Grant Smithies gives in and joins Twitter
After decades of being ‘digitally unsociable’, I cave in and join Twitter.
It was hot, loud, crowded, stuffy. Everywhere you looked, boisterous souls were holding forth, many of them clearly the worse for wear from drink. Some people seemed to have only one volume setting – a sort of manic shouting – while others were more conspiratorial, whispering furtively in little cliques huddled in the corners.
There was swaggering, staggering, preening and posturing. There were people handing out pamphlets for their favourite causes, and others openly hustling for work. There was all manner of odd music playing, and a good deal of argument about whether it was any good. No sooner had one tune begun than someone else would commandeer the communal stereo and slap on a new tune they believed was better.
I recognised many of the famous faces assembled, but the gathering was awash with strangers, too. Gatecrashers, possibly, by the look of them. Just like me. I wondered: was there any point showing up so late, an entire decade after this party had begun? The joint was almost unbearably crowded now, and everyone else knew the house rules of this club far better than me. But in the end, I thought ‘What the hell?’ It was time to join Twitter.
Just over a week ago, I finally signed up after a lifetime of being digitally unsociable. Facebook, LinkedIn, Google+, SnapChat, Twitter, Instagram, you name it, I’ve shunned it, like some grumpy ‘‘stay off my porch!’’ oldster incensed by the fripperies of the younger generation.
It made me exhausted, just thinking about all this hectic networking. I already have an outlet for my ill-considered ramblings, after all, and no shortage of online interaction springs from that. After a recent column criticising Mike Hosking, more than 90 of you wrote in, including an alarming number of defenders and one sharp-tongued correspondent who dismissed him as a ‘‘poisonous popinjay’’.
But just lately, I’ve been afflicted with that curse of the modern age: Fear Of Missing Out. What was going on in vast online communities like Twitter? Were people having more fun than me? Should I at least have a look, if only to make sure people weren’t talking about me behind my back?
Also, I get endless emails from readers asking ‘‘Where are you on Twitter?’’. The answer, right up until last week, was ‘‘nowhere’’, but I can now be found at @SmithiesGrant and I encourage you to follow me in order that I might appear more popular, wellconnected and important. Failing that, you may at least abuse me now in 140 characters or less, rather than at far greater length via my overflowing InBox.
Numerous detractors told me Twitter was merely ‘‘a liberal echo chamber’’, a place where you could blithely avoid opposing views and instead surround yourself with others who held much the same opinions, then all chatter amongst yourselves. This was very good news. The clincher, in fact. Who cares what a bunch of rabid right-wingers have to say about every passing issue? We get enough of that via the mainstream media without voluntarily signing up for more.
But if Twitter was going to connect me more closely with a gang of fellow pinko lefties, I was all for it. Some long-time users warned me that Twitter could also be awash with vitriol, and was a magnet for bullies and frauds, narcissists and pervs – the permanently furious, the bitter, the lonely and the damned.
‘‘Twitter is mainly a small bubble of pathologically selfcentered sociopaths working in media,’’ Tweeted someone from the frozen wastes of Stockholm, ‘‘and a bunch of horny people making Hitler jokes.’’
Clearly, this could be a rough place for a sensitive soul like me. And sure enough, the day I signed up a few mates warned me that I would be ‘‘chum in the water’’ for circling sharks. I was fresh meat.
But in my first week of dipping a tentative toe into this particular pool, I have not been bitten once. This is partly down to who I’ve chosen to follow, but I’ve found most people to be calm, considerate, and careful with each other. It has been a relatively wellbehaved forum for debate, humour, gossip and information sharing, and an endlessly fascinating junkyard for pop culture detritus.
And unsurprisingly, given our current media climate, Twitter is densely populated with underemployed journalists with too much time on their hands. Again, I am thankful. Scattered around newsrooms, cafes, bars and little home offices all around the land, tapping away furiously, I have found my people.
Whether Twitter will turn out to be more than just another passing distraction remains to be seen. It’s still early days for a late adopter like me.
But it feels good to be part of this far-flung and ever-evolving community at last. In a little over a week I have somehow accumulated 250 followers, which is more than some crank religious cults manage. There’s always room for more, however. I invite you to follow me without delay, but please, be tender with me, for I am a newbie. And if you follow me on Twitter, and I follow you, then surely we will both end up somewhere interesting eventually, after walking in a circle for a very long time.