To delete, or not to delete? It is a question we’ve likely all found ourselves contemplating while sat in front of our ever-illuminated screens, anxiously drumming at the computer keyboard. Faced with impulsive sent messages or dubious photos we don’t quite remember being taken, we all yearn to erase any record of our lapses from the internet’s memory. Perhaps then, with that back-space click, they will suddenly vanish from our own cognition and all embarrassment shall cease. Even though this hope might be just a little too optimistic, it is true that there is a hidden power residing beneath the ‘delete’, ‘unfollow’ and ‘unfriend’ buttons at our disposal. When we find ourselves asking why we are keeping an archive of texts sent months ago, or why we continue to share data on Facebook with someone we met once, seven years ago, clicking on the tiny digital rubbish bin can prove freeing. Useful, even – where memories are painful, they may forever reside in the fissures of the mind, but it is invariably helpful not to be reminded of them when we open our laptops, or glance at our phones.

Almost invariably, deleting online accounts is annoying and circuitous – and that is just how companies starving for our data and custom want it to be

Yet, is controlling our digital remnants quite as facile as it seems? After all, while it proves no challenge to erase data from our own devices, all of us have heard of the admonition that the ‘internet is forever’. In actuality, it is true that the web dwells in a never-ending present. It is – elementally – ethereal, ephemeral, unstable, and yet it does not forget. Once our data is shared, even in such a trivial manner as through an internet search, it is beyond our grasp to retrieve it; somewhere in the ether of the world wide web it remains. While legal frameworks on the ‘right to be forgotten’ are likely to become more prominent in future, this is just beginning, and currently our internet histories are somewhat tied to our wrists. So caution in action, versus an over-reliance on deletion, is likely rightly advised – as much as we may hate to admit that our parents were right.

The concept of deletion can prove problematic for students on more pragmatic fronts too. Almost everyone can identify with the feelings of having, at some stage, reached a peak digital overload: as our online footprints grow, it has become increasingly common to feel overwhelmed by spam emails, distracted by constant updates and notifications, or just concerned with the size of those footprints themselves. It is in these cases, ironically enough, that deletion seems to prove most of a challenge. For example, as an experiment I went on a mission: I tried to delete my non-essential accounts for consumer apps and Web services. Tried proves the key word here. Looking for a simple “delete” option in your account settings for that messaging app, or that online shopping service? Good luck. Not quite sure of what the difference is between “deactivate” and “delete”? I’m with you. Almost invariably, deleting online accounts is annoying and circuitous – and that is just how companies starving for our data and custom want it to be.

Clutter, culture and consumerism: why we have so much stuff

My proposal is not to make internet deletion so swift and complete that people looking to do nefarious or illegal activities are enabled. However, in cases where it applies (non-financial services), the option to delete consumer accounts should not be so comically difficult to find. It should involve just a couple of clicks from the drop-down menu of a person’s online account. Equally, there should be greater transparency or explanation around deletion. Why is an online account deactivated but not deleted, and what does that mean? Exactly what residual data will remain, and possibly be shared with third parties? We hear almost incessantly from tech companies about how intuitive and well-designed their apps and services are; the ability to delete accounts and personal information, and to understand what that really means should be intuitive, as well.

It seems to be that the internet’s sliest of ploys is to convince us of our control over it, when in reality, our power is minimal – except, perhaps, in what we choose to post in the first instance. Maybe this is to be expected, in an age where the online world is so ubiquitous to our daily lives, as we become more comfortable with the modality, we begin to take it for granted. A cliché, yes, but probably not an inaccurate one. So, what then, is the solution? I would advocate for care in both what we share, and what we delete, if we would like our internet history never to haunt us in years to come. An even better option, perhaps, is to ration our online usage. Yes, many arts students will likely frequently be on Jstor at 4am in the morning, and as a medic, PubMed is a closer friend than any of my textbooks; however, in realising the difficulties of deletion online, prudence – if not disregard of the internet entire – is a wise move