wyd
At some point between the invention of instant messaging and the absolute mind-fuckery of read receipts, conversation became a lost art. Once upon a time, flirtation arrived fully dressed: pressed verbs, polished wit, a hint of intrigue lingering like good perfume. Now it stumbles in wearing flip-flops and mumbling “wyd.” The tragedy isn’t brevity, it is laziness and sheer convenience. Language, after all, is the most accessible luxury we own, and yet modern digital dalliance too often treats it like a disposable napkin rather than fine linen. This linguistic downsizing didn’t happen by accident. The architecture of apps rewards speed and reaction over savour and reflection. Typing indicators blink impatiently, algorithms privilege frequency, and the cultural currency is immediacy and convenience. A three-letter message signals availability with minimal input or investment; an emoji replaces tone, intention, and imagination in one bright-yellow shortcut. But convenience is a poor sub...