Or they bring up something ridiculous that someone said more than a decade ago as confirmation of … who knows? Or they take a singular instance of something and conflate it with a massive cultural trend. Or they misrepresent the original statement and extrapolate it to a broader issue in which they are deeply invested. Or they make note of every circumstance the original statement did not account for. Others take issue with some aspect of that statement. We have all become hammers in search of nails. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way. An experience that was once charming and fun becomes stressful and largely unpleasant. It becomes harder to disinvest from pointless arguments that have nothing at all to do with you.
It becomes harder and harder to distinguish good-faith criticism from pettiness or cruelty.
Your skin thins until you have no defenses left. After being on the receiving end of enough aggression, everything starts to feel like an attack. Then there are those who harass me for all kinds of reasons - some aspect of my identity or my work or my presence in the world troubles their emotional waters.Īfter a while, the lines blur, and it’s not at all clear what friend or foe look like, or how we as humans should interact in this place. Some just hate me, as is their right, and they follow me to scavenge for evidence to support or intensify their enmity. Most of them appreciate my work, though they may disagree with my opinions. Then I wrote a couple of books, and blinked, and suddenly hundreds of thousands of people were seeing my tweets. Those numbers slowly inched up to a couple thousand. For years, I had a couple hundred followers. My online following came slowly, and then all at once. It makes me uncomfortable to admit that I have some influence and power online, because it feels so foreign or, maybe, unlikely. Suddenly, we are all Goliaths in the Valley of Elah. At least online, we can tell ourselves that the power imbalances between us flatten.
In real life, we are fearful Davids staring down seemingly omnipotent Goliaths: a Supreme Court poised to undermine abortion and civil rights a patch of sea on fire from a gas leak an incoherent but surprisingly effective attack on teaching children America’s real history the dismantling of the Voting Rights Act a man whom dozens of women have accused of sexual assault walking free on a technicality. It’s hard to calibrate how we engage or argue. We hold in equal contempt a war criminal and a fiction writer who too transparently borrows details from someone else’s life. In our quest for this simulacrum of justice, however, we have lost all sense of proportion and scale. On Twitter, we can wield a small measure of power, avenge wrongs, punish villains, exalt the pure of heart. Online spaces offer the hopeful fiction of a tangible cause and effect - an injustice answered by an immediate consequence. Increasingly, I’ve felt that online engagement is fueled by the hopelessness many people feel when we consider the state of the world and the challenges we deal with in our day-to-day lives. I’ve felt this way for a while, but I’m loath to admit it. Something fundamental has changed since then. I got to share opinions, join in on memes, celebrate people’s personal joys, process the news with others and partake in the collective effervescence of watching awards shows with thousands of strangers. I followed and met other emerging writers, many of whom remain my truest friends. Online is where I found a community beyond my graduate school peers. I lived in a town of around 4,000 people, with few Black people or other people of color, not many queer people and not many writers. But when the comedown finally kicks in, Byron arrives at a shocking encounter that will change life forever.When I joined Twitter 14 years ago, I was living in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, attending graduate school. Life explodes like a rush of ecstasy when Byron escapes into Nottingham's kinetic underworld and discovers the East Midlands' premier podium-dancer-cum-hellraiser, the mesmerising Lady Die. Sick of all the people in Hucknall who shuffle about like the living dead, going on about kitchens they're too skint to do up and marriages they're too scared to leave.It's a new millennium, Madonna's 'Music' is top of the charts and there's a whole world to explore - and Byron's happy to beg, steal and skank onto a rollercoaster ride of hedonism. Sick of dad - the weightlifting, womanising Gaz - and Mam, who pissed off to Turkey like Shirley Valentine.
Sick of being beaten up by lads for "talkin' like a poof" after school. The blurb: Thirteen-year-old Byron needs to get away, and doesn't care how. Brand new memoir What It Feels Like for a Girl is Paris Lee's first book and delves into her life experiences before and after transitioning.