She was dumped from several lucrative brand endorsement deals, slapped with a fine for breaching public health orders and publicly admonished by the Victorian Premier Daniel Andrews. The public cheered, though she escaped criminal charges after a police investigation failed to determine what substance she was snorting.

Bartel’s rusted-on supporters predict her - gulp - career will survive, but the public backlash is spreading.

Bartel’s good mate and fellow Melbourne WAG, former weathergirl Rebecca Judd, who was not at the illegal gathering, copped a grilling when she tried to flog her latest product on social media in the Bartel aftermath. Her crime? Being mates with Bartel.

For years AFL-mad Melbourne folk could not fathom my lack of journalistic interest in “Mrs Bartel”, who seemingly spends her days applying the latest moisturiser on Instagram and posting selfies, which account for the vast majority of her “curated content”.

I vividly remember covering the Melbourne Cup and having to deal with an overzealous publicist from Bleak City who couldn’t comprehend my disinterest in Bartel, as though I was disrespecting a sacred Melbourne social totem of some kind.

I had more than enough “Melbourne” to cover with Brynne Edelsten and her frocks that stopped a nation, but Bartel’s publicist persisted, updating me on her client’s movements around the free champagne bars in the Birdcage enclosure, encouraging me to have “photographers in position”.

I responded bluntly: “I really don’t think my readers care.”

Now EVERYONE cares, a situation Bartel achieved with cheap crockery, a smartphone and some very unwise “friends”, rather than an irritating publicist.

But I’m not about to get all preachy about what she was doing, or the smug hubris displayed while doing it.

Celebrity footballers have been doing that - and worse - for decades and been seemingly forgiven for it as soon as they kick their next show-stopping goal.

But I seriously doubt if Brand Bartel is quite so resilient, even if she did pick up a further 10,000 Instagram followers this week. Voyeurs are not necessarily fans.

Up to the moment we saw her snorting that white powder, Bartel’s entire business model as a highly-paid social media influencer has been based solely on the fact she was the picture-perfect mum once married to a famous footballer.

Bartel doesn’t sing. She doesn’t act. Avoids expressing anything controversial or genuinely newsworthy. She has no premiership trophies of note with her name on them, nor has she achieved any career goals of sufficient merit to sustain her fame.

If she’s - ahem - lucky, her current media traction could morph into a gig on I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!, SAS Australia or Celebrity Big Brother, but that’s already a crowded market of TV tragics where Schapelle Corby, Tziporah Malkah and Caitlin Jenner have marked their territory.

Ironically, it is the publicity Nadia Bartel once depended on to keep her celebrity and cashflow alive which has now become her greatest threat.

And all the other WAGs who dreamed of following in her Louboutin heels should tread very carefully.