Why Twitter?

With so many anything-online-gurus and online-social-psychoanalysts cluttering virtual space, you would think that someone would have been able to pinpoint the exact value of Twitter and determine the core reason for its mass popularity – in other words, why people love Twitter? But so far no one has. There are a lot of theories going around – quick and easy communication, business networking, social needs, etc. These reasons are all plausible, they’re all probable but I think that they invest too much depth into something that is really quite simple.

It’s not that we get to communicate with celebrities; it’s that we get to be celebrities. Twitter appeals to our ego, or at least it does to mine.

We all know we’re the funniest, wittiest, smartest people in the world, but we’re all so very under-appreciated. Twitter gives us a platform to find that appreciation. And we do. It’s almost inevitable. Given the mass communication that goes on, and the varied tastes that are catered for, if you don’t manage to find a few loyal followers then you need to consider self-imposed isolation in a cave. I have always been a firm believer that given a wide enough audience, anyone can find some fans.

Take Steve Buschemi for example, hardly the most attractive guy around, and he’s a nut (or thrives on playing them, which is much the same thing), but I love him, and so do many others. There are women who fantasise about having his babies (and some men who just fantasise). Twitter enables us to achieve the same sort of status (kind of) but without having to subject ourselves to unflattering camera angles and hours of make-up.

Twitter gives us a mobile soap-box, so that we can rant, be random, funny and sage all in the same day, and receive validation. It’s brilliant.

And, it’s addictive. Someone, I can’t remember who and for that I apologise, wrote about the phases of Twitter. I can’t remember them all, for which I also apologise, but I remember the gist of it because it pretty much summed up my road to becoming a Twitter addict. Initially there is disbelief that something so, well puerile, could be so successful. I mean, why would anyone want to waste time reading about people drinking coffee or eating bagels? This turns to tentative curiosity, which is replaced by skepticism, which is replaced by perseverance, conversion and finally addiction.

I believe that the reason for the change is not that we discover Twitter’s value, but that we crave the platform. We love our audience and we want them to love us in return. How many people have said something that they know to be mind-alteringly awesome only to have no one respond? It’s crushing, ego deflating; we question our self worth, our meaning in life and start to think about that remote, yet comforting, cave. But if someone validates your awesomeness, wow, that warm glow can keep you going for hours, until you need your next attention fix.

I confess that ego isn’t the only reason that I love Twitter. I also love that I get to follow people who like the same things that I do, and it’s not only for their tips, advice, recommendations, validation and wise words that I like it, it’s out of a probably sad motivation to know everything. And I don’t have to know important stuff, like how to convert compost mulch into electricity or that North Korea has declared war on the rest of the world (as far as I know it hasn’t, but the day is still young).

I actually want to know what you had for breakfast, what you’re reading and what television shows you enjoy. I want to know that your dog pooped on the lounge floor again and that your cat attacked your toe. I love that stuff. It makes my day. And for the important stuff, I like knowing that there are people out there who care enough to share that information, so I click the links, I check out the people mentioned in #followfriday and every other recommendation day. I’m interested in everything.

So, share with me your banal thoughts, outstanding witticisms and profound wisdom, but please return the favour and respond to mine. My ego is enormous, but fragile. In the words of Natasha Bedingfield (of whom I am not particularly a fan), I bruise easily.

(Inspired by Julian Dibbell’s wired article, which I found fascinating, so now I follow him on Twitter)