bag and become the most mysterious influencer the world will never see.
Here’s a peek at some of my recent totally-not-Photoshopped selfies. The vibes? Elite. The visibility? Questionable at best. And I promise I’m dressed in all these pics…
Louvre Me Tender
Ah, Paris.
City of lights. City of romance. City of “Hey, sir, you can’t loiter here if you don’t technically exist.”
But rules are merely suggestions when you’re an international man of mystery with a selfie stick and no discernible retinal pattern.
This gem was snapped during a quiet afternoon visit to the Louvre. Now, you might be asking: How did you get that close to the Mona Lisa? Well, I borrowed a trench coat from an unattended mime and slapped on a beret I found in a lost-and-found bin labeled “Cultural Stereotypes.” Voilà! Instant Parisian stealth.
In the selfie, you’ll see a mysterious floating hat, an inexplicably charming woman who swore I looked “hauntingly familiar,” and some security guards giving me that “Is this a prank show?” side-eye. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t. But it could’ve been. ABC, call me.
Also, side note—Mona? She’s got secrets. Her smile says, “I know things.” Possibly about Bigfoot. Definitely about where the good croissants are hidden.
As for the woman—Camille, I believe? Or Clementine? Honestly, I was distracted by the way her laugh sounded like a vintage champagne being uncorked by accident.
We later got drinks. She swore she once dated Banksy. I pretended to be Paul Rudd’s voice double for animated cereal ads in the 90s. It was a moment. A blurry, beautiful, practically nonexistent moment.
Next stop? Area 51. I’m bringing Capri Suns and emotional baggage.
📸 Area 51: The Selfie That Technically Violates a Few Treaties
Let the record show: I did not technically trespass. I simply arrived enthusiastically in a zone that discourages enthusiasm.
This selfie was taken just beyond the “NO TRESPASSING: TRESPASSERS WILL BE YEETED INTO THE VOID” sign outside Area 51, during a casual joyride involving questionable snacks, an old GPS unit that kept glitching in binary, and a playlist exclusively composed of The X-Files theme and Daft Punk deep cuts.
This shot later that night captures a surreal moment: a floating trench coat and sunglasses (me, obviously), a glowing can of Monster Energy mid-hover, and—if you zoom in—a humanoid-ish figure in the background with eyes that scream “I’ve seen Saturn’s weirdest moons.” I named him Kyle. He seems chill.
Security? Less chill. Two guards can be seen squinting in my general direction, as if trying to solve an escape room with no clues and only half a bagel for sustenance. One appears to be radioing something in. Also in the frame: a trail of alien footprints (size 13?), an inexplicably levitating lawn chair, and a signpost that simply reads “Trust No One” in Comic Sans.
This wasn’t just a selfie. It was a cosmic meet-cute. A vibe. A cross-dimensional LinkedIn connection waiting to happen. Kyle and I traded life advice (his: “Don’t eat Earth shrimp.” Mine: “Always bring backup socks.”) before he disappeared into the desert mist, leaving behind only a faint smell of ozone and Axe body spray.
No filter needed. The desert light and military-grade plasma flares did all the work.
The Oscars: Lights, Camera… Who Just Slapped That Guy?
Here’s the thing about crashing the Oscars when you’re invisible: nobody stops you from getting in… but everyone blames you when weird stuff happens.
This selfie was taken during a brief lull between an interpretive dance tribute to deceased boom operators and a 17-minute standing ovation for a movie nobody saw but everyone pretended to love because Timothée Chalamet wore a mesh crop top during the press tour.
In the photo (you’ll have to squint), you’ll notice my best picture yet. The cinematic lights really highlight my cheekbones. And cheers as I raise a flute of champagne next to a stunned A-list actress reacting to someone whispering “You’re breathtaking” into her ear with no identifiable source. Yes, that was me. Yes, she blushed. No, I will not be taking questions at this time.
Also in frame: a confused security guard, a host mid-monologue awkwardly scanning the crowd, and a member of BTS nervously texting their manager.
A woman in a designer gown asked if I was Harry Styles doing performance art. I said yes. She asked if I was dating Olivia Wilde. I said especially yes.
I spent the rest of the evening subtly photobombing red carpet shots, moving canapés from one tray to another, and whispering fake spoilers into random producer’s ears. (“Dune Part Three ends with Shrek. Pass it on.”)
Left with two gift bags, one producer’s phone, and a rumor I was Zendaya’s aura guide.