I first saw a picture of a selfie stick on the internet. I thought it was some crazy joke invention, like these Japanese inventions. Then a few weeks later I saw someone out and about with one. I felt bad for them. It seemed like an accessory for the lonely. For people who didn't have anyone to take their photo for them; who were too shy to ask someone to grab a couple of snaps.
Then I saw them more. And more. And I saw my friends with them, and I saw articles written in their defence, citing that yeah they're silly, but also fun. Now, I'm not saying they're not. I'm not against them as a means of expression like I can be about certain hairstyles, but it just seems like another step into a world of technology that is only cutting us off from the real world. What even is the real world anymore?
Technology has dramatically altered lifestyles in the last couple of decades. As long as there's an income, we can live comfortably with nothing but a piece of plastic and an internet connection. Food shopping, clothes shopping, any services we need – it's a recluses paradise. Wonder why you never get that creepy neighbour you only see when he needs to leave to buy milk anymore? He just gets it delivered to his door instead. Yet it helps as well. It's not much of a secret that I've met people on the internet. Two of my closest friends I've met on the internet, one whose city I now live in. Technology does change lives, and a lot of times for the better. But selfie sticks have me wondering... Will we ever notice when it's too much?
When I moved to London in the summer I failed to meet anyone my own age for a really long time. I downloaded Tinder just to see what the fuss was about. Over time I noticed that everyone was on there for similar reasons – not to find someone to date, but just to ebb away at the loneliness. In a city of nine million people, nobody seemed to talk to anyone in person. Now I'm not trying to say how people should spend their social time ... but it's always bugged me when I've gone out to eat, or out anywhere social, and people just sit on their phones. They want to build a better reputation, give a better impression, but they do so to strangers (or friends) in cyberspace opposed to people right in front of them.
Just a couple of generations back, people would engage with each other on the street. My grandparents met in a park, a group of young girls approaching a group of young guys playing football. Would that really happen now? We think too much about how we'd be perceived, we worry about stranger danger (which I'm not discouraging) and how we'd be judged. If we're rejected there's a small – yet plausible – risk that our failure is splashed all over social media. Our own caution against potential humiliation can be killing possibilities for lifelong friendships, relationships, people you could build a family with.
Selfie sticks seem to take it to another level though. While there's the "what if they run off with my phone?" argument (don't get me started on that) it's also cutting you off from having to even think about interacting with somebody new. You can't share any joy about the photo that's being taken, you can't invite anyone but those on the internet to be jealous of your experiences. You can't share a special moment with a stranger, who for all you know has awesome photography skills that won't get half a metal pole in the picture. (Side note, I was asked by someone to take a picture of them yesterday and was really excited to do so. You can ask me anytime. I'll always say yes.)
We take selfies to look cultured, important, like we're having a great life. But who is there to see that in person? This recently designed device sums up a lot of my feelings about this topic. A prosthetic arm is attached to a selfie stick, to make the user look as if they're holding a hand. It's aimed at being a "sarcastic solution to internet loneliness", but like selfie sticks themselves, will this one day catch on in a joke that horribly backfired?
I need to admit now, I'm completely guilty of everything I've already mentioned. My Instagram is full of more selfies than I want to think about, and I've regularly got out my phone to play a mindless game when I've felt even remotely socially awkward in public. Technology is stupidly convenient. But I'm trying; and I'm going to try harder too. Otherwise I'm worried this will have no end. We won't have any ability to interact anymore. We won't even have the ability to express that we're lonely.
I also came across this video, which considering its number of views, you've probably already seen, but it reminds us of the possibilities around us if we simply looked up. Yes we are theoretically connected to millions at the touch of a few phone buttons, but how many have the ability to connect with just one or two people, who are only a couple of feet away?
Studying abroad for a year meant that when I returned, I had a lot of friends I left behind. At first it felt jarring to see them through my computer screen. They felt so close still, like I could see them any time I wanted, yet I knew I'd just been on a plane that had put miles and more between us with every passing minute of the journey. It didn't help me settle back in. It gave me no reason to go out and meet new people, when it was still so easy to access everyone already in my life. But they weren't really there. I spoke to them and saw them every day, yet was still insanely lonely. It took me a long time to actualise it. They're still a part of my life, and some of them always will be, but it's the people around you who you should pay the most attention to. They're the ones who can be there whenever you need them, and in a society that's ever more demanding, chances are you'll need them more than you think.
Also – sorry for the awful stock images. I have an inability to write blogs this long without images!
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