At the pub this weekend, when my boyfriend got up to go to the loo, I did what many of us instinctively do whenever faced with a momentary lapse in stimulation: I reached into my pocket for my phone. Except this time, for the first time in maybe 10 years, it wasn’t there.
I had ventured out for the day with no Google Maps, no Spotify and no social media. So instead of scrolling on Instagram to fill the silence, I stared out of the window at the misty East Sussex countryside, eavesdropped on the couple’s conversation the next table over and allowed a slightly foreign but somewhat pleasant feeling to wash over me — boredom.
Before arriving at our digital detox retreat, I was unsure what effect going tech-free would have on me. Seventy-two hours in a remote cabin, completely off grid, both mine and my boyfriend’s phones locked away and out of reach. Unplugged, which runs the retreats across the UK, provides a Nokia in case of emergencies, a map of the local area, a radio-cassette player, a Polaroid camera and a Scrabble board.
There has been much discussion of late about the impacts of smartphones and social media on children’s wellbeing and development. Urgently important, yes. But what about adults? My phone is probably the only thing I am addicted to. At 24, I am part of the guinea pig generation of smartphone and social media users, the first cohort to really grow up online at a time when knowledge about the internet’s deleterious effects was sparse. So who knew what withdrawal symptoms I might feel?
For the first hour or so after locking the safe, anxieties did swirl. But it subsided quicker than I anticipated and my convalescence began
For the first hour or so after locking the safe, anxieties did swirl. What if there was an emergency at work, or a death in the family? But also, more insidiously, what if I missed out or became excluded from the perennial “discourse” of social media?
The anxiety subsided quicker than I anticipated, though, and my convalescence began. With no on-demand music, I discovered the unforeseen pleasure of local radio. An interview with the owner of the Margate Crab Museum for International Crab Day and a discussion about whether pineapple upside-down cake is back (Gloria from Rye says it never left) were just a few of the gems from BBC Radio Kent.
After we inevitably got lost while exploring the local area with an OS map, we stopped into a local pub to ask for directions — which resulted in a protracted conversation with various patrons chipping in to give us recommendations. At the risk of sounding too Gen Z-touches-grass, it was in these moments that I felt more connected to strangers than I ever have in the hermetic algorithm of my social media feed.
The 20 minutes I would usually spend mindlessly scrolling first thing in the morning were instead spent luxuriating in the sights of spring. I was forced to simply experience such moments, without a phone to substitute a photo for a memory.
Unlocking the safe on the final day and watching the notifications flood in, I was surprised to feel dread rather than relief. If it weren’t nearly impossible to function in society without one, I might consider ditching my smartphone. But one thing I will certainly be implementing into my daily routine is foregoing my morning scroll to tune into BBC Radio Kent.
Secret Swift non-believers like me are coming out of hiding
“Unruly and unedited.” “A rare misstep.” “Imprecise and unnecessarily verbose.” “Clunky and underwhelming.” These are just some of the rather damning phrases from reviews of Taylor Swift’s new album, The Tortured Poets Department.
Currently on the highest-grossing concert tour of all time, in the last few years Swift has mushroomed to a previously unfathomable stratosphere of hyper-celebrity. She has had the world in the palm of her hand, a cultural phenomenon of epic proportions. But her latest offering, a 31-track album, seems to have shifted the tide.
As someone who has never understood the Swift hype, I can’t help but observe this volte-face with some amusement. I have seen people like me — secret Swift non-believers — coming out of hiding now that our ideology is socially acceptable. The New York Times thinks all her songs sound the same, we can finally say it too!
To be clear, I don’t actively dislike Swift — I think she is a talented songwriter and a savvy businesswoman. What I struggle to understand is the unbridled mania she provokes.
In other words: Swifties, please don’t come for me.
Emma Loffhagen is an Evening Standard columnist