The go-to moral panic of our apparently technology-obsessed younger generation is the tagline “we’re more switched on than ever but just as disconnected.” Yet my experience with online communities tells a significantly different, more nuanced story. My use of the blogging website Tumblr, in particular, encouraged an understanding of my inner self in a way that my geographical community couldn’t immediately satisfy.
Having grown up in the deep north-eastern suburbs of Adelaide, reaching other people often meant a a 20 minute walk to a bus stop and a 50 minute bus ride in order to get to the CBD. It’s easy to see how, a lot of the time, the welcoming arms of “community” seemed impenetrable and unreachable for me. My chronic social anxiety also massively inhibited my ability to naturally fit into these spaces. It’s hard to be vulnerable in loud social environments with people you hardly know.
Even if I made it out, who was to say whether I would find what I was searching for? Who was to say whether genuine connection – or representation – was waiting on the other side? Instead, I would spend hours lying on my bed, letting the evening light wash over me, quietly listening to music and scrolling through social media attempting to replicate what I could not access. It almost sounds too insufferable to put to words. But for young queer people, especially those in regional and suburban locations, it’s a shared reality.
I thought university would solve this. I pictured it in an idealistic, almost utopian way where the trappings of high school and its accompanying social hierarchies would easily fall away. But I was instead met with new hierarchies, isolating social environments, and irregular timetables where lasting bonds with other students who shared similar hobbies, emotional landscapes and life interests seemed to be fleeting. The semester was over before I established lasting relationships with students and I was left with a feeling of missed opportunity and a resounding melancholy.
This was when I discovered websites like Tumblr. Having first registered it at the age of 17, I began using it more predominantly in 2010-2013 when I was 18 and 19, feeling disillusioned with university. Many other users recall this as Tumblr’s “golden years.” It had yet to cross over to the mainstream and the sub-cultures, languages, colloquialisms and memes that circulated then had not been co-opted by outside institutions and companies that wanted to appeal to certain demographics.
When I was uncertain about my latent queerness and gender identity, witnessing other young people navigate those same issues in an open, honest way was incredibly validating for me. They proved that there could be more layers to those things than the stereotypes I saw portrayed in the culture at large. And these weren’t forced appeals to the youth like in LGBTQI-targeted youth services and mental health services (which clearly weren’t made by young queer people) – they felt accessible, kaleidoscopic even, and I began sharing my own stories, feelings and experiences in response.
Tumblr’s sub-cultures were created by young people, for young people, bereft of any kind of ulterior motive. Surely therein lies its success. Theories about queerness, or even race and class, could be discussed in ways that veered away from the overly political and academic and instead be communicated in a human way, honouring real experiences in ways that still felt intelligent and real.
Certainly there is a kind of facade building involved there just like there is with all social media, but more so than other platforms, it offers users the ability to reveal all their emotional ugliness, all their shame, and have that be accepted – to hear a quiet chorus of “me too’s” directed back at them.
It’s not uncommon for young Tumblr users to send questions to each other in the “ask boxes” of various other users and publish those answers publicly so that other people who may need affirmation can see them. Unlike certain parts of the media that focus on youth culture, that tap into it, commodify it and sell it back to us, its very own creators, we find instead a raw kind of expression that feels earnest.
That is not to say Tumblr is some pure haven where mythical beings exist, manically typing away behind a screen and that trolling is non-existent. There is a great deal of harassment and unethical behaviour occurring there which is admittedly poorly moderated. But Tumblr has a unique web structure and can generally only be understood by other Tumblr users – a far cry from the comments section on any given Instagram post. Tumblr hands total creative control over to the user. It doesn’t feel condescending or restricted. It gives individuals the power to recognise what shapes them and use it as armour in an uncertain world.
The overarching narratives in our culture that exist in regards to social media and young people aren’t often positive. A lot of the time, they centre on the experiences of young people who have been bullied into oblivion, who have been pushed to the edge of suicide. But it’s important to remember that these websites aren’t just happening of their own accord – there’s real people behind them. So if smart young people with positive intentions are using social media, and aren’t shamed just for desiring connection, it has the potential to lead to constructive change.
Being open to the possibilities of social media may usher in a new age of understanding and of how marginalised or displaced people respond to it. And while it may seem simple or silly, social media allowed me to express elements of myself I felt like I couldn’t in my day to day life. I became my own saviour as I looked into the divine mirror of representation and realised I wasn’t unloveable and monstrous – I was ultimately and supremely myself.
