Wednesday, 24 November 2010
Tuesday, 23 November 2010
Thursday, 18 November 2010
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Imagine if you were able to make a graph of self-serving bullshit over time from the beginning of the universe to now. It would begin slowly with relatively trace amounts of self-serving bullshit (SSB) for around 13.72 billion years. About 2.5 million years ago SSB would begin to gradually build as the genus homo came into being, and their early vocal and gestural communications would allow a limited but ever-growing amount of SSB to evolve. Around 250000 years ago – the Big Bang of human SSB – you would see a steep upward trajectory, as newly-created human consciousness and developed language allowed homo sapiens to boast, name drop, exaggerate, and self-aggrandise to other members of their social networks. Then finally, an almost vertical upward spike would appear with the advent of Twitter as the homo sapiens are gifted the ability to publish their most rabidly ego-crazed inner monologues to thousands of willing consumers.
We are living in an age of psychotic self-promotion. If you want to get ahead simply big yourself up for a few years in the hope it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sadly, in many cases this actually works. The dubstep producer who updates Twitter every time he’s ‘goin studes’ and will not stop saying how ‘sick’ his new music is; The club promoter with their endless stream of ‘ALL EARLY BIRD TICKETS GONE £18 ON THE DOOR GET DOWN EARLY’; The session musician who mentions every time he gets some free tat from a clothing label and who goes around basically implying that he’s the star of his particular act (this is quite a niche irritation but seriously this does my head in; reading this particular moron’s tweets propels my blood pressure to levels comparable to Maradona masturbating mid-coke binge.)
As with everything that provides a quick, easy hit of self-satisfaction, bragging about shit on Twitter is hugely addictive and your average attention-craver can find fertile ground for their ego harvest. As you see your number of followers rise your head swells with the feeling of having an easily quantifiable and, in your attention-craving mind, captive audience. 5,000 followers? That’s like having a constantly sold out Brixton Academy hanging onto every burble that comes out you word pipe. 15000? That’s like the O2 going crazy for your every pearl of bullshit about egg and cress sandwiches.
Twitter addiction was blamed for Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer’s break up (it’s 100% true because I read it in Grazia and Heat). Lily Allen’s admitted relationship problems stemming from over-tweeting. Soon every celeb from Nasty Nick to the ghost of Michael Jackson will be queuing up outside the Priory, thumbs twitching from hitting ‘Refresh’ every 8 seconds, absent-mindedly putting their oar in on whatever’s on TV, just because they think people care. They love it because it gives them what they’ve always craved; a voice, and thousands upon thousands of people to hear it and love them. It’s the perfect substitute for the doting, relaxed and normal parents they never had.