Every now and then I’ll see a meme, funny video, fascinating facts post, or a how-to-crush-it-at-life/take-over-the-world list on social media that will peak my curiosity.
And when this happens, I do what most responsible, mature and sound of mind adults do when they see completely unfounded, questionable, but eye-catching content on t’internet – I send it to my friends with a message attached that usually reads something like: “There’s you/ Image of me/ ahahahahahaha/ Did I see your Dave wearing that in the middle aisle of Lidl?”
And I’ll be honest, this keeps my friends and I occupied, sane and connected. Because it’s important to feel valued and to know your dear friends are thinking of you when they see something totes hilarious, as the young folk might say. But it doesn’t half play havoc with your algorithm.
Like the videos of non-sock wearing, slip-on-shoe wearing men that flood my feed. (And lads, let’s be honest, your shoes have to be stinking. And that in itself is not a good look for anyone). My friend is deeply perturbed by this and wants me to appreciate the visceral reaction she feels as she considers the poor people who share a home with these sock avoiders. And so she sends me videos so we can be collectively horrified. But I had just about got rid of Cilla Black singing Lionel Richie classics and Christmas carols at me over on Instagram, when I’d algorithmically relocated to foot odour feed hell.
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At this stage, you may be questioning the sort of company I keep. But, just to reassure you, my other friend – who also sends me random photographs and videos – has totally different tastes. She sends me pics of animal bow ties and red PVC collars for her cat, “for his weekend downtime”, she explains. And that’s all I have to say about that.
But nothing lasts forever, not even algorithms thankfully. And as I dwelled recently, a couple of seconds longer than I should on a curious post entitled “dark psychology” that assured me I would gain control over every situation I could ever find myself in, if I just behaved in the way it said to on the list, I inadvertently consigned myself to a whole new algorithm.
I have often wondered what it would be like to be in control. I thought I’d be better at this parenting thing than I am, but my older kids don’t find half the videos I send them near as funny as I do, so I fear I’m failing them in life. And so safe in this assumption, I dared to consider what might give me control so that I could be a success at parenting and all things generally.
So that I could maybe rule the world.
Or failing that, The Irish Times.
[ Teens and screens: How much mischief can they really get into?Opens in new window ]
The list of things I should be doing, which I, of course, had no way of verifying on account of not being a psychologist and it just being a random post, made grim enough reading.
“Don’t correct people when they’re wrong – let them feel smart around you. It makes you magnetic,” it claimed. This obviously doesn’t apply to husbands or eejits I decided, ticking that one off the list. But it all went downhill from there.
“Slow your speech by 10 per cent,” came the next recommendation. “Calm equals authority. People lean in when you don’t rush.”
Well that’s not going to work I figured, because my thoughts and speech would be out of sync, I reasoned. Also I don’t want to. That has to be wrong I decided, wondering if the writer of this ‘fact’ was someone’s husband or an eejit.
“Talk less,” said point three.
I stopped reading then.
And so it seems I’m destined never to rule the world. Or The Irish Times. And I may never be the sort of excellent parent whose children will say: “my mum is *totes hilarious and sends the funniest random videos to me every day which has altered my algorithm in exactly the way I’d like them to.”
But I know socks should be worn with slip on shoes. And why a Thomas Shelby rant is an accurate representation of any given family home on a school morning. I know Whitney Heuston’s I Will Always Love You played at the exact moment disaster strikes, makes any funny video a million times more so. But I’ve no idea why tarot card predictions that I fear will not result in the financial windfalls promised, are currently in my feed.
Come back Cilla. All is forgiven.
(*since the writing of this column a young folk person has informed me no one says this any more and hasn’t since circa 2006, but anyway.)
