The irony of me – a 39-year-old untrendy luddite – writing a column about Snapchat has not escaped me.
I do not want to take a picture of my face, use digital stickers to look like a dog, and then send it to everyone in my contacts book.
Nor do I have an adorable pug that I want to take pictures of on an hourly basis.
Nor do I have a strange fascination with quinoa and other in vogue foods which I want to pictorially chronicle and disseminate among my friends for just 10 seconds before the snap disappears.
But then I am not a 13-year-old girl and my friends are not the growing army of young people whom advertisers want so desperately to reach.
Snapchat is, to its very core, aimed at the youth market.
It oozes faux coolness, thanks to the litany of “celebrities” who have taken to it like an avocado takes to being smashed and smothered on some lightly toasted sourdough covered in a garnish of…