As I inch closer to middle age, it’s clear I’m losing my cool factor. Nowhere is that more evident than in social media.
I’ve never been quick to adopt new trends, even if it’s glaringly obvious that they are here to stay. I didn’t get my first mobile phone until 2002, and I was one of the last people on the planet to get a proper smartphone – I bought one last year and I still only use it to make phone calls, take photos and text. I also occasionally check the weather.
My resistance to mobile phones was an early hint that I was already too antiquated for the social-media world that was about to unfold. Back then, I felt like an old soul in a young(ish) body – a hipster, even. Now, I just feel 40 years older than I actually am.
When I first heard about Facebook, I dismissed it as child’s play. But as I saw more people my age sign up, I grew curious. I called my sister – 12 years younger than me – and asked her to help me set up an account. I think I heard her chuckle, the way you would when your grandmother asks for help with the remote control.
I joined Facebook in 2009 at age 34, and I was immediately hooked. I regularly share pictures of my kids and stories of my adventures overseas. I have 512 friends – though there are at least 100 who I don’t think I would be able to identify if they were standing right in front of me.
Of late, I’ve noticed a change in who comments on my posts: my mum, her friends, my husband’s parents, aunts and uncles. I researched Facebook’s demographics and, to my dismay, I learnt the number of users between the ages of 13 and 17 decreased by 25 per cent between 2011 and 2014, while the number of users over the age of 55 soared by 80 per cent.
In my struggle to hold onto whatever “cool” I have left, I have also tried other social-media platforms. I started using Twitter last year, when I realised it was a necessary part of my job as a journalist. Unsurprisingly, I’m no good at it. I’m a binge tweeter – I tweet three times in one day and then disappear for two months.
I thought blogging would be a natural fit for me. When I moved to Abu Dhabi two years ago, I promised friends and family I’d blog about my adventures. In my first blog, I waxed poetic on the life lessons I would surely learn. I have not posted since.
I have an Instagram account I don’t know how to use. I’ve posted nine pictures since I signed up in 2012 (five of which were posted accidentally by my sister on a shared computer) – and yet, somehow, I have 64 followers.
I do sometimes use Pinterest – my mum introduced me to it. Nearly 70 per cent of its users are women, and half have children. It’s another mum magnet.
I also still get lost in the lingo. I can’t keep track of what each new app (is that what they are called?) does. Tumblr, Flickr, Yelp, Foursquare, Friendster, MyLife, Digg, Reddit, HootSuite? Forget about it. They sound like movies aimed at tweens who love Justin Bieber.
And so I hide my social-media ineptness. When people I meet tell me to WhatsApp them, I say “Yes! Yes, I will!” I never admit that I have no idea how to do that.
Am I opposed to changing my ways? No. If I felt any other social media platform could provide me with what Facebook does, I would be keen to learn it.
If someone from the cool crowd could please organise a class, I promise (maybe) I’ll sign up. But only if you have large-print brochures, free biscuits and juice, and reading glasses available.