The Art of Posting: Between the Muscadet and the Misery

I can remember when catching up with people involved a telephone with a cord long enough to lasso a small pony. You’d run it into the bathroom, light a candle, pour a glass of Muscadet (very important, the Muscadet), sink into a bath so hot you had to top it up twice, and talk. Properly talk. An entire evening could vanish in steam and stories. There was no “seen at 21:04.” No typing bubbles. No curated lighting. Just voices. Pauses. The occasional slosh. These days, connection lives in a folder on my phone. I sometimes wake up and, rather shamelessly, look forward to clicking it. Birthdays. Promotions. New jobs. Holidays. A day out somewhere photogenic involving brunch. It’s rather lovely, really. And yet. Instagram is alarmingly positive. Everyone appears to be: • Falling over attractively. • Applying skin serums under perfect lighting. • Driving something fast around a corner. • “Thrilled to announce…” • “Grateful to share…” Happily, of course. Even X (which I still instinctively want to call Twitter) used to be where feelings leaked out — but only if you were brave enough to risk the quick-draw sarcasm of someone hiding behind a profile picture of a Labrador. Nearly ten years ago I wrote The Working Actor. When I interviewed actors about social media, one confessed: “Possible audition today. #ActorsLife.” Translation: “Definite duvet day. Baked potato. Baked beans. Rain outside. #ExistentialFog.” It made me laugh because it was true. We curate courage. We polish resilience. We filter despair. And I’m no different. I’ve had better Januarys and Februarys. But if you scroll my feed, you’d think I was powered entirely by sunlight and affirmation. Why? Because positivity feels generous. Because we don’t want to worry people. Because LinkedIn in particular can feel like a corporate awards evening that never ends. But here’s the thing. If everything is positive, nothing is real. The negative doesn’t need to dominate. It doesn’t need to be dramatic. It doesn’t need to be performative vulnerability. But it does need somewhere to go. Sometimes the most powerful post is simply: “I’m still here. Today’s a bit heavy. Carry on.” That’s not weakness. That’s presence. And if someone responds with wit sharpened to wound? That says more about their day than yours. Rising above it isn’t saintly. It’s practical. Because when events feel outside your control — professionally, personally, existentially — connection is stabilising. I’m fortunate now. I have someone who holds my hand and reminds me I’m loved when the noise gets loud. I know that hasn’t always been the case. And I know it isn’t the case for everyone reading this. Which is why your slightly imperfect post might matter more than you realise. Not the glossy one. The human one. Social media at its best is not a performance. It’s a signal. “I’m here.” “You’re here.” “We’re doing our best.” That’s enough. So if I’ve been a little quiet, forgive me. I’ll be back with something buoyant soon enough. Although I’ve just realised tomorrow is Friday the 13th. So perhaps I’ll start with something mildly cautious. And possibly a Muscadet. — If today’s one of your duvet-and-beans days, you’re not behind. You’re human. Post accordingly.

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