But that large-scale transition is accompanied by a feeling of loss for some: like a small town becoming a big city, some sense of community, of commonality and shared culture, is lost along the way.
Shaquille O'Neal, who engaged with the community before it became the "new cool thing", is being championed for his takedown of Oprah. An #unfollowfriday trend was started in an effort to reduce Ashton Kutcher's follower count. And a new site, HereBeforeOprah, attempts to separate the "pre-Oprah" users from the newcomers. Why would the Twitter community react in this way?
The answer is largely cultural. Being a Twitter user used to identify you as something not quite quantifiable - an early adopter, perhaps, someone passionate about the web and new technologies. It was the street where everybody knows their neighbors. It was the bar on Cheers, with Kevin Rose playing "Norm!". It hasn't been that way for a long time, of course - years, in fact - but just like the parent that laments "they grow up so fast!", this week has been one in which those early users must learn to let go.
Let's invent a hypothetical indie band...we'll call it "Twttr". You went to every one of Twttr's live shows, despite the band's many technical difficulties and the fact that some nights...they just plain sucked. You bought every CD; stocked up on Twttr t-shirts; started the unofficial fan site; wasted your nights in the Twttr forums debating whether their second album had more psychedelic post-punk influences than their first.
And then, one evening, you turn on the TV to see Twttr playing on Letterman, as your roommate runs in and declares: "OMG have you heard about this new band Twttr?? I'm their number one fan!!"
At that point, you don't declare that Twttr has jumped the shark, and you don't start bragging that you were "here before Oprah". Instead you declare, humbly and sincerely: "Great job, Twttr, I always knew you'd make it."
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