My jaw is aching slightly, from clenching through the bits of the Wagatha Christie trial that involved educating the judge in matters of Instagram. Whole days in an oak-panelled room turned on nuance previously reserved for teenagers at bus stops. What it means when someone unfollows you, for your ego, for your social standing, for who you are as a human. Who follows whom and why, the shade when someone messages you and you know they’re only pretending to be a mate and on and on, millions of pounds turning to dust as the internet is explained piece by piece, like grandchildren giving a lesson in how to use the new telly remote at Christmas.
It’s funny, but it’s also shocking, the fact that the next generation lives in a new and different world, with its own language, laws and rules of beauty. And that, for all the mapping of said world, for all the Duolingo lessons in its grammar, dialect and phrasing, those who have not grown up there are destined to forever remain tourists, squinting at the view.
