Swamp fever

 

Photo by Vish K on Unsplash

 

Cesspit, innit. Social media, I mean. It’s a dank, vile hellhole that sucks you under and half drowns you in its fetid depths. It’s the pits.

Fair enough, socials still have some redeeming qualities, more of which later, but wow, it’s a dark and dirty place these days. And here’s the rub – I’m a communications professional, I’m supposed to LOVE this stuff. And I did love Twitter, once upon time. But these days I’m on the brink of separation. And who could blame me? All those angry, embittered people. The droves of weirdo men (and women) making unseemly suggestions or sliding in to your DMs to say “hi sexy”. Yuck. Social streams crawling with sex bots – barely clad gals young enough to be my granddaughter FFS; goddam Temu ads and crypto hard sells; phoney single men with suspiciously large pecs/yachts/guns; and don’t get me started about algorithms which keep pushing adverts at me for floaty hippy dresses and woo woo wellbeing guff. Hippy dresses, I ask you…

That shit’s bad enough and I haven’t even mentioned irrationality, illiteracy, immovable opinion and people who are just plain thick. Oh, and of course, there’s the barefaced lies, disinformation, megalomania and complete absence of accountability or governance. And what about the stuff you can’t unsee? Mind numbing videos of children being shot by snipers or burned to death. The utter impossibility of knowing what’s real and what’s propaganda. Damn right it’s a swamp, with alligators lurking just under the surface, ready to bite, hard.

But despite the stinking morass, some corners still offer hope, comfort and great big belly laughs. And dammit, socials are sooooo bloody addictive. Yes, a lot of it is loathsome but I just can’t help it, I still love the chat about punk rock, politics and beautiful birds (not that kind). I absolutely adore the community of lefties, rebels and #MDANTs (IYKYK) who have become my online tribe, people who make me feel that I belong to something big and beautiful. As a trained snapper, I can’t get enough of the street photography and portraiture, and the wordsmith in me thrives on hysterically funny, brilliantly crafted posts (take a bow John Niven and Jonathan Pie). There’s Colin, and his cracking short stories fae Fife. Luke the mushroom man in Michigan – beautiful photos of fungi and fab, funny chat. And what’s not to like about pics from gigs, posts from old pals, gifs of stage divers and lists of the Best Punk Album, Ever?

But is that enough to stop me feeling like I’m being sucked under? Just, and no more.

But it’s complicated, I do communication for a living, so it would be weird to deny the power of these platforms. But that’s the rub. Too much of that power is running wild (especially on X, obvs), and the stinky swamp is spreading. So much so that I am very cautious indeed when it comes to recommending socials to my clients these days. I can’t even bring myself to do self-promotion for my own small business on a site where Andrew Tait can call himself Cobra (grow up, you utter weasel) or where Elon has free rein to parade his unfettered neo-facist pronouncements. I simply can’t be part of a place where hatred thrives and multiplies. So for me, it’s an exit from X. If the mood takes you, you can find me on Bluesky where I’ll fly high ’til it too turns to dust.

To those who made Twitter so much fun, thank you. To those who have reduced it to a shallow puddle of slurry, begone you squalid swamp monsters.