Why I Won’t Ever Re-Apply For Twitter’s Blue Tick After Being Rejected Twice
Don’t worry, my ego is still very much intact
So — not too long ago — I decided to prove my worth through Twitter’s verification process and of course I was denied. Twice.
I made the first attempt when I was feeling quite good about life after zooming through half a bottle of wine — while admiring the latest deposit from Medium. Getting paid for my writing was always something I had hoped for — and there was also the honor of being publicly celebrated for my Noteworthy contribution to a community that has steadfastly rewarded me for my efforts.
Even in my happy state — I wasn’t quite confident that I was ready or qualified enough to pursue the ultimate endorsement that would propel my profile to greater heights and perhaps grant me the respect of being able to tweet shit like:
“I just woke up and can’t get back to sleep.”
“I’m dying for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
“I miss Nutella.”
“I need to shower.”
I mean you see tweets like that all the time and they remarkably get an impressive number of likes and even retweets — and the only way that happens is if you have that blue tick stamped on your page. Once you’ve been granted entry into the society of notables — you can basically say whatever the fuck you want and folks will gobble it up and eagerly wait for seconds.
I never imagined that I would bore my followers with eating or grooming habits — but I definitely wanted to explore the option. So, I went for it. I filled out the form and followed the instructions and suggestions as it pertained to the authenticity and desirability of my profile page.
I figured that the pinned tweet — featuring the only qualifier I’ve managed to muster — would be my best bet — even though I was aware of my pitiful number of followers and the fact that the so-called pinned tweet still hadn’t garnered a passable number of “likes” or “retweets.”
I waited for what seemed like an eternity — and that was because I expected to receive some notification of my status via email — but as it turns out — if you don’t hear anything — that means you were rejected.
I was sober when I found out the bad news and I was sober when I applied again.
This time my pitch for why I felt I should be verified was a lot more eloquent and elaborately thought out than the previous statement — and I made sure to buff up all the other stuff that was included for added measure.
It didn’t take long to realize that my application had once again been tossed out due to my woefully pathetic credentials. It was at that moment that my ego soared — and instead of massaging the bruise that should’ve been forming — I found myself proudly owning my loss.
The idea of seeking a symbol that somehow puts me above others who aren’t “worthy” seems mildly narcissistic and not at all in line with my unique makeup. I would venture to say that I went for it as a way to humor myself and test the waters. Of course — you’re probably mocking this admission with the obvious dig — that I’m only saying this because I was rejected.
I guess we will never know because I don’t intend to seek the benefits of verification — ever again.
I’m glad I’m not good enough and I honestly don’t care about all the amazing things that unfold — once your status is elevated and certified — because I quite frankly enjoy the freedom and luxury of being able to say whatever the hell I want — without the shit storm that follows.
I continuously witness the unfathomable ways in which verified folks are tormented by strangers who are looking to have a swell time at the expense of their targets — and when it gets really bad — I thank my lucky stars that I’m unimportant enough to escape that level of mistreatment.
Why on earth would I consider trading a blissful ride for the more dangerous and less stable alternative?
I’m able to tackle controversial topics with the shield of being “a nobody” with a really big mouth. I have a loyal following that pays attention and agrees with me most of the time — but even when they don’t — there’s the opportunity for constructive banter that almost always ends well.
Nobody really wants to fuck with me or ruffle my feathers because it gets them nowhere and they gain nothing. And I don’t have to worry about censoring what I say — nor do I bear the burden of making sure I’m armed for battle each time I let loose and express myself — because I’m safely tickless.
Also — I just don’t want to buy into the climate of self-indulgence that creates social media celebrities that inevitably cave into the trappings of their fame — no matter how hard they try to avoid it. I see how the worshippers hang onto their every word and then turn on them once the other superstar with more followers takes over the extended thread and shits all over it.
I’m just not built for that bubble of specialized interaction that will absolutely burst in my face — regardless of best intentions or political correctness.
Who needs the aggravation? I certainly don’t.
So, yeah, I’m good. I will continue to brave the consequences of navigating terrain of tweets without the blue tick — and rely on the armor of my commonplace ranking.
In this case — third time isn’t a charm — and that’s my fact.