What do you like best about the internet? Is it the fact that it is easier than ever to buy a Dostoyevsky novel, some cat litter, and a Bud Light snapback in the same transaction? Perhaps you enjoy the reams and reams of fan fiction about Emmerdale 's Dingle family. Then there's the manic babble of Twitter of course, which might just be the most important thing mankind ever, ever, ever did. After all, how would we live without being able to read nuanced political debate between New Statesman staffers and blokes with "New Romantic...now an Old Romantic..! Whitney Houston fan, Bristol Rovers fan, Tottenham Hotspur fan..Labour member of 30 years until Calamity Corbyn x" as their bio? Unimaginable, isn't it!
My favourite thing is anything that reinforces boring stereotypes about DJs and club culture.
Did you know that DJs don't smile very often . DJs are notorious for not smiling. Then again, if your job involved standing in front of thousands of people, devoting intense levels of concentration to what's essentially musical micromanagement and nimble manipulation of small pieces of plastic, would you beam away like a pissed uncle trying to remember a beloved Bob Monkhouse gag? If Mark Fell finds himself thinking about Peter Kay's Liverpudlian bingo-caller Tom "The King of the Callers" Dale mid-set, does he let himself have a little giggle? No. He saves the belly laughs for the twilight hours when he's sat in a Travelodge with a portable DVD player and a multipack of Frazzles for company like the professional he is.
If, for whatever reason, you have an aching desire to see barely-manipulated photos of DJs smiling, your world just got a lot better. Instagram account "Happy DJs" does exactly what it says on the @. Donato Dozzy smiles! Four Tet smiles! Even the grumpy bugger himself Surgeon smiles!
It has absolutely no reason to exist. Sure, there's no need for Byron Burger, the Lib Dems, or Clapham to exist either, but we let those things slide without proper examination. This is different though because expensive burgers, unnecessary political parties, and the most insidious parts of London are heinous abominations, and as such they require too much mental energy to dismantle.
"Happy DJs" isn't bad on that level. It isn't an abomination. It isn't going to make you want to feed your phone to the office's toothiest shredder. What it will do though, is make you sink into the kind of ennui-soaked coma you might have after a particularly tasteless packed lunch of pearl barley and courgette: you will mumble "why, why, why, why" over and over, pondering the utter pointlessness of the world and your place in it.
The world overflows with underwhelming experiences—outdoor swimming, tantric sex, the music of Built to Spill—and the last thing anyone wants, let alone needs, is yet another reason to feel depressed about the current state of clubbing. "Happy DJs" has done that, because it is a strangely potent reminder of just how forced the fun around "club culture" is, how moronic and fun-free the exercise can be at its worst.
Which is ironic for an Instagram account devoted to photos of DJs smiling.