Seems to Me
Pretty Bird, Dirty Bird
Twitter is the least democratic of all social media. In fact,
there’s something downright feudal about the way Twitter’s
populations align. While everyone is invited to join, only 53
percent of regular users actually Tweet (according to a recent
Huffington Post article). The rest silently consign themselves
to the legions of “Followers,” implicitly acknowledging their
secondary standing in the Twitterverse.
Everyone who uses Twitter is tacitly invited to amass as
many followers as possible, but the ability to attract more
than a gaggle is predetermined by your social standing.
Unless you’re already a celebrity or belong to a group others
admire, the odds are strongly against you. Try as you may,
you’re bound to end up feeling like a loser pandering for
attention.
Meanwhile, your acknowledged betters have thousands of
followers but are themselves following only a few dozen or, at
most, a few hundred. Ashton Kutcher, for example,
generously follows 553 as the ranks of his followers swell to
nearly five million. Conan O’Brien has just under a million
followers but follows only one person. On a less grand scale,
Nathan Bransford, a literary agent based in San Francisco, has
26,645 followers and follows 307. Gene Weingarten, of the
Washington Post, is followed by 2120 and follows 36.
These people are among the brilliant birds. The rest of us
are mere starlings. We know our place, and that’s why we
don’t Tweet; and if we do utter a small chirp now and then,
that’s why we feel so lonely and vulnerable. Nobody’s
listening. The birds with brighter plumage are too busy tuning
their own voices on their golden boughs. If they sometimes
sing to one another, it’s with the expectation that thousands
of us perched in less impressive trees will listen intently.
As a two-time failure at Twittering, I believe I’m
constitutionally (pun intended) unable to accept Twitter’s
terms. Being a “Friend” or a “Contact” suits my democratic
nature, but I’m uneasy being a follower or having others
follow me. What would my devotion mean to Ashton Kutcher
or even Mr. Weingarten? And if several hundred Tweeters
decided to follow me, where would I lead them?
These issues are troubling enough for me to quit Twitter. But
as I say adios, here’s an idea for those with the stamina to
stick with it: Sign up for Twitter but don’t sign on to follow
anyone. You can keep up with the Twitterers who interest you
without wearing that subordinate badge. In the bargain, you
won't have to see their mostly vapid Tweets every ninety
seconds.
Next, ask others to stop following you. If you’ve got several
thousand followers, you aren’t reading their Tweets, anyway,
so you won’t notice any difference. Your ego may be
temporarily deflated when the big number goes away, but
you’ll feel better in the long-term.
Of course, you won't do any of this. We're all addicted to
celebrity, including (maybe especially) the prospect of our own.
The recent Twitter bug that made it possible for a croaking
bird like me to have Conan O’Brien (or anyone else on Twitter)
show up as one of my followers was quickly fixed. But the
repair involved temporarily resetting everyone’s Following and
Followers numbers to zero. During that brief time, all the
birds in the woods were equal, and we glimpsed Twitter’s
better, democratic potential.
Twitter is the least democratic of all social media. In fact,
there’s something downright feudal about the way Twitter’s
populations align. While everyone is invited to join, only 53
percent of regular users actually Tweet (according to a recent
Huffington Post article). The rest silently consign themselves
to the legions of “Followers,” implicitly acknowledging their
secondary standing in the Twitterverse.
Everyone who uses Twitter is tacitly invited to amass as
many followers as possible, but the ability to attract more
than a gaggle is predetermined by your social standing.
Unless you’re already a celebrity or belong to a group others
admire, the odds are strongly against you. Try as you may,
you’re bound to end up feeling like a loser pandering for
attention.
Meanwhile, your acknowledged betters have thousands of
followers but are themselves following only a few dozen or, at
most, a few hundred. Ashton Kutcher, for example,
generously follows 553 as the ranks of his followers swell to
nearly five million. Conan O’Brien has just under a million
followers but follows only one person. On a less grand scale,
Nathan Bransford, a literary agent based in San Francisco, has
26,645 followers and follows 307. Gene Weingarten, of the
Washington Post, is followed by 2120 and follows 36.
These people are among the brilliant birds. The rest of us
are mere starlings. We know our place, and that’s why we
don’t Tweet; and if we do utter a small chirp now and then,
that’s why we feel so lonely and vulnerable. Nobody’s
listening. The birds with brighter plumage are too busy tuning
their own voices on their golden boughs. If they sometimes
sing to one another, it’s with the expectation that thousands
of us perched in less impressive trees will listen intently.
As a two-time failure at Twittering, I believe I’m
constitutionally (pun intended) unable to accept Twitter’s
terms. Being a “Friend” or a “Contact” suits my democratic
nature, but I’m uneasy being a follower or having others
follow me. What would my devotion mean to Ashton Kutcher
or even Mr. Weingarten? And if several hundred Tweeters
decided to follow me, where would I lead them?
These issues are troubling enough for me to quit Twitter. But
as I say adios, here’s an idea for those with the stamina to
stick with it: Sign up for Twitter but don’t sign on to follow
anyone. You can keep up with the Twitterers who interest you
without wearing that subordinate badge. In the bargain, you
won't have to see their mostly vapid Tweets every ninety
seconds.
Next, ask others to stop following you. If you’ve got several
thousand followers, you aren’t reading their Tweets, anyway,
so you won’t notice any difference. Your ego may be
temporarily deflated when the big number goes away, but
you’ll feel better in the long-term.
Of course, you won't do any of this. We're all addicted to
celebrity, including (maybe especially) the prospect of our own.
The recent Twitter bug that made it possible for a croaking
bird like me to have Conan O’Brien (or anyone else on Twitter)
show up as one of my followers was quickly fixed. But the
repair involved temporarily resetting everyone’s Following and
Followers numbers to zero. During that brief time, all the
birds in the woods were equal, and we glimpsed Twitter’s
better, democratic potential.
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