So my friend Ange says to me the other day, “Did you catch the Ellen selfie? The one at the Oscars; the one she tweeted? I mean, the tweeted selfie? Is that a new low or what?”
Ange is right: it is a new low. The tweeted selfie: two of the digital age’s most monstrous concoctions combining forces. I fear it’ll become a bugbear that will rankle me no end.
Redeemingly for Ellen, her portrait was a cut above your regular selfie. Crammed in the shot are a half a dozen of Hollywood’s biggest names and you have to say the pic has a remarkable tableau quality. But it’s what it will spawn that horrifies me. Instead of previously tweeting in 140 characters that he’s eating a toasted cheese sanga will Shane Warne now selfie himself munching on one? (and with his munching gob open at that!) And what about the narcissists who banally tweet about missing socks? Will we now get selfies of them shrugging their shoulders over its whereabouts (well one shrugged shoulder, that is: the other shoulder will, of course, be lunging forward contortedly towards their iphones, won’t it?)
Like, tweets and selfies joining forces has just got to be a concern, don’t it? I mean imagine if other annoyances did so? Like imagine if mosquitoes joined forces with B.O.. Buzzing mossies with wiffy armpits stinking up the joint on top of milking us of our blood. And what about the common cold joining forces with telemarketers? You answer the phone and a second later you’re sneezing and dripping as you nasally tell someone in Bangalore that you’re more than happy with your current broadband plan (and that you greatly resent that they’ve called you in the middle of your tea!)
Moreover, what if it doesn’t stop at two! What if tweets and selfies join forces with spam! You open your inbox and there’s a message from Kim Kardishan which goes on to link you to a tweeted selfie of her with a penis enlargement kit. Though looking happy with the purchase (after all, she got it at a special on-line price!), Kim is clearly struggling to get her head around it, and had the tweet been in 140 characters and not a selfie, it would read: ‘Bought the Whopper 1000 for Kanye as a valentine present. Anyone out there know how it works?’
Or what about if you went to your inbox and there’s a message from the penis enlargement people themselves (like there always is in mine!) You open it and it links to a number of tweeted selfies of the evil mastermind who runs the penis enlargement empire. He’s munching on a toasted cheese sandwich in one shot, dangling a forlorn looking unpaired sock in another, and the third has him at the Oscars side by side with Tinseltown glitterati (but alas, for ironies sake (and her sake!), no Kim.)
But seriously, the tweeted selfie, eh? What a lamentable new phenomenon. And worse, it’s just so darn catchy, isn’t it? I mean it’s sure to become zeitgeisty on the strength of its melodiousness alone … it just has such a ring about it. I can even see a pop group adopting the name: ‘The Tweeted Selfies,” an electro-dance outfit from Britain made up by narcissists Lindsey, Kim and Paris. They tweet 24/7, can’t play instruments and their lives are plagued by banalities and inanities. Hmm, you know what? If their modern day contemporaries are anything to go by, I fear that on top of suffering their tweets, we’ll be suffering a number of their chart topping tunes.