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I started typing out a version of this newsletter with one finger on my phone while waiting at Gate C5 at San Francisco International Airport last week. I got about two sentences in, got annoyed, and did something else instead. This is not unlike my regular writing “process,” but in this case I was more irritated with the mechanics of typing as opposed to the mechanics of my brain.
I’ve always been a “find-and-peck”-style typist on my phone, using only my right index finger as opposed to both of my thumbs — you know, the way you’re supposed to. I’m actively jealous of people with lightning thumbs. Whenever I try to use my thumbs to text or compose an email on my phone, it’s like I might as well not have hands at all. (This also happens to me when I have a Band-Aid on any digit.)
This lack of thumb dexterity doesn’t fully make sense to me. I am a speedy, two-handed typist on a computer — unless, of course, someone is watching me over my shoulder, what’s with that? — and I played the piano, quite well I will add, for 13 years. But for some reason, I am just relentlessly right-handed about certain tasks, and one of those tasks is typing on a phone (another is operating a hairdryer).
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But thumb typing is not a skill I care to learn. Besides, I figure it’s a matter of time before some terrifying robot will be able to read our minds and messages will just… appear.
I feel this exact way about learning a new social media platform, which, uh, I may have to.
By now, everyone knows that Twitter is… well, I don’t actually know what’s happening with Twitter. Elon Musk took it over, cleaned house, allowed Trump to return to the platform after conducting a yes/no poll, and Twitter might be ending. Or not. Who knows? I don’t!
What I do know is, I’ve been on Twitter since February 2011. I’ve seen it be used as a force for good (the creation of social movements, the amplification of marginalized voices, the discovery of writers and thinkers who made me a better writer and thinker) and bad (…most of the rest).
The idea of having to start fresh on a new platform makes my soul leave my body like a cartoon ghost, which can partially be chalked up to age. But I also just kind of hate it?
Specifically, I hate the idea that I have to have an unpaid job — above and beyond my actual job — as a digital content creator in order to be considered “relevant.”
I chafe against the idea that I am also creating content — again, for free — for platforms owned by bazillionaires that don’t really care if someone stalks, impersonates or harasses me.
I bristle about being held captive by — and must figure out how to cater to — an algorithm that buries my posts, anyway.
I’m grossed out by the idea of the “attention economy” as well as people — many of them underpaid and underemployed creatives — being told that they “need” this time-sucking app (and all the other time-sucking apps) in order to make a living. I’m sorry, but what an absolute grift.
Listen, I love the internet. I’m an Extremely Online person. And I used to have fun on social media. I liked posting my latte art to Instagram and tweeting one-liners into the abyss. Now, it’s all “content.” Facebook, even, used to be a place for fun banter. Now, it’s a platform for racists and conspiracy theorists.
Social media, as I’ve written before, was a lifeline during the pandemic — at least, at the beginning, when we were still sharing memes and were “all in this together.” But lately, I’ve noticed not just the misinformation and divisiveness, but a lot of misplaced anger. No one has had a chance or a way to grieve — their old lives, their loved ones, their own health. People are angry, and the anger has no place to go.
Which is why even posts that are totally innocuous get spicy these days — like this Facebook post I saw about what I am calling Santa Pancakes. Santa Pancakes are just regular pancakes that are wearing jolly hats fashioned out of fresh strawberries and sporting whipping-cream beards. Cute. Whatever. Who cares?
Well, let me tell you, people care. The comments, predictably, included variations on “fresh strawberries in December???” and “I guess this is cute if you like cold pancakes.” Cue the fighting about how long it takes to put strawberries and whipped cream on pancakes (probably, I didn’t stick around to find out, and now I can’t even find the original post).
Well, great news, everybody: you don’t have to make Santa Pancakes! Or comment on Santa Pancakes! Or think about Santa Pancakes ever again! You can simply scroll by Santa Pancakes and live your life. (I’ve started calling my dog Santa Pancakes.)
I swear, some people act like commenting on a social media post is court mandated. I mean, sure, did I also see Santa Pancakes and think “oh, great, another made-up thing for moms to do on Christmas morning”? Yes! Did I comment? Ho, ho, no — absolutely not. I… have a newsletter for that! Womp womp. (Trust me, I get it, having Indoor Thoughts is hard.)
Like envisioning a post-pandemic world, envisioning a post-Twitter world, or a post-social media world (can you imagine? I literally cannot) is a beautiful chance to reimagine it. Maybe we could do things differently. Or maybe stop doing things completely. Maybe we won’t hinge entire industries on one social media app, and not even the most popular social media app. Maybe we won’t require people to have a “social media presence” in order to make art. Maybe we won’t measure relevance and self-worth and social impact in likes, shares, and saves. A girl can dream, anyway.
At 37 and as a member of the last generation to remember The Time Before The Internet (the original Before Times, if you will), I’ve been online long enough to have pivoted before. I don’t remember the day I logged into MySpace for the last time. Or MSN Messenger, which was basically proto texting for Elder Millennials.
So, I will begrudgingly learn the next thing. Maybe I’ll even learn how to compose my posts with both thumbs. Still, I have to tell you: a larger part of me just wants to log out forever. Maybe I’ll be irrelevant. But I will be free.
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