In many British cities today, the prevalence of high-visibility clothing is striking. Navigating through bustling urban areas, one is confronted with a sea of luminous yellow, where everything and everyone seems to vie for attention. This phenomenon prompts intriguing questions: If everything is high-visibility, does anything truly stand out? Imagine passing by a cyclist, an Argos delivery driver, a police arrest, a group of builders, and a charity walk—all in hi-vis. Could this entire scene blend into invisibility, a cascade of emphasis layered upon emphasis?
This metaphor, though awkwardly presented, serves as an introduction to the internet, news media, social media, and the shared Algorithm Life. For those immersed in the digital world, daily online existence is a cacophony of emphasis, a single, increasingly politicised field of noise. This week marked an interesting shift as significant users migrated away from one source of this static, the platform X. The Guardian suspended its accounts and opted to share content elsewhere.
On the surface, this seems a wise decision, especially since any break from social media is beneficial. Humans aren't meant to reside within a globally networked hive mind, particularly not one like X, which feels like being assaulted by a malevolent robot. Many former X users have moved to alternatives like AgreeSpace or BeardGuy. Elon Musk's ownership has transformed the platform, not just in experience but also in politics, forcing users to make significant choices.
Sport Twitter, as I insist on calling it, is both highly social and oddly captivating. The idea of leaving is difficult, not because it's good, but because it's perfect for the medium. At its best, it's a warm and funny community. Even an average day—sharing thoughts, reading posts, learning, being insulted, scrolling through AI-generated content—feels like a party. In the early days, the immediacy of distant voices was exhilarating. Now, the platform is populated by robots, lunatics, and one-note hobbyists, making it both addictive and increasingly toxic.
The environment feels less human, more automated, a side effect of prolonged exposure. Perhaps it's time to deactivate X. Personally, I still enjoy it, filtering replies and exiting when it's bad. But what about newer social sites? How long will their purity last? The moral of Noah's ark is clear: sin will always resurface. People will disagree, get angry, and the party will eventually end. Yet, I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet. There's still warmth in the genuine connections and the things people love, not just the digital noise.
Source link: https://www.theguardian.com
