Social Media

A few weeks I discovered that my personal Twitter account, the one I keep for friends & safe humans, decided to just change my security settings. An iPhone update later and bam! My well crafted, witty one liners are available for the world & it’s Mum to see.
 

 
It would also appear that changing it back is near enough impossible. Well impossible is pushing it, but I have the technical capabilities of a frog with no thumbs.
 

 
Whilst attempting to fend off the crazy masses & instantly becoming phobic that the same thing had happened to my Facebook, it suddenly hit me that there are many things wrong with the wonderful world of social media. It sure is a world I enjoy to partake in, in small portions and responsibly (and mainly to let you lot have access to this blog), but there are several things fundamentally amiss with it. And here are some of them; 

 
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The invention of the ‘pasty, patchy haired chested, I’m in my Mum’s bathroom & the tiles need re-grouting’ selfie.

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 The acceptance of saying ‘hashtag’ in everyday, spoken conversation. See ‘Hashtag Awkward’ for reference. It sure will be Hashtag Awkward when I #throwmywineoveryou.

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The fact that ‘following’ people is now socially acceptable. Not a tad stalker like and murder-ey, like it was 10 years ago.

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The need for people to feel obliged to share their involvement in the most mundane of activities. See ‘Simon is having breakfast #yum’ for reference. Simon is, in fact, a boring bastard. #trueshit.

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 The posting of profound, ‘look into the distance with glazed over eyes’ statuses. My top 3 so far.

Feeling lost 😦
One day…one day you’ll realise.
#revengeisabitch – karmas coming to get ya.
(this was the most sinister of the 3 but brilliant nonetheless)
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The commonplace ritual of taking a photo of a paving slab. Putting a sepia tone on it. Calling it arty.

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 Pictures of nail varnish. Daily updates of nail varnish.

 The feeling of deep down rejection when the girl from primary school, with whom you’ve had no contact for 15 years, forgets your birthday.

YOLO. I need go no further.
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 The culture of tagging. Good examples;

Jo was tagged at The Crown & Anchor. Here’s a photo of her with a jaegerbomb doing a two-step. Tag. Hmmm. Jo was hoping to call in sick tomorrow due to the bomb induced headache. No such luck.

or
Jenny is with Mark at The Ritzy, Brixton *feeling excited (heart in the eyes smiley)*. Strange, Mark & I were due to go to the cinema one night this week. I don’t know Jenny. But I hate her & sure as hell won’t be returning his text. (this hasn’t actually happened (yet) but you catch my drift.
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The regret hangovers induced by the tagging culture. I DID WHAT?! Yes, yes, you did. Here’s 15 photos, 3 tags and an inbox message from your disapproving Aunty Jan, to prove it. 
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 The way people you would rather forget, and are in no way professionally connected to you, are able to see your current employment status. Oh, and you can see that they’ve seen it.
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Pub conversations that start ‘oh my god, did you see her status, what on earth did she mean?’ To be followed by a 5 minute conversation about what the girl you all used to work with, and hate because she never made tea, meant by her badly structured rant at her boyfriend.

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 And at last but by no means least, the fact that at a click of a button you can see how skinny you used to be. 15 times over.

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LL x
 
 
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