Okay, let me counteract all the “She doesn’t even go here!” remarks before they start. It’s true, Dukies—I am your classmate no longer. I am out doing real world things like having a job, sipping soy chais in my apartment nook and waking up sober. I’m not a college student—I’m a person.
Nonetheless, I’m a self-dubbed Socialite with a mean case of middle child syndrome, and such a sickness knows no physical boundaries. I am just as desperate for your approval here in Atlanta as I was in Durham. So, please, love me in the way my parents love the sisters who sandwich me. Ignore my social irrelevance and just bask in the glory of my embarrassing quest for attention.
In all honesty, though, can my attention-seeking behaviors be solely attributed to my birth order? Because I’ve seen other contributing factors arise with the technology boom. Things like Facebook, Twitter and Instagram are new platforms from which I can brighten my spotlight. The same is true for eldest children, twins and littlests alike. And you know what? IT’S RUINING US. Not only does it amplify my competitive pool beyond the scope of my siblings and pets, but it also makes us horribly unbearable people. In an attempt to sound interesting, we truly all just sound pathetic.
But in this day and age, patheticisms are rewarded with friends and followers. The word follower, alone, elicits imagery of mindless minions frantically yearning for your next tweet or filtered snapshot. And like delusional dictators we deliver each social media snippet with a self-inflicted chuck under the chin. Like, “You’re welcome, universe, for keeping you up-to-date on my sexless sex life.”
Have you noticed that flourishing trend of whiny losers all over the social stratosphere? Crazy cat ladies, gluttonous cynics and boyfriendless bachelorettes dominate my twitter feed. Sorry, hot people. Your reign over the entertainment world disintegrated as soon as Paris Hilton stopped having reality TV shows. Now, popularity is for people who are awkward, unhealthy, lonely and acknowledging it.
And, hey, I’ve followed suit. Allow me to shame my ancestors by sharing with you some of the blurbs I once deemed tweetable:
I just split a bowl of queso with myself.
It’s sad that the most social thing I’ve done tonight is tweet.
I look really pretty when I stuff entire bagels into my mouth.
As you can see, my account is just an amalgam of sentences rehashing the emptiness of my weekend nights and the strange things I eat. With this digital fast food diary, I’ve made myself one more annoying member of Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club.
What’s the appeal? Maybe the self-deprecation neutralizes the self-absorption, so it becomes socially acceptable to make your stream of consciousness public. At least we’re not publishing a big thumbs up every time we get a win. On the contrary, sharing a loss can be amusing while also softening the blow. Does tweeting about a rejection make it any less pathetic? Probably not, but at least you are living life with a little sense of humor. Everyone should be laughing at themselves, because (trust me) your life is embarrassing and full of failure.
That’s the lesson I’ve learned in my Internet musings and social commentary columns. Writing about how much boys like me? Conceited. Writing about how I’m scared to touch boys? Bingo. I’d rather be mocking my lameness than celebrating my coolness any day, because perfection is annoying—more annoying than social media. So be relatable. Be a loser.
I truly hope that many of you are responding to this week’s column topic by laughing at what a douchebag I am. Like, “This girl is ranting about Twitter? Seriously?” I know . . . I genuinely hate how essential social media is to the fabric of my daily life and our generation. Yet still, I can’t separate myself from it. Countless times I’ve considered deactivating my various accounts. But then I vainly realize: “then I won’t be tagged in pictures” or “my friends won’t see the quirky things I’m doing in Atlanta” or “how will I know people like me when the real world has no like button?!” I may be an egotistical douchebag just like all other wielders of virtual communication applications, but at least I’m trying to use my powers for good and not evil. I’m not trying to be funny, I’m just trying to make you laugh.
So there you have it. Social media has simultaneously made me assume you care about what I’m doing at all times, while also allowing me to acknowledge that what I’m doing is sad and weird. It’s why I tweet, why I Facebook, why I Instagram and why I can’t pull away from my alma mater’s newspaper. I feel compelled to continue dishing out social commentary extrapolated from the daily disasters of my life. I’m an attention-seeking train wreck, so I’m tweeting about it. Which makes me Charlie Sheen, but with bangs.
Lindsay Tomson, Trinity ’12, is currently applying her Duke-developed skills of sarcasm and awkwardness in the real world.
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