Twitter for Shit

Recently, I’ve been criticized by a bunch of people about the way I post on Twitter.

My Twitter page basically consists of a million retweets and some occasional ‘I’m soooooooo bored’s. Twitter, to me, is an instantaneous self-texting app, not a platform for deep thoughts or self-discovery.

But the criticism about my tweets came from people that I daily talk to. And some of it was pretty harsh, too. From people who, for sure, know almost each and every detail about my well-being. At least the highlights. That was puzzling.

I have never ever thought about online people who think they are getting a glimpse of my personality by reading my tweets. Everything on Twitter is so spontaneous that I would have never thought that I’m portraying myself as an unhappy, old lady on the edge of a nervous breakdown at any given time. I don’t even look at it as way of expression. But, in fact, every time you’re online you’re creating an online persona for yourself, for other people to see and judge you, solely depending on the level of satisfaction you seek from other people.

A ‘:(‘ on my Twitter does not imply that I’m crying my eyes out at that moment, but probably that I’m stuck in traffic and have to pee.

Thankfully, I have a handful of friends that I like to talk to about the happenings of my daily life. A really good movie by a Vietnamese guy, a really groovy song by two very white German guys, a new super creative cartoon, something interesting I’ve read, a long conversation with a crazy old man at an art gallery… Real people get to listen to all the nice things, not online people. Because chatting with semi-carefully chosen real people and hearing their thoughts is what satisfies me.

Well, I thought that was the way it was supposed to be.

If I’m incapable of surrounding myself with genuinely interested people IRL, then why the fuck should anyone be interested in what I post on Twitter?

In fact, I find that users who spend too much time online happen to be the unhappy ones. The ones that are trying to compensate for the sense of belonging or wholeness they lack, by creating a very well-crafted online profile. A profile that promotes all of their best moments and strenghts whereas hides and ignores all of their weaknesses and not so good memories.

As I always say to those with whom I actually have a conversation, if you’re emphasizing an attribute one too many times, that’s probably where most of your insecurities lay. Simply put: If you’re a smart person, don’t endlessly talk about Dostoevsky’s take on death, instead tell the story about that one time when you were so high you shit yourself. It’s OK. If it’s there, your smart will probably let show, anyway.

I still don’t believe in being highly careful when I’m tweeting about how a cat just shitted in front of me. And I honestly don’t care if that leads to my online people thinking I’m a total mess. Anything slighlty important or interesting, goes to real people. Because I don’t feel the need of sharing the highlights of my life or my interests on social media.

But yet again, what’s the point in doing anything if you’re not posting it, amirite?