In 2016, what seems like a lifetime ago, I wrote a piece about it Inside the High Ed called “Academic Advantages of Twitter”. I stand by that part, even though I just deactivated my Twitter account.
I initially praised Twitter for its ability to grow one’s network of peers and to help write and publish thoughts that can later be collected for more formal scholarship. I have also had success using Twitter as a teaching tool and a way to creatively interact with students about course content. A selection of my tweets even ended up forming an aphoristic component of my 2015 book, The end of airports.
What has changed in the intervening years? Many, most of which have been well recounted by others. As just one outstanding example, Tressie McMillan Cottom brilliantly reflected on the emergence of Black Twitter and its critical modes—as well as its freedom to go elsewhere.
Even before the news of Elon Musk’s aggressive attempt to take over the platform, I just felt bothered by the website’s incessant requests.
These requests are sometimes in your face and loud, like a bad reply or a spat among the people you follow—or worse, a subtweet that you can’t get out of your mind and think about all night.
But other times, Twitter’s demands on users are more subtle and abstract. It’s the news or featured post that you only see for a second, but that causes something to bother you all day.
Although academic Twitter still offers moments of candid connection, research sharing, and general collegial support, it has also become a fraught and toxic place. It’s very easy to get caught up in a controversy or to get mocked or hated for something you tweeted, or to have to carefully monitor the results of something you posted and then promoted on Twitter.
Debates that might have previously taken place over the course of a conference, or even over journal issues spread over months or years, now take place in fiery minutes and fiery hours, sometimes burning through an entire evening. You don’t even have to be directly part of one of those fights to feel the burn.
So for academics who may be reconsidering the usefulness of their Twitter accounts, here are some downsides to think about and questions to ask yourself.
- Distraction. Does Twitter distract you from reading, writing, course preparation, or engaging with students? If so, pay attention to this. Distraction can be more cumulative and exponentially impactful than you realize.
- Irritation. When you open Twitter on your phone or desktop, do you feel bored by the things you see within seconds? Does this irritation follow you long after you’ve left the app or website? Being unnecessarily irritated is a huge waste of other things you could be doing – and getting more enjoyment out of.
- Intimidation. Do you find yourself intimidated by the things your peers or colleagues post? Are you often overwhelmed with feelings of not achieving enough for your discipline or field, or not making enough progress in your research program? Twitter excels at generating self-sabotaging feelings of inadequacy. It always seems more exciting there, deep in the constant stream of those ever-spreading tweets…
- Anger. We’ve all been on a conference panel that has completely annoyed or enraged us. But there’s nothing like cooling off or venting at the hotel bar with friends after a particularly messy conversation or tense question-and-answer session. On Twitter, there’s no such informative forum for processing — and getting rid of — the vitriol that can erupt in an instant, unbidden.
- Jealousy. This is hard to accept. But it’s so easy to look at someone else’s accomplishments, book contract, award announcement, or fellowship and feel a little sad inside—and, in fact, jealous. And so it can happen even when you are simultaneously happy for them! Twitter has a way of incubating envy. It’s something baked into shape – like chocolate chips melted into dough. (Don’t get me wrong—I like cookies, but not every day and all the time.) And this pent-up envy exists for a harmful reason: one day, you might be the one causing others to feel the same way. .
- Obligation. It can be elusive and fleeting, but it’s the vague notion that you have to like someone’s tweet, or retweet something, or follow someone … or, more complicated, reply to a DM. Then there’s the obligation to update everyone whenever something happens: a publication, a podcast, a book review, a learning epiphany. All of these layers of forced interaction seem easy enough in theory, but they end up adding to the overall burden that Twitter insidiously, if silently, heaps on its users.
- The noise. Speaking of quiet, Twitter really isn’t. It’s an extremely cacophonous place, and the noise transcends the boundaries of the website. The buzz rings in your ears long after you’ve left Twitter and even lures you back. It is our modern siren song.
There are also issues of depression, anxiety and fear that Twitter feeds on and feeds on – but that’s a whole other can of worms.
Maybe I’m just showing my thin skin—admitting shyness and weakness in the face of what is, really, just a digital impostor. Maybe I’m making excuses for my inability to keep up with the daily (much less nightly) onslaught of smart, meaningful, and necessary tweets. Maybe I’m just showing how hard it is for me to draw boundaries between my personal and professional life.
However, I think there is something real about the structure of Twitter that is worth resisting now.
I know that Twitter – along with social media more broadly – has been instrumental in bringing about important political movements and empowering people who need a voice or to amplify a cause. But I also think it’s fair to say that we’ve crossed a threshold, and that the positive aspects of Twitter may have become obsolete, replaced by constant rampant rhetorical battles and the attitudes of the never-ending present. It’s a sometimes exciting place, but mostly just exhausting. Musk’s arrogant takeover bid has just pushed Twitter over the edge for me.
Academic work takes time. Teaching takes time. Creative projects take time. All this time there is no need to register or choose from a monolithic website. Twitter takes a lot of time too. Literally Twitter take Our time.
I’ve realized that I can value my academic, pedagogical, and creative time differently if I simply didn’t have to think about how it would play out on Twitter and then participate in all that hyper-performative action. So I’ve been off Twitter now since April 28th, and, so far, it’s been a huge relief. I have seen things differently from the other side. But that’s another essay, for another time.
