Yes, this is another semi-rant with a conclusion strapped to the end of it. What I'd like to share this time is a rather rare opportunity that was given to me recently. I had a rare glimpse into another world. A very exclusive club with a cut-throat membership and no way back in once you're out. Think the opposite of Live Lounge. I am of course talking about the world of 'Beautiful People' - the club reserved for size 6 girls with perfect tans, perfectly natural and expertly applied make-up who socialise exclusively with 6 foot-something chiselled rugby and lacrosse players who have an All Saints label jutting out of every item of clothing and more. These people have perfected smiles, teeth so flawless that a diamond evaluator looks at them in envy. They smell of pure happiness and the petals of some obscure flower that only flowered once on a secluded island in 1789 and was captured by a perfect mix of fairies and angels. Cameras spin on their axis, aiming at these people square in the face, careful to include the mixture of smiling mouth with eyes that say 'You want me'. I have seen these people in their otherwise completely elusive habitat, and I have good news. These people do not live the fun and interesting lives that they show us.
I know, I know. I'm generalising. I'm sure there are plenty of 'Beautiful People' about who are perfectly normal and accepting of everyone and are fantastic people. But what I saw on that faithful night was beyond anything I ever expected.
I had been invited for pre-drinks over at a good friend's house. She lived with 5 other girls in a rather wonderfully decorated house that reflected them brilliantly. The long, full room-length sofa that leaned against one wall. Opposite, a pair of crisp, sharp fireplaces, and a rather large TV craned out on its movable mounts to welcome the faces of whoever walks into their living room. The wooden floor complimented the girls' foundation perfectly, and a massive sound system stood guard either side of some French doors. My friend's housemates welcomed me with big smiles, glassy, crystalline eyes and fanned, floating lashes. They made pleasant small talk, briefly telling me about some small trials and tribulations with the house and asking about how my friend and I met. All seemed good. I felt pleasantly surprised at how welcoming these people were.
A quarter of an hour or so passed, and soon came another knock at the door. Expecting maybe another 5 or 6 people to enter, I was taken aback when close to 30 people strolled in, each and every single one of them looking roughly like they could and have been featured in each respected brand's catalogue. The hallway became a catwalk. It was actually intimidating, especially considering each person's stance and stride when entering the room. Confidence oozed from every delicately cleaned pore; every single piece of stubble had been manicured to the appropriate length, every single millimetre of the girls' nails had been touched up with the same accuracy as da Vinci would've shown whilst perfecting the Mona Lisa. I was, we shall say, 'out of my depth'.
One housemate glided over to her Macbook, adjusted the volume on the remix of some house song to near club level, and then swanned back over to her perch near a group of lads. She then commenced in some small talk, perfected responses and eyelash flicks adorned every line. And then, less than 5 minutes later, nothing. There was no more talking. The once suave groups of guys had now relaxed into their iPhones, half-filled cups positioned directly between their legs. The girls had relaxed into theirs, occasionally glancing at each other and communicating in a way that the Enigma Code would be jealous of. More of our friends arrived through the sea of 'Beautiful People', and snuggled themselves into the corner I had so graciously prepared for us. We started talking, laughing, asking each other how our Summers went, shared jokes and stories. We drank, we laughed and we soon started about the elephant in the room: we were the only ones enjoying ourselves. The others looked decidedly bored and unsure of how to go about their evening. They were too conscious of themselves to drink, too afraid of judgement to talk. The girls stood on one side whilst the boys sat on the other, and they just existed together in a beautiful cocoon of sterility. The music, despite being dangerously loud and obscure enough to scupper most attempts at a lengthy conversation, was indecipherable to man or beast, and filled the room in place of human interaction. Essentially, those beautiful girls and handsome guys had put on their gladrags to be placed opposite each other in a loud room and pretend that they were texting other, 'cooler' people. One girl proceeded to take a few photos on her iPhone, at which point the boy who she grabbed pulled the muscles in his face into what seemed like a trademark smile, whilst the rather lovely looking girl contorted her face into the shape of enjoyment for the purpose of the photograph at least. This happened a few more times before I realised what I had seen. I had seen the conception of 'fun'. This is where all those exclusive photographs are taken, the very same ones that normal people like me look at and think 'God, I wish I had their life'. It's a sham.
To cut a long story short, I now realise how incredibly boring these 'Beautiful People' are. It's an image, and an illusion. These people probably don't even like each other, they just like being seen with each other to boost their self esteem and fuel their egos.
I will conclude by saying that the people who had asked me to join them were in fact the beautiful people, as they are the most fantastic and lovely people I could ever wish to meet. We didn't get into the club where the 'Beautiful People' fled to, despite an hour's waiting. We ended up going to the ropiest, cheapest club we could find and continued what we started; conversation, enjoyment, laughter. And you know what? We had a fucking amazing time.
Sunday, 29 September 2013
Saturday, 14 September 2013
Social Notworking.
Facebook. Zuckerberg's finest. A cash-cow so large that if it had a whiff of oil about it, the U.S. would've invaded it, and France surrendered to it. It is of course a massive part of our lives, almost unfortunately. On a personal level, I no longer 'like' Facebook. It's not because I'm trying to be a massive bellend and prove how hipster I am by pushing my Foursquare account on you, but rather because I feel Facebook is wasted on the youth of today.
The youth of today, myself included, are meant to be at that stage in life where you take the world by the horns and you ride it like Major Kong atop the atom bomb in Dr. Strangelove. You straddle it and scream and whoop and cheer as you enjoy the weightlessness, freedom and explosive power of the outside world. In theory, Facebook should be the perfect place in order to document your life's experiences. However, I don't think this is the case. Once again, we are to blame. Us. The networks of people who own Facebook accounts.
Now, I know I've been a tad cryptic, but here is my point. The human ego cannot function without giving in to the temptation of gossip, judgement and jealousy. They are a necessary evil; a preprogrammed set of basic survival instincts that nowadays are about as much use as McAfee's Security Software 2002. They are a leftover imperfection that evolution is still yet to strain out, and Facebook just happens to provide the most ideal place for these emotions, and many others like them, to breed and sustain. Facebook should be a catalogue of memories, but in reality, it is a catwalk on which people stroll. They dress up in their Sunday finest, create posts that try to emote a sense of 'look how brilliant I am', and await to be judged by crowd. The youth of today have stopped attempting to create memories and relive experiences, and rather try to keep the crowd happy. The crowd consisting of close friends, friends, old classmates, friends of old classmates, that girl you met at that barbecue, the groups of boys who you played pool against in the pub 2 years ago, your entire family, complete with 10 year old cousins on their own accounts, the people in that job you did for 2 months, everyone you met in Freshers Week, everyone you didn't meet in Freshers Week, everyone. Hundreds, thousands of people, most of whom you have barely met, let alone think about on a daily basis. And yet, people are obsessed with trying to appease every single last one of these people. The second a new trend comes out, you must buy into it, take photos with other people who have done the same thing, throw a few empty bottles around the place and call yourself a socialite party-goer. They will pay and sacrifice themselves to try and please a crowd of people who will give them no more than 10 seconds of their time surfing on their iPhone 5S's with the custom bunny case that they bought from a shop that neither you or they had ever heard of. It's utter madness.
I'd given up hope for Facebook, especially since it started catering for the more 'successful' Facebookers by allowing funny videos, pictures and the like to be 'shared' and these people 'followed'. But, and not for the first time, school came to the rescue, namely in the form of my old head of Sixth Form. Scrolling through his page (it was his birthday today, he had his fair share of 10 seconds from me), it quickly became apparent that he has possibly the best Facebook page I have ever seen. I cast an eye over the names who had wished him a happy birthday; old friends, new friends, ex-students, teachers of old, teachers of new. His recent photos included trips to Australia, trips to his allotment, trips out with his family, his ageing mother on her 92nd birthday. It blew me away at how fantastically he had used his small segment of the internet. He filled it with memories, filled it with small links to once forgotten old friends. He was not out to judge, and he was not out to become a successful, multi-thousand follower idiot. He had his life, past, present and future, displayed intently in front of him. I think most people nowadays have their Facebook account aimed for the viewing pleasure of others. He had his Facebook account for himself, and it is fantastically humbling to see.
I am guilty of gearing my Facebook account towards the views of others. I'm pretty sure nearly everyone my age can be accused of doing the same. My proposal is not that Facebook is flawed, but rather we are too young to enjoy Facebook. My old head of Sixth Form has enjoyed a fantastic life, and was keen to display his memories, allowing others to peek in and enjoy his experiences with him. The younger generations are too filled with the preoccupations of envy, jealousy and judgement to enjoy Facebook properly. We are at the age where we should be creating memories, not judging iffy fashions or fads. Therefore, in Sam's Britain, Facebookers will have a minimum age of 50. Vote Williams for Cardiff.
The youth of today, myself included, are meant to be at that stage in life where you take the world by the horns and you ride it like Major Kong atop the atom bomb in Dr. Strangelove. You straddle it and scream and whoop and cheer as you enjoy the weightlessness, freedom and explosive power of the outside world. In theory, Facebook should be the perfect place in order to document your life's experiences. However, I don't think this is the case. Once again, we are to blame. Us. The networks of people who own Facebook accounts.
Now, I know I've been a tad cryptic, but here is my point. The human ego cannot function without giving in to the temptation of gossip, judgement and jealousy. They are a necessary evil; a preprogrammed set of basic survival instincts that nowadays are about as much use as McAfee's Security Software 2002. They are a leftover imperfection that evolution is still yet to strain out, and Facebook just happens to provide the most ideal place for these emotions, and many others like them, to breed and sustain. Facebook should be a catalogue of memories, but in reality, it is a catwalk on which people stroll. They dress up in their Sunday finest, create posts that try to emote a sense of 'look how brilliant I am', and await to be judged by crowd. The youth of today have stopped attempting to create memories and relive experiences, and rather try to keep the crowd happy. The crowd consisting of close friends, friends, old classmates, friends of old classmates, that girl you met at that barbecue, the groups of boys who you played pool against in the pub 2 years ago, your entire family, complete with 10 year old cousins on their own accounts, the people in that job you did for 2 months, everyone you met in Freshers Week, everyone you didn't meet in Freshers Week, everyone. Hundreds, thousands of people, most of whom you have barely met, let alone think about on a daily basis. And yet, people are obsessed with trying to appease every single last one of these people. The second a new trend comes out, you must buy into it, take photos with other people who have done the same thing, throw a few empty bottles around the place and call yourself a socialite party-goer. They will pay and sacrifice themselves to try and please a crowd of people who will give them no more than 10 seconds of their time surfing on their iPhone 5S's with the custom bunny case that they bought from a shop that neither you or they had ever heard of. It's utter madness.
I'd given up hope for Facebook, especially since it started catering for the more 'successful' Facebookers by allowing funny videos, pictures and the like to be 'shared' and these people 'followed'. But, and not for the first time, school came to the rescue, namely in the form of my old head of Sixth Form. Scrolling through his page (it was his birthday today, he had his fair share of 10 seconds from me), it quickly became apparent that he has possibly the best Facebook page I have ever seen. I cast an eye over the names who had wished him a happy birthday; old friends, new friends, ex-students, teachers of old, teachers of new. His recent photos included trips to Australia, trips to his allotment, trips out with his family, his ageing mother on her 92nd birthday. It blew me away at how fantastically he had used his small segment of the internet. He filled it with memories, filled it with small links to once forgotten old friends. He was not out to judge, and he was not out to become a successful, multi-thousand follower idiot. He had his life, past, present and future, displayed intently in front of him. I think most people nowadays have their Facebook account aimed for the viewing pleasure of others. He had his Facebook account for himself, and it is fantastically humbling to see.
I am guilty of gearing my Facebook account towards the views of others. I'm pretty sure nearly everyone my age can be accused of doing the same. My proposal is not that Facebook is flawed, but rather we are too young to enjoy Facebook. My old head of Sixth Form has enjoyed a fantastic life, and was keen to display his memories, allowing others to peek in and enjoy his experiences with him. The younger generations are too filled with the preoccupations of envy, jealousy and judgement to enjoy Facebook properly. We are at the age where we should be creating memories, not judging iffy fashions or fads. Therefore, in Sam's Britain, Facebookers will have a minimum age of 50. Vote Williams for Cardiff.
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