It was a few weeks back that British actor Tom Hardy’s Myspace account was discovered and his photos ROCKED THIS MODERN WORLD.
Yet it was as I scrolled through those beautiful, beautiful shots that I felt a thud in my chest. ‘Oh god. My Myspace.’
Did it still exist? Could people still find me? What bounty of secrets did it hold?
I decided to find out…
I tentatively log on to Myspace and meet my first hurdle.
What on earth did I use back when I was… How old was I when myspace was rife? I was definitely in secondary school. And I had a digital camera. I’m thinking 13. Crikey. At what point of my email career was I at when I was 13?
It dawns on me.
I try to suppress the involuntary cringe vomit that arises as I type in:
Look. It could be worse.
AT LEAST I had noted that brains were an important factor. Right? Right guys? Guys??!!??
However, I’m not impressed that I had committed the cardinal crime of putting my age in my email address. Did I really not have the capacity to think that one day, I may not be thirteen?!?? 13 year old Chelsea, I expected more from you.
As I remember, this was also the email address I used for MSN. I remember because paired alongside this wonderful address was this display name.
Oh sweet lordy. I don’t even know if I can bring myself to type it.
“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. Hate me because your boyfriend thinks I’m beautiful”
WHY CHELSEA WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY ???? !!!!!!
I wasn’t even that girl. I really wasn’t. I think I just remember seeing it online (remember searching for good msn display names? No? Just me??) and thinking ‘THAT IS SASSY AS FUCK’. Apart from I didn’t say fuck back then.
I think I had that for about a month. The rest comprised of song lyrics and after leaving my ‘sassy’ phase and graduating onto the ‘I’m so random lol’ phase, turned into made up quirky phrases about pies and lunging.
Right, that’s behind us.
Now onto the password. Fortunately, I’m pretty sure of this one after it was auto-assigned to me with my first ever online account.
Ah. So we’re talking 14. We’re talking about aforementioned ‘randomlololololol’ phase. Oh god. I feel another wave of nausea coming on…
NOW. If you also grew up with Louise Rennison’s ‘Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging’ books (and if you didn’t – you have MISSED OUT), you may understand this one. Georgia Nicholson, the heroine of the books (and my heart), often described people and emotions as ‘like a loon on loon tablets’ and therefore my (not so) random email address was just that.
I remember being in English in Year 9, learning about similes, when the teacher asked for some examples and so I popped my hand up and said ‘laughing like a loon on loon tablets, Miss?’
The whole class looked at me, their eyes agog.
People rarely answered, let alone with UNIQUE CONTENT.
Had I just deferred from the social norms? What was this reckless display of outlandish answering? Was Chelsea Dickenson, general brainbox (babewithbrains guys – keep up), attempting being the class clown?!?
The teacher’s mouth twitched before she said ‘well, yes. That is correct’.
And I swung back in my chair, jubilant – correct and mega random (I used the word mega a lot back then and not ironically). Mega great.
I type in the password.
Good lord – what could it be?
Then it clicks. Email or USERNAME.
I type in loonfuljynx.
We’re entering late 15-hood here, the decline of my whole ‘I’m such a mega random loon roflcopter’ phase – the word ‘jynx’ has obviously been juxtaposed to allude to a more mysterious persona. That and words ending with ‘x’ were really trendy back then.
I hit login and – oh god I’m in.
It’s looking a bit bare.
I’m gutted that no song greets my ears – you know, the one you spent hours selecting, specifically curating so that it gave visitors a real feel for who you were as a person when they arrived at your page.
Past songs included Rage Against The Machine (alternative phase), Cute Is What We Aim For (pop punk phase), Ben Folds (musical enlightenment phase) and even Ralph Williams with The Lark Ascending (desperately pretending to be sophisticated phase).
But in fact, there IS still a song there – Michael Nyman’s ‘The Heart Asks Pleasure First’ (art film phase) but it’s been removed due to a copyright claim. How bleak.
What I really want to see are the photos but as I click through, there’s hardly any there. Though certainly enough to remind me that selfies are NOT a new thing.
The actual caption for this photo was ‘Straightening Ban – Inspired by Hermione Granger’. I would try and mock me but hey, Hermione Granger is THE ONE.
I realise that none of the photos have their original comments. Comments that were once CHERISHED. You’d log in, praying someone had left you one. PLEASE SOMEONE HAVE COMMENTED ON HOW BIG MY FRINGE LOOKS.
You’d even clasp at the emo-bots that would comment ‘fit. pc4pc?’ Ah. pc4pc. Like4Like’s great aunt. Oh Instagram – you’re just a mutation of Myspace.
There is one great photo I’d forgotten about – when my brother and I dressed up as the Mighty Boosh in the bathroom. I used my new Collection2000 eyeliner to draw on his moustache.
Classic times. Crazy days.
One of the only things that remains unchanged is my top 8. The podium of social acceptance. Oh cripes, just thinking about the selection process brings me out in a cold sweat. Will my sister be offended if she doesn’t get picked? Should I put the boy I fancy as no.1 or is that too keen? How do I tell my friend that I’ve swapped her out for the lead singer of Taking Back Sunday??!!??
But overall, I’m disappointed. I was looking forward to reading posts and messages – I didn’t keep a diary as a teen so I wanted to be reminded; given flashbacks to my insignificant and undoubtedly cringeworthy past – yet alas, I’m left wanting.
And as I go to log off, lying my Myspace past down to rest, the word ‘Videos’ catches my attention. Hmmm.
As soon as click on it, I know what awaits me.
I’D FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT THIS VIDEO!!
(For those that can’t be bothered to watch, basically it’s me prancing about in the below outfit, proclaiming to be Belgium Babe and defending the world from an evil cookie monster. YEAH, YOU’RE GONNA WATCH IT NOW).
There’s a whole big explanation about how and why this occurred but I think it distracts from the whole message that I was obviously a CHILD PROTEGE and I can’t BELIEVE I haven’t been snapped up by Steven Spielberg/Prime Minister of Belgium to represent them in Eurovision.
What I will say is – yes, that is a TkMaxx top turned inside out and used as a cape. It was my first paid job. HANG ON. That means means I must have been 16… Does that make it better? Or worse?
I remember posting it online (with the hope to cheer up my homesick sister who had recently left for a gap year in the US) and going to a house party that night and my boyfriend at the time telling me it was the worst thing he had ever seen which could not have been true because I remember going to the cinema with him to watch Oceans Thirteen.
And so there we have it.
Real Myspace memories.
It may have been all but wiped clean but the video alone has sated my appetite for memoirs of the past.
Well, at least until I can remember my Bebo login.