Tag Archives: anonymous bloggers

Bloggers are not the new pop stars

I had assumed it was all over.

I’d been brushing off my darkest black, digging out my finest mantilla and clutching my rosary in preparation for the funeral procession. Blogging was dead and buried, you see; its life force finally expunged thanks to Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Medium. Or at least, that’s what I was led to believe, in pieces I read. By bloggers. On blogs.

But while I may have shed a tear for the demise of blogging, I wasn’t too perturbed, because I knew it would soon rise once more relatively quickly – probably before the sandwiches from its funeral tea had curled at the edges. It usually does.

I didn’t have to wait too long, because apparently, not only is blogging not dead, it is the new pop music. Oh yes! Take this excerpt from an email I received from a blogging network just this week. Step the hell aside, Calvin Harris – here is my moment.

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Well! Who knew? One minute blogging is being read the last rites, now, bloggers are “glitzy celebrities” with “the world at their feet”. A cursory glance at my inbox, not to mention down at my immaculately polished Derbys, tells me this may not be happening for every blogger. I see no mountains of invites; my toes do not rest upon the Earth’s mantle.

So which is it? Is blogging throwing shapes to the sound of its own death rattle, or is it a den of internationally renowned celebrities, elegantly stepping off planes and into sponsorship deals as far as the eye can see? Well, it’s a bit of both, for relatively few. The rest of us are somewhere in the middle. Continue reading Bloggers are not the new pop stars

The Fifth

I started my blog five years ago today.

It was hot outside – though not as hot as today – and I was sitting in my tiny, muggy top-floor flat, baking gently on Gas Mark Bored. I was probably wearing just my underwear, which would be a terrifying proposition now, but back then I was 34 and ran every day and hardly ever ate because I had forgotten how to cook for one.

I don’t know for sure, but, if I know me then, there will have been washing up in the sink.

I was feeling sad and a little bit lonely and like everything was possible and yet nothing was.

I remember a thing on Twitter a while ago where people would tweet about what they’d say to their 16-year-old selves. I wouldn’t say anything; 16-year-old me would not be interested in anything anyone my age had to say, but also, any words of encouragement I would have for this awkward teenager would feel false. I’d be too much of a coward to tell him how hard things were going to be, and that being himself probably wasn’t an option for quite a while. How to explain to someone enduring the 1990s in Yorkshire that things would one day be really great, but for a long time they’d be awful? He’d give up, he’d never try. He wouldn’t believe.

So instead of time-travelling to my badly decorated wankpit of my teenage years, I’d instead transport myself to 2010, the day I started the blog. Continue reading The Fifth

I still believe in internet anonymity – even when you’re being mean to me

We hear a lot about trolls and the trolling they do in the news these days. A sub-class of human previously restricted to the mysterious world of specialist messageboards and forums about dodgy TV shows nobody watches any more, the troll has now been brought front-and-centre, blinking uncertainly in the shimmering light that is Twitter.

The adoption of Twitter to the bosom of the mainstream has finally done for social media what Facebook could not and would not: it’s made it okay to talk to absolute strangers, even if you’re not an ‘internet geek’.

Twitter, whether it likes it or not, is now a regular feature on the news bulletin – be it thanks to a celebrity making an announcement, having an argument or acting weird or, as is now more common, some arsehole threatening to rape someone or plant a bomb outside a columnist’s house.

Those who partake in trolling — of which there are very many complex levels from mild ribbing to the above-mentioned  ‘death threat’ with a whole sub-genre of sexism, homophobia and vague paedophilia in between — are often thought to ‘hide’ behind the anonymity the internet affords them. Although IP addresses are freely available to any body who can be bothered looking for them, the fact that it’s usernames and not full Sunday names which accompany each bilious entry allows us a freedom that we are in turns proud of and disgusted by.

Every so often, there are calls for procedures to identify internet users to be more transparent and robust. Sites like Google and Facebook largely have ‘real name only’ policies, Arianna Huffington, the founder of Huffington Post, who I also blog for, has now announced that commenters on HuffPo will no longer be able to speak their mind anonymously – full ‘Wait until I get you home’ monikers will accompany every contribution. This could mean bad news for the very few wannabe trolls who bother to log in to tell me how pathetic I am.

There has been applause and outcry in equal measures in response to a ‘real names’ approach to posting on the internet. On one hand we remove the opportunity for trolls to post faceless vitriol with little worry about the effect it has on the object of their ire. I imagine menacing posts about cutting somebody’s throat or planting a bomb lose their thrill for the poster if their name is easily retrievable, easing the path to retaliation and/or punishment.

Casual racism and homophobia would, perhaps, shuffle off elsewhere from its natural habitat at the bottom half of articles in the leading newspapers and all would be well again. There is nothing quite so powerful as a barrier to online nastiness as having your full name attached to it, take it from me.

But when crusading against the vicious, masked internet assassins, we forget the other side of anonymity: the ability to speak one’s mind without fear of recrimination. Internet posters don’t just spout random opinions and then take their leave — they engage, interact, reply. They try to bully those who don’t toe their line. People on the internet like to disagree with each other, and things can get very heated. An online pseudonym doesn’t just give you carte-blanche to be as unpleasant as you like; it protects you from those who are.

In a world where a name is instantly retrievable on Google and almost everyone ‘has Facebook’, an invisibility cloak of some sorts gives the ‘good’ people of the internet the chance to speak frankly about what they believe in — be it attacking racism, talking about the positives of immigration or impassioned essays on horrifying real-life experiences.

Naysayers claim that as long as you don’t post vitriol on the internet and are totally truthful, you have nothing to worry over when it comes to a removal of internet anonymity. But I disagree. For all those who post on the internet, there are thousands, millions more just watching, like a coiled spring, awaiting outrage. Maybe your musings on the situation on Israel or gay marriage or women’s rights in Saudi Arabia may seem fairly balanced and innocuous, but there’s every chance someone out there doesn’t like what you’re saying, and wants you to know it. Remove your mutual veil of online facelessness and your detractor may find other ways to make life difficult for you. And how will they do that? Well, with your name freely available for all to see, he or she is spoiled for choice. A heavy-handed example, yes, but we shouldn’t encourage the opportunity. For every 100 people who just shrug and think ‘what an A-hole’, there’ll always be one twisted mind willing to go the extra mile in the name of internet justice.

Why should the few maniacs who think it’s OK to threaten to cut someone’s head off spoil it for everyone else? Anonymous posters can invite discussion, shine light into the darkest corners, help overturn oppression and prejudice. Why remove that power just because some people use it irresponsibly?

So, internet warriors, do your worst. In some ways, it is almost flattering that someone would take the time out to log in (or in cases of extreme desire to express, sign up!) and type furiously away, their tongue no doubt hanging out of the side of their mouth, just to say that you suck.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I’m hard-pressed to take offence at what humm1ng8ird1876 has to say, even if they’re lobbing outright homophobia my way or calling me a… well, take your pick. After all, they don’t know my name either.

Anonymity is a gilded cage which protects us from each other. Let the key stay lost.

This is an updated version of a post which appeared in Huffington Post last year.

Why you should never date an anonymous blogger

You’re on a date. The guy opposite of you seems attentive, interested, and personable. But there’s something not quite right.

Maybe he’s commenting a little too much on the décor of your date venue. Perhaps he’s got a lot to say about the menu or is critiquing the clothes of passers-by. And when he asks you again where you’re from, your age and appears to make a mental note of your eye colour, you need to beware.

There’s every chance you could be sitting across from the scourge of the internet: the poison pen-wielding, faceless web coward that is the anonymous blogger. Avoid. Why? Here’s why:

Identity agony
The true cross that every anonymous blogger has to bear is that most people don’t know (or indeed care) who they are.

For some bloggers, this adds to the mystery and appeal and so they value their anonymity (yes, I’m talking about me now), but others regret that their face sits behind a paywall that nobody is going to shell out the pennies to peek behind.

That their genius will remain undiscovered or that they’ll never receive recognition for their toil is a constant source of worry. They consider ‘coming out’ and revealing all to much fanfare, realising it’s the only way to realising their ambition of getting a publishing deal for a toilet book of their tweets out in time for Christmas, without taking into account that it’s the anonymity which makes them interesting.

“This would make a great blog”
Everything is material. Everything. Whether they’re the kind of scribe who slates restaurants or drones about fashion, every single sight and sound is potential content for their wry musings.

With an armchair movie reviewer, for example, the pleasure of a date to the cinema would be destroyed with every tut and deep sigh, along with the fuzzy glow of your blogging beau’s iPhone being removed from his pocket so he can tap out some withering notes about Keira Knightley’s similarity to a pine summer house.

Everyone’s a critic, yes, but perhaps your other half could leave the fault-finding eye – let alone the gushing superfan plaudits – at home for the evening.

Automatic fanboy
Being their nearest and dearest – no matter how much your enthusiasm might be dwindling – you are of course expected to be their number one devotee.

When they ask you if you have read their latest tirade against the state of the London Underground or their new blog about Blackpool Fashion Week, don’t let the panic shoot all the way up from your gut to your eyes. Pretend that you did, make your excuses as quickly as possible and adjourn to the nearest toilet and get busy with your smartphone – and pray it’s only a short essay.

Alternatively, if you’re feeling a bit argumentative and are looking for an afternoon more interesting than discussing what your paramour thought of the sausages in the 100 local cafes he’s reviewing for his fucking super-amazing blog, confess you haven’t read it and probably won’t, because the last one wasn’t your “cup of tea”.

If there’s one thing a nameless scribe can’t abide, it’s being compared to a cup of English Breakfast.

Do you know who I am?
The answer to that can only ever be “no”. If you will insist on dating an anonymous blogger, you need to make sure that the most interesting thing about him isn’t merely that nobody else knows what makes him so interesting.

And that misguided self-importance? The belief that what they’re doing is SO vital that they couldn’t possibly do it under their real name? Not to mention the hand-wringing over the impact their posting will have (none, usually). As unsexy as it gets, really, unless they’re bad in bed to boot.

Persona non-starter
The power of anonymity enables the secret blogger to develop a persona quite distinct from their humdrum everyday Mr Average.

Perhaps in his blogs and on Twitter your codenamed scribbler will come across as a hot, sexy wordsmith, with lashings of snarky asides, cogent thoughts and a trailer park full of witticisms to make your heart thump.

Rip him away from WordPress and his tweets, however, and you’re left with a ratty, pensioner-in-training with a myopic worldview, endless bad jokes and a skip filled to the brim with unbridled anger and missed opportunities.

You can’t log off from real life, remember.

NB: Absolutely none of these pitfalls apply to me. Not a one. I’m a joy to date. You’d be lucky to have me. Maybe. (Possibly not.)