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You could argue that each of the last few years have been the tipping point for digital and social media in terms of its acceptance into mainstream culture, but I think you’d have a tough job proving that any was more important than 2009.

It was the year Twitter made it really, really big; the year Facebook made it even bigger; the year Rupert Murdoch said ‘no more’ to free content and the year Spotify proved everyone wrong and made music free and the labels happy.

Iran, Jan Moir, Darren Bent, Eurostar, Ashton Kutcher and the NHS are all words that have taken on a different meaning to many people after their popularity on Twitter catapulted both them and the short-messaging service to the lead items on TV news and above the fold on newspaper websites.

This was the year that celebrities, companies, politicians and the media smashed the ivory towers they had spent years building, coming down to speak to us lowly mortals wherever we may be. And en masse. This was the year that social media stopped just preaching to the converted and started to convert the non-believers.

I started the year as a huge believer in the power of social media, but 2009 was also the year I stopped believing it can foster actual tangible change. As the Telegraph’s Head of Technology, Shane Richmond, recently said about the power of internet campaigning, ‘all this revolution seems to have achieved is a change in the Christmas number one and the return of the Wispa bar.’ And given the amount of time we’ve been spending on social networking sites, this is a pretty poor return.

Ah, but this was the year of the Iranian revolution, where some Twitter users changed their avatars to green and switched their locations to Tehran to show solidarity with the protestors and frustrate the Iranian government forces. But as Evgeny Morozov points out, while the Iranian protestors used Twitter to organise mass-protests, their tool of choice was used by the government to track, arrest and question them. All Twitter did was highlight that a new weapon only gives you the advantage if the person you’re fighting can’t use it too. If not, it’s just a stalemate. This was slacktivism at its laziest: middle class westerners getting all the feelgood pleasure of intervention without actually doing anything. Given how limited internet access is in Iran – as few as a third of Iranians have internet access – Twitter played no more of a role in the revolution than people who listened to Band Aid on the radio did in eradicating third-world debt and famine in Africa. It just felt like we made a difference because we had our head in the same barrel as a lot of other people who were shouting the same slogans at the same time.

As with the Twitter mob outrage that frothed up over Jan Moir and her repulsively homophobic opinion piece on Stephen Gately’s death, it made little difference, with no one properly apologising and no heads rolling. In fact, the Daily Mail showcased a masterful tactic in the battle against social media anger: do nothing. And it worked. Twitter was shown up to be a toothless tiger whose bark was worse than its non-existent bite. Who cares if 12 angry bloggers hate the Mail? Not to mention the fact they got all those extra visits thanks to all the links.

Add to that the fact that social networks may actually make people feel more lonely, it does make it difficult to be the evangelist I once was.

This is not a call to apathy or to down tools and give up. But if we don’t face up to a tool’s limitations then we’ll never actually solve the problem.

2010 is going to be, as many have said, the year that early adopters are going to have to show that this social media stuff actually works. And that’s a good thing. We’ve been playing with the internet for 15 years since Craigslist and are only just starting to face up to the grim reality that, while it is a beautiful place to be, it isn’t an Eden that has room for all media organisations. Better we sort these issues out with social media now before we’ve got 15 years of bad habits to undo.

I’ve been reading through John T Cacioppo’s incredible book Loneliness: Human Nature and the Need for Social Connection, which apart from making me look like a weirdo on the train, has sparked off a few thoughts about the role of digital social networking tools in the facilitation of social connection. And, more specifically: are they actually a good idea or making things worse?

At the end of his recent RSA talk, Cacioppo was asked what he thought of tools like Twitter (which he’s on as @J_Cacioppo) and Facebook and whether they reduce or increase the risk of loneliness in individuals. His response was basically this: when used if there is no other way to get face-to-face contact, they can be a good thing. When used instead of face-to-face contact, they can be a bad thing. Which, when you put down your Twitter mob pitchfork and really think about it, makes total sense. If for some reason you are unable to meet with friends – say if you’re geographically separated, or housebound for some reason – then contacting them via Twitter and Facebook is better than nothing. But, if you’re using digital social networking tools rather than going out there and meeting with people, then while it may seem like social contact, it isn’t truly satisfying the need we have as a social animal.

Used properly then, they should be used like aperitifs: getting the body ready for more substantial sating. Not like a pre-dinner chocolate bar that fills you up so you don’t want your nutritious supper.

But like most tools, not all people use Twitter and Facebook in the best way. Personally, I definitely use it too much as a substitution for social contact. True, there are tweet-ups and industry events I could attend every so often, but I think everyone can agree that meaningful friendships that blossom from digital introductions are relatively rare for even the most sociable people (I’ve met up with just one of my 400-odd followers, for example).

And it’s the word meaningful that’s important. What’s important to our social fulfilment isn’t the number of connections we make (say having 400 Twitter followers), but the depth of them.

Twitter, Facebook, Bebo and Myspace all reflect our innate desire to create social bonds, but more importantly they make it easy for us to make the same mistakes we always make.

One of the main things people take pride in when they use digital networking tools is the number of followers they have. Yet everyone knows that, in the real world at least, it’s the quality of a friendship that matters, not the number of acquaintances we have. Everyone has felt lonelier in a room full of strangers than they have when they are at home alone. And, in fact, research has shown that perceived subjective loneliness (feeling alone) is far more dangerous than objective loneliness (being alone).

When social anthropologists talk of social groups they talk about bridging (making new connections) and bonding (deepening existing relationships). What’s odd, is that while we know that having numerous meaningless relationships does nothing to alleviate loneliness, most digital networks serve to create new shallow connections more than develop existing ones. And our brains need both.

I’ve started to think of digital social networks like bars. When, as single people, we go to a bar in search of meaningful connection, we tend to get anxious. So we drink to numb any potential feelings of social rejection. But then because everyone is drunk it’s very difficult to create a meaningful connection with someone. So we get frustrated and sometimes aggressive over our feelings of perceived rejection. When you take a step back and consider how counterproductive our actions are when we try to make social connections on a night out, it’s no surprise they often end in tears and violence.

But whereas in bars we drink to help us make initial connections to reduce the pain of any rejection, digital social networks have the same social effect of letting us distance ourselves from the pain of social rejection.

A digital, virtual rejection doesn’t feel as real as one in person. On Twitter I can @ reply a celebrity and if they don’t respond then I can console myself with the likelihood that the other person didn’t see tweet. That way it’s not my fault and doesn’t count as a rejection in the same way a face-to-face rebuffing would.

But likewise, any successful social connection doesn’t feel as satisfying in the digital realm as it does on the street or a party. If I was upset, the last place I’d mention it would be Twitter, as I’d need a friendly shoulder to cry on and physical contact from some I care for and who cares about me.

I love Twitter and Facebook. I’m not blaming the tools for the problems I see, but it’s important to recognise what they can and can’t achieve when used by people. A hammer isn’t inherently evil, but to ignore the damage it can do in the wrong hands is not to diminish the good it can do in responsible hands.

Thanks to the people I follow on Twitter I have found and read more books this year than I had in the previous five years – including the book that encouraged me to write this post. I’ve been introduced to topics I never knew existed, let alone understood. I have expanded the people I have conversations with by hundreds, but I have not found one more person who would answer the phone to me if I was upset. Not met one person who would help me out if I needed money. And that just feels wrong for a tool that is considered as social.

As an information sharing tool, Twitter is unbeatable. But as a tool to stop people feeling lonely, it stinks.

Something happened today that sparked minor alarm, and major conversation.

One of Stephen Fry’s followers, of which there are very nearly 1,000,0000, casually remarked that sometimes his tweets could be a bit boring.

Stephen Fry replied: “whereas yours are so fascinating I can barely contain my fluids.”

The follower, @brumplum, replied, rather sweetly: “@stephenfry I shall have to put more effort into fluid-extraction! *blushes at the thought of S.F. reading my wibbles*”

Shortly followed by: “My life is complete, @stephenfry has @ replied me, rapidly followed by blocking me. My previous comment clearly hit him hard. Sorry.”

Stephen Fry replied with: “@brumplum You’ve convinced me. I’m obviously not good enough. I retire from Twitter henceforward. Bye everyone.”

Followed by “Think I may have to give up on Twitter. Too much aggression and unkindness around. Pity. Well, it’s been fun.”

To those non-community managers following Stephen Fry, it may have been a fairly unique car crash to watch but for those in the online community field who regularly ‘manage’, ‘curate’, ‘nurture’ or whatever else you want to call it, it was really nothing new.

It was, I believe, something I have often called, ‘the flounce’.

The flounce is something that happens fairly regularly in traditional message board communities. To be considered a true flounce it tends to tick the following boxes:

• It is being carried out publicly (i.e. not through private messaging or offline communications)
• It is being carried out by an active community member, who tends to have a large following and a fairly lengthy history of membership – it carries no weight otherwise, no-one would notice
• It revolves around hurt, personal feelings, rather than big picture disagreements around, say, party politics
• It tends to start with a disagreement between a very small number of people, often just two
• The popular member (or sometimes a clique of members) declares they are leaving the community
• A far larger group than was originally involved wades in, pleads with the flouncer or flouncers to change their mind(s), lists the reasons why a) they shouldn’t go and b) they’re fantastic
• The flouncer decides to stay. Or at least says they’ll think about it:

Stephen Fry: “Well maybe I’ll see how I feel in a few days. Very low and depressed at the moment and any drop of meanness makes it so much worse. Sorry.”

When I worked on a large women’s community it was a near constant occurrence. It happened on boards based around all topics, not just the typical flashpoints of parenting, and very rarely did anyone leave. At least for long.

It’s easy to get used to rolling your eyes, using calming strategies, and flashing the red cards when it all gets too much.

It’s easy to see the flouncing as an act in itself. It’s easy to see the flouncer as, well, just that. A flouncer. It’s just a hissy fit, it’s just a flounce.

But an act is rarely independent, it is rarely caused by only one thing.

We don’t act in a simple, binary way. A to B therefore C isn’t really how humans behave. We don’t always act chronologically (I may do something right now, based on a conversation three days ago, in between I’ve done all sorts of other things).

In short, there is often a huge backstory behind every little piece of dialogue.

Seeing someone so intelligent, so well-educated, so nuanced (you could hardly call Fry a one-trick pony), at the age of 52, execute a perfect flounce reminds us that, actually, there can be very serious reasons behind it.

Stephen Fry, as swathes of followers rushed to point out to poor @brumplum, is bipolar. In 1995, while performing in the West End with Rik Mayall, he suffered an infamous nervous breakdown. He disappeared for days leaving a comedy community bracing itself for news of suicide.

It’s fair to say that we can assume nobody within Stephen’s community at the time, would have rolled their eyes. It’s fair to say that we can guess no-one would have termed it something as flippant as a ‘flounce’.

Fast forward to 2009, and yes, as a community manager, I recognise that the events of today had all the hallmarks of a very common community occurrence. Because of Fry’s notoriety, for once, witnesses to it knew of the backstory. They knew that this could be the actions of a deeply unhappy person, with a history of mental illness.

It’s important that all of us in a position of trust and responsibility within any community, but especially one of words, remembers that flounces are very rarely flippant.

By @hollyseddon

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If Alexander Graham Bell owned a time machine when he invented the telephone all those years ago, would he have bothered putting in all that work? In my 29 years I’ve had more than my fair share of what others would call pointless telephone conversations, just laughing, quoting my favourite TV shows and sharing the minutae of my day. Of course he would. The phone may have been used to call in randsom demands in kidnappings, but it has also been used to avoid war and everything inbetween. It’s not the medium that’s important, it’s the message. Yes Twitter allows users to post nonsense – see recent BNP-related posts – but it has also been used to rally Iranian protestors attempting to see democracy overcomes a fixed election. And everything inbetween, including yes, what people are having for lunch.

Yet this banal describing of your day’s activity – what head of social media at Guardian, Meg Pickard, calls the cheese sandwich effect – is what naysayers keep focussing on.

Pickard, whose speech at the Royal Instituition I’ve just left, came under fire from one audience member who was very aggressive about the cheese sandwich effect, saying kids are ‘wasting time’ on this ’social experiment’.

But what I fail to see is what’s new? Kids have always socialised in ways adults can’t understand. And, perhaps more importantly, who’s to say which topics and methods of conversation are pointless? I have two step-kids who are six and seven and both want to join a social network all of their friends are on. Would I prefer them to be physically socializing? Yes, but it isn’t an either or situation and it isn’t my decision what type of social interaction best strengthens their bonds. Their bonds.

Personally I’ve learned more from Twitter in the last six months than I have from books – and those were books that were recommended by people I follow on Twitter. If I conversed with morons, my conversations would be moronic. If I phoned an uneducated person to talk Nietzsche I’d be left disappointed. Would that be the telephone’s fault? Connections are what’s important, not the medium of connection.

And perhaps most importantly, no one forces you to connect. The connections you make online will reflect the type of person you are outside of any digital network. Porn stars don’t mix with priests online, birds of a feather truly do flock together, as the saying goes. If you like listening to Britney, you will gravitate towards Britney fans – or they’ll at least gravitate towards you. And that’s whether you are online or offline. All social media allows us to do is what we’ve always done: find like-minded people. The real revolution is how easy that connection is to make nowadays.

So, if you find yourself online having a conversation about what someone had for lunch, perhaps you need to realise that you’re partly to blame, not the system or tools that allow you to connect to whomever you please.

James Seddon

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