November 22, 2012 by Tess Riley
It’s happened. Slowly but surely, creepingly and crawlingly, I think I’ve fallen in love. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, #iaminlovewiththehashtag
It wasn’t like I planned it or anything. You know, these things just happen sometimes. There I was, tweeting about the lack of onesies for men – important – when I realised #I #wanted #to #put #a #hashtag #before #every #word #I #wrote. Even after logging off Twitter.
Now, since hashtags are the digital version of post-it notes (or that’s how I do my real-world labeling anyway), I realise that my turbo-tagging is basically an online outbeak of post-it-itus.
[For those who don’t know already, post-it-itus is a phenomenon that starts to spread into the homes of teenage boys and girls just before GCSE exams begin. Petrified upon realising that revision – or vision – is something best started sooner than two weeks before their exams, these entrepreneurial students get busy plastering every visible surface with the likes of “une pamplemousse = grapefuit” on post-it notes.]
Moreover, I know I’ve got it bad. Now, when my fourth finger travels towards the apostrophe button to hit upon that all important punctuation mark that gives purpose to the lives of pedants such as myself, I find myself instead falling into the worst apostrophe catastrophe of all by not just ommiting the apostrophe but also by inserting a hashtag in its place.
So while my conscious says no, my subconscious is all go. So yes, I admit it, #iaminlovewiththehashtag
[want to fuel my fire – I’m here: @tess_riley]