Art of conversation killed by Generation Monologue

Voice notes took off during the pandemic and broadcasting our thoughts has now become the norm. Helen Coffey wonders whether we've forgotten how to talk to each other

- Helen Coffey

I still remember my first voice note. It was 2020, the year of fear and masks and lockdowns, and new mediums of communication were swiftly springing to the fore. Zoom had exploded in popularity as people strove to “hang out” while being unable to leave their homes; apps like Houseparty were taking off, aiming to create a more relaxed, recreational vibe than a video call in which to socialise.

Amid it all, I received a strange WhatsApp message from a friend. “I’ve got a few things to share with you - easier if I just vn,” read the text. Vn? What the heck did that mean? A few minutes later, a message popped up with a play button. What fresh wizardry was this?

Like many natural late adopters who are inherently hostile towards most technological advancements, to begin with, I was extremely suspicious of the voice note. It felt lazy on the part of the sender - they presumably couldn’t be arsed to type out their thoughts, and so they’d outsourced the time-consuming labour part to me, the listener. I would now be forced to filter through the waffle to find out what it was they actually wanted to say.

Recording my first ever “vn” was even worse - an excruciatingly self-conscious, garbled speech that I rerecorded about seven times. How was this better than, for instance, a phone call?

Skip ahead five years, and I’ve completely changed my tune. Leaving a breezy, eloquent voice note comes as easily as breathing. Sometimes I even listen back after pressing send, such is the narcissistic pleasure I derive from the sound of my own voice. They’ve become a primary comms channel among the majority of my circle, ranging from 30-second “I’m almost at the restaurant, just ran into so-and-so!” missives to 17-minute podcast episodes about the latest big life drama. Nine times out of 10, when I’m striding between my house and the station or the shops, I’ll either be catching up on inbound voice note correspondence or recording one of my own.