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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Comment
Emma Beddington

Fine, I admit it – I am a ‘dry texter’. It beats emojis or verbal diarrhoea

Dry texting … there’s an economical, haiku-like poetry to it.
Dry texting … there’s an economical, haiku-like poetry to it. Photograph: B Christopher/Alamy

How dry is your text life? I’ve recently become aware of the phenomenon of dry texting: the terse, single-word responses (Yes, No, OK, Lol) to chatty messages that are viewed as inadequate, hostile or hurtful.

Our family chat is arid, a veritable Atacama Desert. Most messages are “k” or “OK”. Interesting titbits sent by those of us keen to maintain a skein of connection (yes, fine, mainly me) go uncommented on; often unopened. My husband recently circulated a link to a news article about the local repair cafe where he volunteers, which, thrillingly, featured a picture of him failing to repair a woman’s kettle and telling her “I am sorry for your loss”; neither of our sons responded.

I can be a dry texter myself, laconic in response to friends who send three-paragraph, multi-message epics. It’s partly a lack of mental bandwidth for more writing outside the day job: a “no words just vibes” scenario, except substitute “haha” and “great” for vibes. If I could bring myself to get into emojis – I can’t – I would absolutely be the “single thumbs-up” kind of texter.

The other reason I dry text is I can’t write anything without horribly mangling my typing and being cruelly provoked by autocorrect. When I try to fix it, I end up hitting the M instead of delete, so most of my messages read: “We we’re mmmmmmmm”. I could change my keyboard settings, but it’s easier to go silent.

I quite like dry texting anyway: there’s an economical, haiku-like poetry to it. My last four messages from my stepfather are “Yes”, “OK”, “Good” and “OK”. The staccato thread between me and my husband is mainly “Dog?” “T’es où” (where are you) “Kfé?” (coffee) and “Yep”. He used a single emoji back in January and I’m still getting over it. It makes the more expansive messages extra special, too, such as when my stepfather starts to tally the swifts reappearing in summer, or when my husband spontaneously says he’s missing me. Those in textual relationships with more loquacious types will never know that thrill.

• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist

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