Who am I? and other existential dilemmas analysed through the lens of social networking

Because I am nothing if not predictably useless, the part of my evening that was not spent watching Cats was spent reading academic papers that are in no way relevant to my course or any impending assignments. My lovely housemate Cath is currently compiling an essay on the use of social media in the realm of heritage and archaeology, and I asked her to send me the links to some of the papers she'd been reading. One of them - I tweet honestly, I tweet passionately: Twitter users, context collapse and the imagined audience, by Alice E. Marwick and danah boyd* (2010) - was a fascinating investigation into how and why people use twitter, and to whom they imagine themselves tweeting. It tapped into ideas of self-censorship, and the filtering and targeting of ideas depending on actual, or perceived, audience.

I would heartily recommend the paper to anybody, because it's BRILLIANT, but it ~spoke to me quite specifically. I would consider myself as a person who is On The Internet, rather than an internet user -- I have online identities and friendships, and a sizeable chunk of my life is conducted using the internet and its magnitude of resources and timewasters. That might be considered rather tragic, but I like to think not - the people I've gotten to know online are no less wonderful than those I met 'in real life' (a turn of phrase I question, because the internet is not fictional).

Reading fantastic sociolinguistic studies by people like Penelope Eckert and Mary Bucholtz have sparked an interest in the idea of performing identity through linguistic (and non-linguistic) means, and these combined with Marwick and boyd's paper got me thinking about how I divide facets of my personality in various media outlets, and why I do it. (Bear with me, this could be muddled - let's consider it an experiment!)

Twitter and Facebook
One of the respondents on Marwick and boyd's Twitter survey suggested that srs bzns subjects (relationship drama was the thing oft-cited) were saved for Facebook, while Twitter avoided TMI and stuck to slightly less personal topics for a decent amount of the time.

While I agree, and would be very unlikely to tweet about very personal things, I would probably say that I'm far more 'myself' on Twitter than I would be on Facebook. I also feel uncomfortable about the idea of my Twitter feed being read by my Facebook friends. This is really quite odd and illogical, and I have been hammering my head against metaphorical walls to figure out why.

I think some of it has to do with Twitter, to me, being populated with very like-minded people, and my feed in particular being populated with people I have chosen to follow. I appreciate that Twitter is technically public (we'll get to that in a minute), but I think the distinction comes from the fact that the prerequisites for being a 'friend' on Facebook is to have known a person at some point in your life, and thus the people who have access to my Facebook feed may have little to nothing in common with me (of course, I could delete all the people I don't know, but a) social decorum, and b) I am nosy). As such, I feel somewhat uncomfortable posting about certain things - my thoughts, my passions, and suchlike. In short, I have little to no interest in sharing my thoughts with 80% of my Facebook feed, and I'm pretty sure that same 80% would have little to no interest in reading about them.

Twitter, on the other hand, is different. For some paradoxical reason, I find that I am far more able to be 'myself' on Twitter, despite its potentially unrestricted audience, as opposed to Facebook's limited one. I'm wondering whether it has something to do with the knowledge that the people who follow me on Twitter are more likely to have done so electively rather than out of obligation. If they're not interested in what I have to say, they don't have to pay attention, and can unfollow at will (thought of course there is still social decorum involved, but it seems somehow more fluid than on Facebook). If they're sticking around, they're likely to have at the very least a mild interest in my nonsensical ramblings.

What I can't explain away using follow-theory, however, is the fact that I let so many facets of my personality show on Twitter that I don't on Facebook, and often tweet things I wouldn't dream of posting as a Facebook status. Things I am enthusiastic about (people, theatre, tv shows, nature, etc.), political leanings, mildly amusing anecdotes - all these litter my Twitter timeline but would be quite unlikely to appear on my Facebook feed, or at least do so much more infrequently. I'm half a person on Facebook, and yet technically I have known the people on there much longer than I have many of my Twitter followers, some of whom I don't know at all, and yet talk with freely quite regularly.

A possible reason might be the demographic that the two websites appeal to. Facebook is basically ubiquitous now, to the extent that one of my friends' employers posts their work rota and urgent staff communications on there, knowing it to be the quickest and most convenient way to reach the employees. Whereas people who are Twitterly-inclined seem different; I may be making a few sweeping statements here, but indulge me. For one, they are likely to have sought Twitter out as a social media tool, rather than signed up to Facebook as a default. And those who seek out Twitter are perhaps more likely to be On The Internet in other capacities, as I am, and Internet Types might tend to be more 'nerdy' (issues with that label notwithstanding) and enthusiastic, or at least more tolerant of nerdy enthusiasm. Twitter feels somehow safer despite being far more open - a nonsensical paradox I have endeavoured to explain, but have done so very poorly.

And yet, I do still censor myself. The knowledge that I have certain followers makes me less likely to tweet certain things, and remembering that I have certain followers often results in immediate tweet-regret, and occasional deletion. Moreover, right now there is someone I would really like to follow, but I am too afraid to do so, lest the person see this slice of the 'real me', and run away screaming. I'm rather tempted to just go for it, take the plunge, get the weirdness out there -- if said person can't deal with it, then that's just the way it shall be. My finger has hovered over the 'follow' button thrice tonight already - we'll see whether, as it pushes into the wee hours, my confidence grows and I actually click.

Old friend and new friends
I've also found myself editing my personality a good deal depending on the friendship group with whom I am interacting, and am curious as to whether this is just something I do, or whether it is relatively commonplace.

I have changed an awful lot since I was 15/16. Like, 'basically a different person' changed. As such, when I see older friends, I find myself performing that past identity a little, doing and not doing certain things, saying and not saying others. I try to be the Hannah they knew, possibly paranoid that they won't like the Hannah I have become. That all sounds rather melodramatic and grandiose for what it is, but it is nonetheless the case. My older friends know very, very little of who I am and what I like these days, which seems somehow sad, but perhaps necessary.

I find I similarly censor myself with new people, too. Not to the same extent, but - in all honesty - I try to tone down the weirdness as much as possible in the first crucial hours of friendship. Let it out in stages, that's the key - don't start by saying that I met most of my closest friends online through bonding over Doctor Who (among other things), because that is possibly likely to yet again encourage people to run away. I see myself doing this and want to cry 'Hannah, you fool! If they don't like you for who you actually are they are undeserving of your attention!', and that's the attitude I am increasingly trying to have. I really dislike when people are embarrassed by who I am, and I'm turning into one of those people, but I still find myself worrying what other people think, just a little. Less so than I used to, I admit.

Maybe it's progressive. Maybe it'll take time to properly throw off the worry that people who get to see this 'real' me will be underwhelmed, aghast or even appalled. Maybe it'll take small steps, one at a time.

Maybe I'll click 'follow', tonight. Just maybe.

*danah chooses for her name to remain uncapitalised, and her reasons for doing so are explained here. It's actually quite a neat little rationale!

Mirror mirror on the wall, show me where them bombs will fall*

Last night, I barely slept. This was almost entirely the fault of Charlie Brooker's Black Mirror: The National Anthem, the first of a tripartite drama series exploring the 'dark side of our love affair with technology'. As the credits rolled, I was left reeling – I was nauseous, shaking and crying, and yet fully aware that what I'd just witnessed was nothing short of magnificent. Now, those who know me will be well aware that I have a tendency to lean towards the hyperbolic, but – for me, at least – The National Anthem was one of the most staggering, well-executed pieces of television I've had the pleasure (or, more accurately, the displeasure) of watching in a long while.

In fact, the mere watching of Black Mirror marked something of a big step for me, as someone who – I can't quite believe I'm admitting this so freely, but heigh ho, what are blogs for? – suffers with horrendous nightmares brought on by exposure to intense and/or frightening media (films, books, television, anything really). I might have previously avoided the show, based on the premise – not because I thought it sounded poor, but because it sounded like something which might trigger another spate of nightmares. It's a self-preservation thing, and something I've had to do for the majority of my life. You might think me weak for doing so, for having a fingers-in-ears, lalala I'm not listening kind of attitude to anything a little grim or unsettling. That's a fair point, but if I could save myself nights of terror and sleeplessness, save myself the from the fear of even just closing my eyes, then that's what I would do.

However, last night I chose to watch. While Hannah-at-22 copes much better with things than Hannah-at-16, and has a better tolerance for such matters, I nevertheless found myself watching at least the last half of the show with my hand clapped over my mouth, cushion clutched to my chest, stomach churning (if only the continuity announcer had said something like 'do not watch this show having just consumed a relatively hefty tuna sandwich; this means you Hannah', the nausea might not have been so intense). I could have switched over or off, but I didn't – in the most part because the show was brilliantly compelling and beautifully shot/acted, but partly because I felt it important that I watched on. I knew it would make me ill, but, somehow, that was okay.

Having just typed the above, I find myself unable to expand on that particular facet of my reaction to the show with any more coherency, aside from the admission that, coming away, I feel somehow braver, in my own silly way. It's a strange thing to try and talk about, the nightmares and the aversion to the grotesque, and for years I was completely unable to do so, thinking myself a freak of nature for being so wimpy and pathetic (fainting while being shown a video of the plague in a Year 9 history class doesn't invite the kindest of responses). Hopefully, clicking the 'publish' button for this post marks the start of me being less ashamed of what I now realise is just another 'thing' about me, alongside my predilection for dancing in public and my bizarre attraction to forearms. We'll see.

Aside from the particular, very personal effect that The National Anthem had on me (reading it back, the above seems sickeningly overdramatic and wanky, so my apologies for that), it also gave me other, more sensible feelings. Let's do those now!

Shallow, 'I like your face' thoughts
WELL, talk about a cast that is relevant to all of my interests. It's like there's a Venn Diagram of my loins, with circles that represent things like 'childhood crushes', 'gingers', 'period drama dishes' and 'beloved theatre bods', and The National Anthem occupies the intersection, giving me everything I never knew I wanted from a TV show. Rory Kinnear, everyone's favourite balding academic sexpot, managing to deliver more with just his eyes than I thought possible! Tom Goodman-Husbandry* as a Malcolm Tucker type to Lindsay Duncan's steely spin doctor! Alastair McKenzie, existing in real life on my TV screen, giving me all the flashbacks to my early teen years, watching Monarch of the Glen and having some formative feelings about Archie in cable-knit jumpers! Allen Leech and Andrew Knott, in scrubs! Every scene seemed to throw up someone else I loved, and everyone was brilliant. Not a weak link in the cast, really.

Slightly more dignified thinky-thoughts
Being a long-time fan of Brooker's journalistic writing, and his various -wipes, I knew we'd be in for a treat with the Black Mirror series. Looking back on the first episode, 'treat' is absolutely the wrong word -- The National Anthem was bleak, horrifying and nauseating to watch. But fuck me was it clever. So much reference to social media in popular culture is done by people with little or no experience of it, but Brooker knows it inside out, knows exactly how the Twittersphere would react to such an series of events. It was stunningly executed and, at times, hilarious; mentions of 'it's trending on Twitter', and 'of course the Guardian are doing a fucking liveblog' were particularly inspired, and exceptionally true-to-life.

And it was this 'true-to-life' nature of it that made it all the more difficult to watch. The premise, spoken aloud, seems to veer into the ridiculous, but it was almost sinisterly plausible, unfolding akin to the recent hacking scandal or the riots, through social media, as a public waits for a government response, speculating and slandering, mocking and mollifying as the hours tick by. It was this plausibility that made the climax of the show so gut-wrenching – at once impossible and yet so, so real. Too real. Sickeningly so.

And, to add yet another layer of metatextuality, watching the show with a buzzing Twitter feed next to you results in catching things like this:

I can't put it better than Emma - we really are a perfect parody of ourselves. Brooker's right: the screens of our televisions, computers and smartphones do act as a black mirror, while a show like The National Anthem forces us to look at ourselves in that black mirror, and – as we witness a countryful of fictional people congregating in pubs and communal areas to watch the hideous spectacle unfold – ask ourselves the most bizarre of questions: would we have watched?

*Lyrics from Arcade Fire's 'Black Mirror', a song I have been unable to get out of my head since the show aired.

**How I wish I could call Tom Goodman Husbandry by his proper name (Goodman Hill) more often. Alas, Free Agents has warped any sensible frame of reference I have for the poor guy. PUT DOWN THE BOX WINE, MALCOLM.