“Streaks” are the prime concern of every 12-year-old I know. It’s a new-ish slang, Nothing dirty or illegal, streaks, in this case, is an obsessive practice on Snapchat, the most confusing of all social media platforms.
A Snapchat streak is when a user trades daily snaps (always a photo on Snapchat) with a friend. Back and forth, back and forth, with no stopping. To be good, streaks need to be kept up for, like, 40 days. 70 is better. 100 is not impossible, but hard to manage because sometimes your phone dies and you forget to plug it in before bed. The highest I’ve heard of is 200. It’s a bit of a mythical number; the white whale of streaks.
Sometimes streaks become endangered, like when you go camping for a week or when your phone is taken away as a punishment. Then you must find someone who can keep up your streaks. This friend must be good at streaks and trustworthy.
At first, it sounds cute, like shining digital flashlights across the street with your best friend. It’s a way to let her know that you’re thinking of her or a secret channel of communication. Maybe. But to the adult eye, streaks are nearly meaningless. You open the app, take a picture of whatever is in front on you — your room, the floor, your dog — nothing, anything. Then you snap it off to your streaking buddy and congrats! Your streak is maintained.
To complicate things, you can have streaks going with 5, 6, maybe 10 people. This level of commitment takes a good chunk of time each day, and your tween hasn’t dried the dishes yet because Moomm, she’s doing her streeeaks.
Maybe I Get It After All
When I was 12 in 1990, talking on the phone with my friends was my prime concern. We had just spent the whole day together at school, so my mom was confused by this obsessive practice. She was also fairly strict, so I could only talk for about 30 minutes. One hour was better, if I could get away with it. Two hours was not impossible, but hard to manage if you had a sister and call waiting.
When the phone rang, you knew someone was thinking of you. If you brought the cordless phone into your closet, you had a secret channel of communication. To adults, the purpose of the call was nearly meaningless. But my friends were good at listening and trustworthy. We talked about whatever was in front of us — nothing and anything.
Jamie White-Farnham is mom to two girls, ages 12 and 14. She grew up in Massachusetts and moved with her husband and girls to Superior in 2011. Jamie is an Associate Professor in the Writing Program at UW-Superior, where she teaches academic and professional writing. Outside of work, she loves hanging out with family and friends, spending time outside, reading, and writing.
