The term “networking” has never sat well with me. It smacks of desperation. In my former life as an employee in the TV industry I was always encouraged to network. Whilst my friends and I would attend these gatherings out of duty, we were only too happy to rinse the free bar and eat the posh food they’d laid on for the occasion. You could tell those that were there to network seriously and those who attended for a good old chinwag with their mates with a beer in hand – the formers’ opening line, accompanied by two air kisses, “Darling, so what are you working on next?” whilst the latter would greet me with a massive hug and, “Bar?”. Don’t judge us, getting drunk with friends (rather than colleagues) was the only thing that made some of those shindigs bearable, especially when attended by Execs that had made our lives as Runners hell.
When the term “social networking” started being bandied about some time ago I did everything I could to avoid such sites, panicking that it meant I was a saddo for having online “friends” rather than real-life ones. Many of my friends were on MySpace years ago but I’ve never really thought of that as a social networking site, more somewhere people could showcase their talent, be it music, poetry or photography. I have many talents but none of them, I feel, are suitable for MySpace – scathing tongue, doe eyes and an ample bosom do have a place online, so I’ve been told, but not on MySpace. About four years ago I finally gave in to social networking – Well, I was getting so good at it in real-life I needed to give something else a shot.
My online self was born on Facebook as I’d received umpteen invites from friends. I had the fear, when I first joined, that I wouldn’t know that many people and my friends list would only just hit double figures but I soon discovered loads of people I knew were on it so I threw myself in to it whole-heartedly. I found friends from primary school which was great and loads from my first secondary school; people I’d not seen in years and still thought about in moments when wearing my rose-tinted glasses. I decided a couple of years ago to make Facebook a family-free zone – not because I have anything to hide from them (except my Dad) but because I feel that I am an edited version of myself when with them, as I’m sure most of us are. (Though I’m a less edited version of myself with Mum these days, she’s even taken to not batting an eyelid when I swear and knowing most of the story regarding my recent rejection – it’s a little disconcerting!)
I find I have to embrace something fully when I first start doing it to understand what all the fuss is about and enjoy it myself. So I vowed I would update my status at least once a day. At first the updates were just “normal” stuff; how I was feeling, how my day was going etc. Then they became song lyrics which were received well by my friends – one friend even changes the chosen lyrics to incorporate my name – I love it! Recently, they have become jovial comments on the state of my life, the ones on lectures from my Dad getting the most attention from friends and giving birth to this blog. A few years ago my daily status updates were the only way my housemate at the time knew I was alive – my ass was totally owned by work and I was only home for a few hours at a time, usually when she was asleep. My status updates served a greater purpose!
Due to personal reasons that I won’t go in to, I haven’t been able to write for the last few weeks. I decided to experiment with social networking and give Twitter a good go in the absence of blogging. Initially I joined Twitter a good few months ago to follow (not stalk) a certain long-haired, sexual predator comedian who has disappeared from my radio waves and trotted off to that land of dreams, oversized portions and Katy Perry. Prior to a few weeks ago, I wasn’t a regular Tweep and didn’t follow that many people. My challenge to myself was to become an integral part of some form of Twitter life. The only thing I wasn’t allowed to do was tweet during working hours – lunch breaks and all other times though, I threw myself in head first. I’m not on it under my real identity and only two real-life friends follow me.
The first thing I did, with the help of a good friend, was start to follow some influential people. Yes, Barack Obama is on my list but he’s not the “influential” type I needed. So, a dead royal, gobby football manager and WAG later I was ready to tweet my socks off. A drunken reply (dweet) to aforementioned Football Manager was all it took to gain me (contained) Twitter fame (Twame?). This guy doesn’t follow anyone so his thousands of followers had to look at my profile to see the responses. As they were quite amusing (in context) some of them started following me. This is when I decided I’d be an “honest” me because, let’s face it, even on Facebook we’re slightly edited versions of ourselves for fear of upsetting friends or being judged. So as my conversation with Gobby Football Manager (I can’t name him for legal reasons) continued, a not-so Superhero started flirting and asked me if I wanted to be his sidekick. As the tweets between us persisted my friend text me calling me a “Twitter Hussy” – I embrace this title! I am also able to play up to certain aspects of my personality I have dulled over the years.
What really got people’s attention was Football Manager’s offer to take me on a tour of love in the North of the country on his Vespa. In the space of twenty minutes my following had increased considerably (to be fair, it wasn’t huge to start with). That’s when I stepped up my game and let free the flirt in me, becoming an adventuitter. This then got the attention of a non-celeb. He expressed a little jealousy toward my relationship with Football Manager so I gave him permission to woo (twoo) me too. And a young Royal lothario now has me amongst his twistresses (I’m now realising not all Twitter speak works – that’s “mistresses”). What is great for my Twitter ego is that these people followed me before I followed them – with the exception of a few – so they find my tweets interesting/amusing whereas my friends on Facebook would find them dull or only engage in those types of conversations by text or on the ’phone, a less public platform. The other day I expressed slight distress and frustration as the lodger had stolen my kettle water (uninteresting on Facebook but thrilling on Twitter apparently) and Dead Royal advised me to “piss in his mouth when he’s asleep”. Absolute brilliance! I haven’t come across any other social networking site where that would be a usual response!
I absolutely shat my knickers (Twitter hasn’t made me any more polite) when a cousin from my Dad’s side who lives in India that I’ve never met (breathe) found me on there. I’d stupidly kept the setting that allows people to find me by my email address. But what I love is that I was able to instantly block him. I then made sure I unchecked the box that had got me in to such a hairy situation. Apparently, I’m able to protect my tweets too so only people I give permission to can see them. Though I’m yet to work out if that will hinder my Twitter persona. My real personality and my online identity will remain anonymous to my Dad’s family – my reputation as the good little Hindu girl is safe – tweejoice!
As far as I can tell, there are only a couple of negatives. The first is that the servers are down a lot - A LOT – so sometimes it’s frustrating to not be able to tweet when I have a window to do so. Secondly, I follow a female journalist whose TV and written work I admire. But on Twitter she’s irritating and, well, unremarkable. I’ve changed my mind about her so am now considering unfollowing her and not reading her weekly column anymore. Shame, innit?
So now I’m back to blogging I questioned whether I’d jack in Twitter. I’ve decided I’ll continue because it’s satisfying a side of my personality that doesn’t usually get aired in public but mostly because it’s so much fun! I’ve got the freedom to say things that I wouldn’t say in real-life. Nobody has said anything negative towards me (well, unless I count being told I’d be subjected to the wrath of Football Manager if I sold stories of our affair to the papers). Nobody judges me. And I get the attention-whore side of me satisfied. My real-life, I am fully aware, is incredibly different. Perhaps that’s why I’m embracing my Twitter persona? At the moment I’m being courted by Football Manager, a Prince, a Superhero and a guy from up North and I’m friends with a dead Royal and a WAG. I love it!
Right, I’m off to get twooed as I’m having a romantic evening in with my Prince. x
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