People who are celebrating also have the right to privacy, and no one should unintentionally become content on other people’s social media, writes Siltamäki.
One evening in August, I covered myself with rhinestones and handed my phone to the porter of a techno club in Tallinn. The uncle taped a sticker on the phone’s front and back camera and announced that you are not allowed to take pictures inside.
Often the wish is expressed a little more subtly. Kallio’s Kaiku club asks its \”guests\” on its website and walls not to take pictures on the dance floor.
Photographing revelers is usually prohibited even at \”illegal\” or \”underground\” parties. The sticker hardly holds back the pathological _moment capturer_, but at least a person has to face himself when he peels off the sticker in order to take shabby pictures of the cans and himself.
Clubs often justify the ban by saying it helps people \”enjoy the moment\” and \”respect the music\”. Berlin’s famous Berghain, on the other hand, nurtures its streak of mystery because not every techno-piss posts there like a regular night club. And it’s more comfortable to use drugs when you don’t have to worry about whether you’ll end up on someone’s social media drunk or intoxicated.
But there are limitations even in healthier environments. In a swimming pool in Reykjavík, a rather rude aunt made it clear that even flicking on the phone and quickly checking one message is strictly prohibited in the dressing room.
Sometimes it seems that similar restrictions should be placed on all possible restaurants.
Today, people who go out have to live in constant fear of influencers. Can a private conversation be heard in the background of the video? Does a dance that went a little too far end up as content on someone’s account?
Photographing makes a person disturbingly self-aware. You don’t feel like sitting with your shoulders slumped and your stomach up, if at any moment you might end up in the booth of your own or the next table’s entourage.
Also, not everyone is always in a condition or company where they want to be recorded, and they don’t necessarily want anyone to be able to find out where they are.
People also describe themselves and each other a confusing amount considering how lackluster the end result often is.
Few things look more grim than an influencer’s \”fun\” night of clinking wine glasses back and forth. Even the Prime Minister’s rowdy party, which was called a raucous party, mostly resembled a Teen’s house party.
Instead, the really strange thing is that even ordinary people have started imitating the social media use of influencers and consider a couple of hundred likes as a more valuable currency than their own privacy, that of loved ones and strangers.
_Tuija Siltamäki_
_The author is a freelance journalist who describes his funny and \”funny\” evenings only for group chats._
The column can be discussed on September 8. until 23:00.