I belong to the first generation growing up with the freedom to share our lives through the internet. And we shamelessly do.
Go to McDonald’s and ask for a McGangbang. If they don’t kick you out, they’ll serve you two hamburgers with a chickenburger squashed in between. I know, your life’s better now. Any time…
The McGangbang is on McDonald’s secret menu. Starbucks and Burger King have them too (although, disappointingly, not Claridge’s). I think of secret menus as illicit gifts, the best kind. Like love letters hidden between Keats poems in library books. (If your lover was a multinational corporation. And fat.)
It makes us feel special when people confide in us, which is why secrets are seductive. Right now, they’re also in vogue. Add secret to anything and you’re quids in. Cinema?
Yawn. Secret Cinema? Now you’re talking. Ditto bars, bingo, restaurants, festivals, footballers and “getaways”. These days, my friends and I hardly leave the house unless nobody knows where we’re going. Secrets are wonderful. They are a mystery, a surprise, a toy. Like a Famous Five Kinder Egg. And because secrets bond us, we are obsessed with them.
I slept with my brother’s girlfriend. I hate my job. I have never had sober sex. Not my secrets: yours. Just some of those left on a new app called Secret, where anyone can anonymously share revelations. Along with apps Confide, Whisper and Yik Yak, Secret appeals to our insatiable appetite to know one another, because when we confess secrets we also admit our flaws.