What is Intimacy in a World of Content?

I have new thoughts that make me itchy

Adapt or die. Double tap or cry. Some say it’s best we morph into the slipstream. Aquire a taste for feeds. It’s how it’s always been. Moving with the times. Can’t be an old fart, moaning about how it used to be. And yet, it feels clearer this time. Especially when discussing social media. There is a consensus that something is being lost. There are cries about the effect it’s having on younger brains. Hyper comparison during an already tumultuous time. Unregulated advice from people unqualified to be giving it.

A few years ago I sat and watched a man talk for 4 hours. I can’t believe I paid attention for that long. His name is Eckhart Tolle. Pretty sure he’s enlightened. Wrote a book called The Power of Now. He was saying that in fact our egos are so advanced at this point that they have created an extension of themselves that exists outside of us. Our phones. And then made them irreplaceable. Unforgivably addictive. An extra limb.

Salman Toor - Man With Face Creams and Phone Plug - 2019

Beyond that, you only have to go to a live show these days to see the screens. The red dots and wide eyes. Fearful that the performance itself isn’t actually happening unless it’s recorded. Banking an experience we’re present for just to make sure we were present later. It’s easy to critique but we’re past that. More worryingly - I’ve found it creep into my entire view of engagement. As in, real life engagement - not clicks.

Especially in the creative arts, I’m seeing people pushed into major marketing mode just to ensure they’re seen or heard. Marketing of course being driven by attention. Attention of course being driven usually by shock or awe. So there are stunts and set ups and skits and savagery. All in the name of promo. The rush of vitality is so enticing. I’ve found myself slip into viewing my own life externally. The process has become so installed.

There’s a lovely cafe in front of the rehearsal space we sometimes use before shows. Ran by an enigmatic Italian woman who likes to let you know that she’s not going to charge you this time for an extra egg but it’s come at a great cost. I wish she was my gran. A few of us are sat there. Day time, bright flashes bouncing off of signed photographs hung on the walls. I’d briefly stepped out to the car to grab a book I’d been waiting to give to my friend. Giving him the book would be a special moment because I hadn’t told him that I had named a character in it after his son. It’s my next kid’s book by the way. As if I’m not doing enough right now.

I handed him the book and he was absolutely buzzing. It dawned on me then that I hadn’t really considered how special that moment would be. He struggled to contain a grin. It was all very wholesome. Fist bump. Page flicks. Joyful colour. I thought it best to just leave it with him and scoot away as planned. Jump back in the car knowing I’d provided a close friend with a good feeling. It was only as I drove away that a rogue thought tortured me.

‘Maybe I should have filmed myself giving it to him. Then I could have posted his reaction and helped sell the book.’

The thought entered my mind. The thought that I’d just missed out on potential “content”. That if only I’d been able to capture that moment of purity - people would connect to it. Unbelievable. Or is it in fact - very believable? Is it reasonable? Not only would the world get to witness a moment of connection, I would have immortalised it for myself and for my friend and for his kid. But then would the moment have been as pure if I was filming it? Would I have been less connected? Would our future selves even be able to reignite that intimacy when reviewing it on a little screen in a totally different context?

I don’t know if it’s just my dogs. But I’ve noticed. That if I’m playing or laying with them, and the moment becomes one I want to capture, the moment I go to pick up my phone - they’re out. One more than the other to be fair, but it’s as if they can sense it. My friend says he experiences the same thing with his child. Whenever he goes to do a video or take a picture, their entire demeanour changes. We were wondering whether or not that was to do with the loss of connection in that moment. When thinking about my moment with my friend and the kids’ book. I can’t help but deduce that the moment itself would have been tainted by the fact I was holding a camera. Whether it immortalised it or not.

‘Have I missed an opportunity to go viral?’

A sickening new adaptation to the human biopic. An almost paranormal desire for us to witness our experiences as if we’re an audience. I’ve seen people film themselves in the middle of a break up. I’ve seen people film the moment that they proposed. There are countless videos of people performing acts of charity. It’s tantalising. Because, I guess, it is truth we’re capturing. Especially if the camera is hidden.

And maybe that’s all we’re looking for in these moments. To immortalise truth. It’s very difficult to fake a ‘reaction’. And the real reaction only happens once. Which is why it’s got such a value. Which is why, when it’s captured authentically, it’s so phenomenal to witness. And we’re desperate for it. Look at the rise of reaction channels on YouTube. I’m obsessed with them. Gogglebox, the British TV show, families reacting to telly. Massive hit. Dating show after dating show when ultimately all people are waiting for is to see someone being asked out or told to sling it. Just for the expression or inability to hide.

So we’re left with the decision between immortalised half experiences or fully felt moments of intimacy that might disappear. It’s a tough one. As with anything in life, it’s probably about moderation and intention. Still, it’s undeniable how reliant we’ve become on these ego extensions to help us cope or process.

7 years ago I stood at the end of my ex-girlfriend’s road in West London, watching an entire building burn to the ground. My best friend and I had been having a cup of tea in her back garden when little pieces of what I now know to be cladding started landing all around us. We didn’t think much of it. When he went to go home he rung me and said I had to come to the end of the street.

We both stood there, helpless, watching one of the most tragic losses of life in British history. Not long after we stood there, fire engines flew past. We had no idea what to do. We were too far away to launch into immediate action, but close enough to realise the devastation. Frozen and powerless.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and aimed it towards the flames.

I can’t remember whether or not I took a photo.

It’s not something I’ve returned to.