e-creepin’
You know where I drink. You know where I shop. You know how much money I got. You know my Dominos order off by heart. You’ve probably stared wistfully into my eyes a few times too. Shit, you’ve probably woken up to my hungover face, seen my prized Emporio Armani underwear and Budweiser sleep shorts. Now you’re standing outside my bedroom window. Bet you can almost smell my hair.
BUT I HAVEN’T EVEN MET YOU YET.
Nosferatu. OG creeper of the media world.
Yes yes, welcome to the world of e-creepin’. Whether fuelled by Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or creepy fuckers checking where you eat miso soup via Foursquare…it’s out there. And its probably happening to you – RIGHT-THIS-SECOND.
To make you really think about e-creepin’ lets back-track slightly to one of life’s most valuable tools. Forming relationships. Oh yes, the formative years. Maybe you found it reasonable to make a new friend by inviting them over for turkey dinosaurs and chips or throwing whatever you could grab in the sand-pit at them (your choice) but it used to be face to face. You had to look at that fucker right in the eye.
Then somebody upstairs flicked that switch and suddenly you’re intrigued by the opposite sex. Your mum stopped letting you take a bath with the weird boy from next door with the mini plastic tractor. Oh my god, BOYS. Time for forming relations version 2.0…only this time your face goes red, you waffle a lot and generally say the wrong things.
“Hi…erm…can I speak to Mike please?”
“No.”
Yes as tragic as it was, I feel blessed spending my early years ‘meeting boys’ via traditional methods. You know…in person. Trying to sneak into the boys changing room at school in your ‘my first bra’ from Marks & Spencer. Getting your bezzie mate to get your crushes number (which until Year 9 was always a HOUSE PHONE), getting prang when their mum answers and then – with top lip already sweating – bumbling your way through an awful conversation about meeting at the swimming pool cafe for a Slush Puppie. 2pm Saturday. You never fucking showed though did you? But look at you now. Life game Gucci Mane.
(I also bought that bastid a weird devil teddy on Valentines Day in Year 9, then found it in dumped in the back of Religious Studies with a biro stuck up its arse. But that’s another story that is currently doing the butterfly stroke all up in my emotions.)
Grim dawg.
The advent of mobile phones (I say heavily as I sign an elderly care home admittance form) shook things up again. You could now contact a boy without his mum/dad/older (and probably fitter) brother answering the phone. It was great for creepy weirdoes like me with zero social skills. I can’t stress this enough, the boys were never interested…but still, we had that direct contact. Texts seemed way more casual than hanging on the telephone. Do I put a kiss on the end? Fuck that.
Social media is my job. So now it makes me laugh that ALL of the above have been full moon total-eclipsed by the chatty bastard platform I make a living from. I’m pretty sure most of the guys I know seek out their next conquest on there. What a life yah; scouring Instagram for potential fuck buddies, wifeys and fleshy human Ronseal. Mirror selfie in a second-hand Lipsy dress. Photo of some meal that looks like a plate of warmed up baby sick. Tattoo drawn by Helen Keller. We see you clicking like, creepy lurker.
You might have thought you found the e-world Next Top Model but I’m telling you now – you wouldn’t recognise her without the ‘Mayfair’ Insta filter. In fact, she’s more Mayfair cigarette filter. Btw, she bought all her Instagram followers because nobody likes her. And that one has an absolute moonface IRL. You can land shit on it and have a little walk around. See some things. Alien lifeforms. Speed dating sponsored by NASA.
You got conned by an image sharing platform. Shame.
And the girls chasing the guys…. that’s another story. Ohhhh you’re hype yeah? I’ll have a piece of that.
The creepy e-relationship mongers are waiting. Go straight to your apps. Make that shit private.
KEEP IT CREEPY….holla @cha girl ESQUEEEZY
