Internet Dumpster Fire: Reflections of a Chronically Online Teenager

Written by Hana Nishiwaki
Edited by Kristin Cho
Cover Image by Elena Chen

“Chronically online”

It’s a term that you have probably come across if you spend even slightly more than the average amount of time on the internet. The definition itself is quite self explanatory- someone who is online to the extent that they lose touch with reality. It was originally used to comment on people who argue over seemingly trivial issues with the intensity of courtroom dialogue. Twitter threads begin to read as testimonies and tension bubbles, the topics reaching new highs of insignificance. An example of this being an acquaintance of mine eloquently starting a conversation with, “Don’t you think it’s unfair that gay is an umbrella term for all same gender attracted people rather than exclusively NWLNW?” 

From my experience as a member of the queer community, I’ve found that these interactions aren’t isolated experiences either; many online queer spaces tend to be saturated with questions and issues that have you wondering: “Will I ever be having this conversation with someone in real life?”

Leading the GSA at Havergal, I am sometimes taken aback by the difference in tone between online and offline spaces. In person, I find shared experiences and build solidarity with students across grades, bonding over our commonalities whilst also sharing our differences and learning from each other through. However, the moment I get home and turn on my phone, I’m faced with endless threads of bickering over terminology that would put a Victorian child into a coma. Do you support xenogenders? Don’t you think gay and lesbian people should acknowledge their monosexual privilege? Who is the most oppressed within the community? The questions seem to stream in, wearing away at my neuron receptors as I fall hopelessly into the echo chamber where topics drift further and further from reality, venturing into the territory of people creating problems just to feel intellectually superior. 

Though they may seem like a minor annoyance at first, these dialogues come at the price of more  pressing issues such as the safety of vulnerable members of the community or inclusivity within queer spaces. Legislation barring transgender youth from accessing life-saving procedures progress as the message boards get heated over whether or not it’s biphobic to identify as pansexual. 

If the topics are so wildly arbitrary and meaningless, why is it that younger generations on the internet are so drawn to discourse? Why do they seem to hold onto it like it’s a proof of their identity? 

Although it’s important to critique the way these topics over-saturates discussion spaces that could be better used, it is equally important to understand the perspective of those we are criticising. Why do young queer individuals, who have very little social power or political agency, feel drawn to the internet–a place where they can anonymously have their voices valued equally without judgement? How does this contrast with their offline experiences, where their age often determines whether or not they are heard? Why might they then use this unique platform to advocate for issues pertaining to their identity?

It is also vital to acknowledge that the internet creates accessible discussion spaces, whether it be for better or for worse. This applies not only for younger generations but also an increasingly diverse variety of voices. Academic spaces where discourse on social issues are  held at such depth have been commonly criticised for a lack of accessibility, whether it be the language used or the privilege required to undergo post secondary education. This has thus led to an overrepresentation of privileged people, omitting many perspectives from people who experience marginalisation, whether it be by class, race, gender, or sex. The internet, on the other hand, opens up an opportunity to build a much more palpable platform. One can spread their perspective in language that does not require years of scholarship to fully comprehend in spaces that can be easily accessed via the internet. 

With that in mind, I now pose to you: “Is this perspective from a chronically online person, or is it just something I’ve never considered before?” 

In a sense, the term has parallels with another piece of web lingo, “woke.” Both had been established in the context of discussing social issues. “Woke” is a term to refer to someone who has educated themself on a topic that they might not have been as aware of or “awake to” before, whilst chronically online asks internet users to consider whether their argument is relevant beyond the screen. Both had been established in the context of discussing social issues, yet they are now used as derogatory terms to shut down a conversation before it even starts. 

“chronically online,” one user comments under a post of a woman saying she is uncomfortable receiving comments spouting borderline sexual harassment.

Similar comments have been left under other marginalised peoples speaking on their lived experience: Chinese users commenting on alarmingly normalised sinophobia in social media, black users lamenting anti-blackness from other people of colour, users with disabilities pointing out normalised ableist comments they receive on their bodies and behaviourisms. 

Despite being established as a joking commentary on out of pocket messages from people who seem disillusioned with reality, one must wonder:

Has this term evolved into a dismissal of diverse perspectives?

Is the term anti-intellectual? 

There is no clear-cut answer, and one can only hope that individual internet users will develop the critical analysis skills to adequately make the judgement for themselves.