No wonder Mark Zuckerberg took five days to apologise. He knows that, ultimately, his corporation is safe. Mollify our doubts over privacy and time will quickly dampen our fury.
Data protection is a sexy subject when subterfuge, whistleblowers and bespectacled CEOs are being woven by journalists into a dastardly tale worthy of our attention. But this is, sadly, a rarity. We hashtag DeleteFacebook and, all geared up to enact our moral outrage, we enter our favourite platform only to be distracted by recent posts from our bezzies. And off we head into the glorious wormhole of other people’s lives, privacy forgotten.
Getting our heads around the minutiae involved in protecting ourselves digitally is like grappling with your teenager’s maths homework — tedious, frustrating, with the end result of feeling distinctly undereducated. I have spent a portion of this week tackling the privacy settings on the myriad apps I’ve allowed to slide into my life. Never mind the scores of weird online games my nine-year-old has left clinging like barnacles to my hard drive.
The EU’s much-heralded General Data Protection Regulation comes into force in May. But researching how this helps the everyday individual scooting about their social media took the best part of an hour, three cups of coffee and induced a mild panic attack.
One of the central tenets of GDPR is that companies must seek our consent for our data to be processed. But most of us have little idea how to restrict that access without refusing the software entirely and are gently bullied or confused into ignoring precautions. The reality of where your data is headed is buried somewhere in article 14.2 of a long essay couched in such technical jargon as to enforce mental rigidity.
I tried it yesterday on the computer software package TeamViewer. I may not be the world’s most assiduous or patient student around technical detail but the page that popped up felt deliberately obtuse. Even when I reached the section where it invites you to download the Google Analytics Opt-out, I entered a digital Kafkaesque nightmare.
Compare this to the ease with which we are guided to download enticing apps. Companies could mitigate complications in reverse but they obstinately drag their heels. Zuckerberg admitted yesterday that it was “not rocket science” to fix the problem of data misuse. So why not fix it?
With dizzying accuracy we are being raided for a map of our everyday lives for billions in profit. The feeling is akin to being caught in your knickers when you don’t know who is watching. This week is the first time we have been shown a tangible infraction everyone can get excited about. But for how long? To date, governments have proved little match for the agility of Silicon Valley’s tech creators, and up against this glittering foe, attention turns to other urgent matters. As citizens, we lack the gargantuan levels of patience required to act effectively, and to criticise makes you look outmoded. In the meantime, the tech titans continue to grow and we are caught in the seductive draw of their unchecked monopolies.
Body beautiful? My boys see it differently
Nudity is no big deal in my home. I am at one with Victoria Derbyshire on this. The BBC presenter blithely revealed that her sons don’t bat an eyelid at her naked body, even after her mastectomy.
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I have bathed with my sons since birth and although the 13-year-old healthily opted out last year, they still prefer my bathroom to theirs; habit, I suppose.
So privacy in my bedroom is as latent as Facebook’s. Yes, my sons will grow into men knowing what a “real” woman’s body looks like as opposed to a mirage they find online. But the advantage is equally mine.
Such is my laziness around the gym that only their cruel barbs gets me to the treadmill. Fat bits, dimply thighs, love handles — they love to laugh uproariously at the lot. No hiding in silken Celine, as I can with adults.
They are there to act as constant, horrified sentinels to the passing of time. Caught in my bare flesh they point and giggle, then square up their mini six-packs in a glorious celebration of youth.
Little else but their mirth would get me to endure the painful squats I put myself through yesterday, as I prefer conversation to spending hours trying to tighten my thighs.
* His ’n’ Hers Quartz Cartier Watches. Cuddly toys. Coffee percolators … Larry Grayson, I miss your camp wit on The Generation Game. The conveyor belt of goodies contestants had to recall to win prizes was the best of the Eighties game show.
Like many other revivals revealed this week — Britney Spears (pictured) looking like a robot version of herself for fashion brand Kenzo — it’s preferable to leave our nostalgia intact. Gratuitous spending on fancy goods was in its infancy back then. What can they place on that conveyor belt to ellicit the same wonder today? A smartphone? A PS4? A giant TV screen?