If I were to invite you over for a Negroni Sblagiato and yolk-only omelette accompanied by Olivia’s Special Salad would you know what I was talking about or (reasonably) assume I’d lost my mind? If you did understand, please sit down and take a load off. This is a safe space, you are amongst friends.
Our lives have been irrevocably changed by the events of the last couple of years. You might have heard, they were unprecedented. One of the biggest changes for me is how my screentime slowly crept up from ‘someone who needs to use social media a bit for work’ to ‘the bones of my hand have started to adapt to better support my Popsocket.’ An average day starts with responding to Whatsapp messages, followed by a peek at Instagram (the app least likely to disturb my mental health) then a quick turn around Twitter and Facebook, finishing up by digging into my email inbox. You know, my actual work. Should I have a bit of extra time, I’ll also pop onto TikTok but only if I really want to feel very old/lose three hours of my life. Last time I spent a significant amount of time there, I discovered anyone who owns a green velvet couch is bisexual which was thrilling news to me, a green velvet couch owner.
For a long time, people rallied against living a life online. Spending hours of your day lost in a computer was seen as the last refuge of the weird, the wrong and the desperate, and while I’m not logging into 4Chan at every available second, I do seem to be spending more time than might be considered healthy attached to my phone. It’s easily done. I work from home, I don’t have kids, and my friends and family are dotted all over the planet which makes it very difficult for us to get together for brunch but super simple to hop on the group chat to discuss the latest DeuxMoi Sunday Spotted. Who went to Carbone this week? Does anyone have an update on Headphones Dino Bones? And where in the world is Cousin Greg? At some point, we developed a new language known only to us. It’s largely female-skewing, most common amongst Millennials and if you got the opening sentence of this piece, congratulations, you are fluent.
Online nonsense is our virtual watercooler
Lindsey kelk
Sadly, my husband is not fluent. My husband is not online. He has a Facebook account to stay in touch with his family but that’s it. He doesn’t use Twitter or Instagram and once, I showed him a Reel of a cat slapping a man around the face, and he asked me to Screen Record it so he could share with a friend. And I did. While I’m sure this is great for his mental health, it makes having a conversation very difficult at the end of the day. He can’t name a single Try Guy, he couldn’t place the Kardashian-Jenners in age order and he doesn’t care about the movie, Don’t Worry Darling, the controversy surrounding the movie, the on-set drama, interpersonal relationships of the cast and their significant others or the inherent misogyny of obsessing over the movie. Whereas I have spent more time obsessing over the movie, Don’t Worry Darling, the controversy surrounding the movie, the on-set drama, interpersonal relationships of the cast and their significant others and the inherent misogyny of obsessing over the movie, Don’t Worry Darling, than I spent driving to and from the cinema to watch the movie, Don’t Worry Darling. Loved it, by the way.
The upside of spending more time plugged into the internet than Britney spends dancing is the shorthand it allows me and my friends, all of whom live in different places and work in different fields. Online nonsense is our virtual watercooler. We don’t have a Brian in Accounts to whisper about over a Hoisin Duck Wrap at lunch but we did all see Rita Ora’s house tour on Architectural Digest. Plus, my little finger is now very strong. It’s also a quick fix, a ready hit of serotonin. Celebs they’re just like us! Or even better, celebs, they’re out of their minds. Have you read their hotel demands? Chef’s. Kiss. A lot of people will write it off as cruel and mean spirited but there is a delightful side of social media where you’re rooting for your faves. Hey, we freed Britney! As long as you can control the beast, I think it’s perfectly acceptable to be able to write an essay on Brad Pitt and Emily Ratajkowski’s alleged hook-up. You just have to be able how to apply critical thinking skills and know when to say when. And steer clear of the Daily Mail.
That said, the online landscape is changing and it’s changing fast. Twitter has a new owner and we have no idea where things go from here but even the eternal optimist in me anticipates the answer is ‘badly’. That said, I’ll be clinging on until the bitter end so if you need me, I’ll be on Instagram, expressing my truest love language to the people who mean the most to me - sharing astrology memes, cat videos and screengrabs of 90’s teen magazines. Won’t you join us?
<meta charset="utf-8">The Christmas Wish by Lindsey Kelk
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