‘Story Culture’ – the Reduction, Digitalisation and Trivialisation of living

The introduction of ‘Stories’ is one of the most recent phenomena of social media. With humble beginnings in Snapchat in 2013, the ‘stories’ feature has now been employed by the largest social media giants. Instagram’s 2016 update adopted the feature: and Watsapp have been the latest to introduce something similar: a status of pictures and videos that disappear after 24 hours.

The birth of the ‘feed’ was a transformative moment in social media history. The feed knows no end and continues to extend material indefinitely, but the content of the feed is markedly transient. Stories are a kind of personal feed – regular and continual visual documentations of our daily activities accessible to everyone we are connected to on a particular platform. Their indirectness is especially ‘revolutionary’; although they are accessible to everyone, they are also addressed to no-one.  ‘Stories’ are also, largely, arbitrary. It seems we don’t watch them for their riveting narrative or earth-shattering plot-twists but out of some strange compulsion. We have all felt the pulls of the strange dichotomy at the 1) irritation of opening someone’s 150 second-long Snapchat story that documents every tedious occurrence of their big night out, but also the 2) voyeuristic engrossment that compels us to continue to watch the majority of it - tapping fiercely and expectantly at the screen for the next nugget of ‘story’ in line? Why do we love ‘stories’? Why do we hate ‘stories?’ What does a ‘story’ mean, and what is it worth? Can I eat it?

The fact that ‘stories’ are so ephemeral means that they are current by definition. They are to be ‘disposed of’ by the very nature of their being. Our first-world, western throw-away mentality pervades even the processing of visual material. With images and videos that only last for 24 hours, the idea that ‘filming or taking pictures is to record memories’ becomes obsolete– instead what is happening is a constant, ritualistic offering of more and more ‘real –life’ material to the social media monster, who greedily devours it, shits it out and immediately demands more. The insatiate social media machine gluts for digital translation of organic human experience, and seems to transcribe them into some sort of online social currency. A currency that is actually completely useless to everyone not only due to the fact it isn’t real but also because it literally dissipates into the ether after one day.

On the surface, yes, it seems *enjoyable* to share an *amusing* moment through the ‘stories’ feature. But underneath the palatable platitude undulates a more concerning and disturbing reality. Documenting on your ‘story’ seems to endow the event with value and give it purpose, the question must be asked: Who are you recording your evening for? When digital documentations of these experiences become more important to the actual, lived, moment itself the boundary between ‘story-time’ and ‘real-time’ has been ruptured, and the present moment has been displaced.

So why do we love stories? We love them because they are literally designed to play on our inherent social desire to know what other people have been doing. Why do we hate stories? Because they have literally been designed to play on our inherent insecurities and anxieties about the way in which we are perceived in society. What is a story worth? Due to the sheer mass in circulation, and their fleeting nature, they are worth very little. Probably not even 1 pence. Can I eat them? Metaphorically, we are all eating them all the time: partaking in the consumption and digestion of visual matter shat out by the faceless social media monster.

I will leave you with the poignant words of Lady Leshurr;

Why you Snapchatting in the club for? Just dance, man.