I was an early Twitter adopter. In fact, I joined shortly after the Iranian election protests in 2009, and I got to see how useful the then-brand-new social network could be. I was enthusiastic in my retweeting of various now-well-known Twitter personalities, attaching myself to the Pittsburgh and Toronto G20s and following with great interest the exploits of various college and high school campus occupations in New York and California in 2010.
Tweeting under the @name “IllicitPopsicle,”* I debated budgets with university student body presidents and anarchism with other like-minded activists. I built up my “brand,” so to speak, and then let it disintegrate.
I’m currently in the process of “rebuilding” my brand, but I often wonder how much it’s worth to do so?
Tony Tulathimutte, writing for the New Yorker, posits that “(we) are what we tweet” — that in order for us to be successful in a service economy where we are the product, we have to practice “managing (our presentation) — (our) behavior, appearance, reputation, online persona — to stand out in (our) professional and personal lives.”
Tulathimutte believes that all social networking is actually a subtext in the service of our personal brands, and vice versa. The fact that our very lives have become a chance to show off to potential employers contributes to the perception older generations have of us as narcissistic, preening douchebags. In this sense, and probably this sense alone, I have to agree with them: turning every waking moment into another bullet point on the ol’ resume has really turned me into an insufferable prick. Luckily(?), I’m not following this prevailing wisdom; my Twitter feed is a unrestrained stream of self-deprecation, cussing, venting about personal drama, cussing, posting anarchist nonsense, cussing, and ephemeral bullshit.
Businesses I apply for jobs with will no doubt scour my tweets with a fine-toothed comb; if I ever do actually finish college, I’ll be subject to interrogations regarding my political leanings, which unsavory elements in the independent journalism world I associate with, how reliable I am that I’ll say the word “fuck” in the midst of a conversation or blog post. They’ll ignore my resume — you know, my actual body of work — and examine what I do when I’m not being Mr. Impartial.
The social brand is some sticky bullshit. I hate it, but there’s no way to get it off me.