A strange feeling came over me the other day. There I was, on Instagram, touching up my social life for the benefit of the algorithm. Like every 42-year-old, middle-class white person in London, I had been to Wembley to watch Blur’s reunion shows. Like every person in that stadium, I had held up my phone camera for the meaningful refrains, mindful with the passage of time that such moments are rare.
But as I paused between filters (Clarendon or Ludwig?), and hesitated over which song would best advertise my superior taste (‘This is a Low’ or ‘Under the Westway’?), a feeling of overwhelming futility came over me. Why am I doing this? Who am I impressing? And also: who am I upsetting and who am I irritating? What, in short, do I hope to achieve by flinging my little bit of content into the void?
