I started drafting this right after getting out of this week’s therapy session. In a surprise to absolutely no one, what’s happening at Twitter was a big part of my conversation. I posted a shorter version of this in the relatively new Twitter Alumni Slack (if you are a former Tweep and need an invite, please let me know), but I wanted to flush out my initial thoughts here a little bit, in an effort to process the utter disaster that is happening to some of my former colleagues and current Tweeps right this minute. (For the most up-to-the-minute updates — assuming you’re avoiding Twitter like me — I’d recommend following the reporting of Mike Isaac, Casey Newton, and Will Oremus.)
One thing to keep in mind, please, as I think out loud tonight is this: The people being laid off, and the way it’s being done, is the most important aspect of this. There is nothing more important than their safety and wellbeing. The words I am grasping to collect here as this unfolds is just a desperate attempt to try and personally process all of this. There is just so little else I can do, other than watch newly former-Tweeps post in the Twitter Alumni Slack in real-time as their corporate access gets cut off.
From a practical standpoint, the Twitter Alumni Slack is at least a pragmatic focus, a distraction for good, helping Tweeps find their next role. It’s helped mitigate a lot of my rage and anxious energy, but there’s also a value — for me, at least — in acknowledging how sad all this is. Sad for current Tweeps. For former Tweeps. And especially for the ones being let go. Seeing something we put so much time, effort, and care into get completely gutted from the inside, it’s just heartbreaking. To paraphrase a thought I came across in one of the many, many links people have been sharing today, Twitter is no more. The service that people worked for will never be the same. And even if you survive the pending purge, the role you originally had, and the culture that surrounded it, is gone forever.
As I’ve toiled with my own complicated feelings, I had been telling people it feels like I lost a friend. But today — and with apologies for the possible ableist language, I’m just trying my best here — I realized maybe it feels more like losing a limb in that an important part of me, something I used every day and relied on for multiple tasks and reasons, is now gone. Yes, I’m still here and able to function, but it’s not the same. And it’s never going to be the same.
I have no idea what additional trauma tomorrow will bring for Tweeps, but as I wrap up this attempt at trying to make some sense of absolutely anything at all, I want to make sure you know this: If you are a former Tweep, and you need something, no matter how big or how small, please let me know. 🫡
Fell on Black Days
03 November 2022
Hashtag history.
I started drafting this right after getting out of this week’s therapy session. In a surprise to absolutely no one, what’s happening at Twitter was a big part of my conversation. I posted a shorter version of this in the relatively new Twitter Alumni Slack (if you are a former Tweep and need an invite, please let me know), but I wanted to flush out my initial thoughts here a little bit, in an effort to process the utter disaster that is happening to some of my former colleagues and current Tweeps right this minute. (For the most up-to-the-minute updates — assuming you’re avoiding Twitter like me — I’d recommend following the reporting of Mike Isaac, Casey Newton, and Will Oremus.)
One thing to keep in mind, please, as I think out loud tonight is this: The people being laid off, and the way it’s being done, is the most important aspect of this. There is nothing more important than their safety and wellbeing. The words I am grasping to collect here as this unfolds is just a desperate attempt to try and personally process all of this. There is just so little else I can do, other than watch newly former-Tweeps post in the Twitter Alumni Slack in real-time as their corporate access gets cut off.
From a practical standpoint, the Twitter Alumni Slack is at least a pragmatic focus, a distraction for good, helping Tweeps find their next role. It’s helped mitigate a lot of my rage and anxious energy, but there’s also a value — for me, at least — in acknowledging how sad all this is. Sad for current Tweeps. For former Tweeps. And especially for the ones being let go. Seeing something we put so much time, effort, and care into get completely gutted from the inside, it’s just heartbreaking. To paraphrase a thought I came across in one of the many, many links people have been sharing today, Twitter is no more. The service that people worked for will never be the same. And even if you survive the pending purge, the role you originally had, and the culture that surrounded it, is gone forever.
As I’ve toiled with my own complicated feelings, I had been telling people it feels like I lost a friend. But today — and with apologies for the possible ableist language, I’m just trying my best here — I realized maybe it feels more like losing a limb in that an important part of me, something I used every day and relied on for multiple tasks and reasons, is now gone. Yes, I’m still here and able to function, but it’s not the same. And it’s never going to be the same.
I have no idea what additional trauma tomorrow will bring for Tweeps, but as I wrap up this attempt at trying to make some sense of absolutely anything at all, I want to make sure you know this: If you are a former Tweep, and you need something, no matter how big or how small, please let me know. 🫡
See you tomorrow?