The meta-levels in your pocket.
Q.U.I.C.H.E.
Do you know this feeling? You leave a museum, step onto the tram, and pull out your phone, ready to upload a few snapshots to Instagram—just a quick post to let the world know that you, as a culturally active and engaged member of society, are gracefully tumbling through your weekend. But then, a distracting notification pops up on your screen, and you forget about the post. The tram reaches your stop, people surround you, so you slip your phone back into your pocket, the snapshots still lingering in Instagram’s story editing tool.
You go on with your evening, have a good time, chat with friends, maybe end up at a bar. Suddenly, it’s late, and you realize your bladder is full. You head to the restroom, sit down, and—despite the obvious hygiene concerns—instinctively reach for your phone. Almost automatically, without thinking, you open Instagram. There it is: the museum snapshot you meant to post earlier. So, you finally hit share, right there on the toilet. You put your phone away, wash your hands, and just as you’re drying them, your pocket vibrates. Reflexively, you check—only to see that the museum, which you had of course tagged, has liked and reblogged your post.
And you think: Why is the poor museum staffer running this Instagram account working at this hour, on a Saturday, no less? That can’t be right!
A Fleeting Archive
Aren’t we all part of this unpaid labor force, constantly feeding content into the attention-span-diminishing grinding machine of social media? Instagram, in particular, has become indispensable to the art world.
Are you old enough to remember when museums often had signs at the entrance strictly forbidding photography? Sometimes even at the exact same spot where, today, hashtags are posted, urging visitors to share their museum snapshots on social media.
Don’t mistake this observation for boomer nostalgia. Museums change. Cultural consumption changes. Language evolves. That’s how it is, and that’s how it should be.
I’m not here to philosophize about the dilution of meaning as content is transformed into mere consumable units. What strikes me is the relentless continuity of this ever-turning mill, endlessly filling the scrolling void.
The state of permanent (passive) availability that came with our phones—once tethered to walls and now nestled in our pockets—overlaps with the constant (active) expansion of our existence on digital platforms. In the process, we collectively accept that the content we generate is so disposable that it’s no real loss when it disappears after just 24 hours…
Q.U.I.C.H.E. are semi-monthly reflections on cultural moments in Basel and its surroundings. Written by a loosely organized collective of queer individuals who dance in the haze of Basel’s cultural scene.