What unplugging from the discourse did to my brain
A year without opinions.
Embedded is your essential guide to what’s good on the internet, written by Kate Lindsay and edited by Nick Catucci.
Wuthering Heights (2026) defenders to the front. —Kate
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Two years ago, I went to an early screening for director Emerald Fennell’s most potent discourse bomb, Saltburn. At that time, I knew it as a trailer that had me salivating and barking like a dog every time I saw it in a theater. Everything from the gothic aesthetic to the Rosamund Pike-Carrie Mulligan reunion was extremely my vibe. After the screening, when the house lights went up, my friend (whose identity I’m hiding to protect the innocent) and I turned to each other and said, “That was great.”
That weekend, the movie hit theaters, and because I was still on Twitter, I was able to learn that I’m stupid in real time. The reviews weren’t just mixed—people hated the movie. Everything that I had had fun with—the heavy-handed tone, the ludicrous twist, the farcical family dynamics—had other people loading up their Letterboxd like a gun. They thought the whole movie was a try-hard waste of time. Ever since, my friend and I have kept our mouths shut about the beautiful night we spent together watching a naked Barry Keoghan dancing around an English manor.
This was not the first time something like this happened to me. Back in 2020, I had the screeners for Normal People, and almost did one of those obnoxious entertainment journalist tweets where I teased that a highly-anticipated show was unfortunately going to suck. Thank God I didn’t, because everyone loved it. Everyone loved watching hours of pale Irish people staring at each other, out windows, or at each other through windows.
In both cases, Twitter was there as a bumper to keep me out of the “bad opinion” gutter. But I quit Twitter almost a year ago, and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about anything.
I have thoughts, but they don’t cohere into points that I think it’s important to share. I thought the gooning article, for instance, was horrifying and illuminating. I didn’t realize it was being discourse-d into the ground about whether or not it was claiming to be broadly representative of something or a deep dive into a passionate niche. I had just assumed the latter, based on every other experience I’ve had in the real world not being about gooning.
If I had still been on Twitter, however, I’m sure I would have taken a hard stance on something like this. I would have been exposed to both sides and been shepherded over to one—not based, if I’m being honest, on the arguments I found most convincing but instead on the media figures whose sides I wanted to be on. I then would stand proudly behind this position, maybe even pontificate on it for Embedded, without once interrogating how much of it was based on the reactions of other people.
This reality came into sharp focus a few months ago when an editor from the opinion section of a dream publication reached out to ask me to pitch them internet culture ideas. I immediately responded yes, that I’d have some thoughts to them by the end of the week. But when I looked inward, waiting for those thoughts to manifest, all I found was a mechanical monkey banging cymbals together.
I have opinions on the big things, of course. I think almost every problem regular people have is a result of wealth and power being hoarded and wielded by the ruling class for their own gain. I think we have a moral obligation to oppose AI. I think adults should be allowed to order from the children’s menu.
But when we talk about opinions these days, we’re talking about our Subway Takes. We’re really being asked for new, unexpected, or niche observations that will puzzle or enrage a reader into clicking and, if anything, have got us thinking about things too much. Nothing is a better endorsement of getting off Twitter than hearing what people are talking about after you’ve left. I hear we were fighting about math two weeks ago, stoked by someone who, even without being logged into Twitter, I can see is associated with an organization that has a pretty clear agenda.
Discernment is one thing, but once I stepped back I saw how much these platforms encourage antagonistic relationships: with new ideas, with trends, and, ultimately, with other people. Because when you’re not being algorithmically rewarded to what-about every scenario you see or extrapolate it into a larger, more dire conclusion, you find that you just…don’t. Something I don’t like is simply not for me, rather than being an indictment of cinema or a covert operation to brainwash consumers or whatever conclusion can only be reached by jumping through hoops being held aloft by people with legitimate internet-induced brain poisoning.
Monkey-banging-cymbals is not a good state to be in, either, though. If last year was an exercise in disengaging—one that did, to be clear, improve my mental health and allowed me to focus more on creative side projects—then next year needs to be about plugging back into the conversation without sacrificing those things. And I don’t mean getting back on Twitter with all the Elon Musk apologists and fake MAGA accounts. I mean engaging with slower, more deliberate media that challenges and provokes with productive intentions. And going to see the new Wuthering Heights on opening night in theaters because fuck you guys, it looks fun!
It’s kind of wild to talk to friends who are offline. You realize none, or very little of, this shit actually matters.
The internet is like permanent detention, and you’re trapped with the worst people you could imagine.
You can’t leave but if you work at you out on your headphones, block them (out), and focus on the things you care about.
I was so afraid to click this but I am happy I did :)