My notes are already quaint: Dylan Farrow, the XOJane column, White Feminism, the billionaire who compared the One Percent to the Jews in Germany during World War II, “The Magical Putter and Dr. V” story at Grantland, the Kellers, SNL before their first black woman hire in seven years, Kanye West. The publicist who went to Africa and lost her job by the time she landed, over a racist tweet.
That last one already feels like it happened a year ago. But that was just before Christmas.
I thought, for a moment, that my topic was “feed fatigue”—I was so sick of everything. I noticed that sometime around last fall I kept stopping myself from tweeting, “What are we mad about today?” because it seemed just too pathetic, and also, that someone would get unreasonably angry at me for it. And while I’m not really one to shy away from a fight for something I believe in, I didn’t want to fight meaninglessly. It seemed increasingly to be what was happening. I was tired of it now almost from the moment I signed on. I didn’t want to unfollow people because of some Twitter fight that might last, at most, a day.