Never @ me: A guide to Twitter etiquette

As the weather gets colder and the evenings get shorter, our time spent on the internet increases and slowly begins to replace everything we spent time doing between May and this moment.

To which I say: thank goodness. Some of us aren't built for summer, and have constructed a fortress out of wool, relishing in the fact that soon indoor activities will take precedence. But the thing about increased internet time is that we have more time to act like idiots. More time to correct grammar, to attempt to one-up jokes, or to say things that make us look foolish and generally disgraceful.

Which is why I've come up with this guide to Twitter etiquette. All the dos, don'ts, and nevers that you should abide by, lest you want to hear the dreaded response: never @ me.

Except, of course, if they're tasteful compliments.

Rule #1: Never @ me

Here are the only acceptable reasons to @-reply someone:

• If you are genuinely impressed by their work, and have chosen to say so in the way you would compliment a celebrity you genuinely fear and respect, but especially fear;
• If you are genuinely congratulating a person on an achievement;
• If you are someone's friend, and you would like to shamelessly show off your friendship for the world to see, therefore inciting jealousy amongst your enemies;
• If you have established a Twitter relationship in which correspondence is welcome and serves to inspire those who follow you both;
• If you are Leonardo DiCaprio, reaching out to me;
• If you are me, reaching out to Leonardo DiCaprio;
• If you have and are sharing gifs of sloths, capybaras, or small hamsters, all of whom are preferably wearing jeans.

Meanwhile, if you are tempted to do any of the following, dismantle your laptop and phone entirely before tossing them into the ocean where only sea creatures will endure your shame.

Do not @-reply if:

• You are trying to better a stranger's joke. If you do this, said stranger should be allowed to show up at your job and interrupt all of your conversations for three full days;
• You are correcting the grammar of someone who is not the president of the United States (he is an elected official with access to nuclear codes, the rest of us are just trying not to die);
• You wouldn't say it to the face of celebrity you fear and respect, but especially fear;
• You have an eagle in your avatar (it's been ruined for you and I'm sorry, bird aficionados);
• You are Leonardo DiCaprio's lawyer, because I know for a fact that he knows who I am because we're in love and very involved.

Rule #2: Use your "likes" wisely

I'm kidding, obviously, for likes should be dispersed generously and with abandon. Who do you think you are, person who only likes four tweets a day total? Do you think it's an honour for us when we receive praise from you?

"Oh wow," I assume you think we tell ourselves. "They liked it. It must be funny! I'm going to hold onto this moment; cherish this moment. Maybe even pin this tweet as proof that I've been seen and blessed by someone whose feed consists of only links to events and RTs of praise." And of course, that's when we call into our jobs: "Hello, Boss's Name? That's right, it's me. Three words: I've made it. The red heart from a stranger with a large following tells me so."

No. This never happens. So just like people's stuff like the rest of us. No one is deep-diving into your psyche to assume you're coming at Twitter from a particular angle. Unless you like 34 of someone's tweets in a row from 2013. Then a few theories begin percolating, only a few of which are not terrifying.

Rule #3: DM . . . sometimes? I don't know man, but good luck

Since I'm not even sure what this means, I'll anchor it to a feeling: if the idea of receiving the type of DM you have in mind makes you want to break down, pass away, and then live for an eternity as a sad and tragic ghost, do not send that DM. Just be a person, what is wrong with you why is this something I have to tell you people.

Rule #4: Tweet like everybody's watching

Everybody. Everybody is watching you tweet. All of them. All the people. Your bosses, your family, your friends, your enemies, that guy from Grade 9 who made you do the entire science project alone even though he said he also loved learning about solubles, and every TV star you had a crush on as a teenager who you swore would date you if you two could just meet. Everyone. They are all watching. They are watching and judging and waiting for you to say something terrible. That is the way Twitter works, and that is the way it's always worked, and that is the way it always will.

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