In the realm of ancient Irish lore, tales are told of the Fomorians, a species of ruthless beasts that once challenged the magically advanced and enlightened tribe known as the Tuatha Dé Danann for dominion.
The Fomorian troupe was popularised by Balor of the Evil Eye, notorious for his ability to annihilate his opponents with a simple look. In contrast, representing the Tuatha Dé Danann was Nuada of the Silver Arm, so named after replacing his original arm, lost in combat, with a superior one.
Despite their adversarial relationship, the two tribes intermingled. This resulted in the climatic second Battle of Mag Tuired where Balor took Nuada’s life, only to be slain by Lugh, his half Fomorian, half Tuatha Dé Danann grandson. Thereafter, the Fomorians were relegated to the oceans from where they had emerged.
In today’s Ireland, however, a new breed of Fomorians has come to the fore, yet they are markedly less fearsome than their predecessors. These contemporaries are defined by something different: FOMO, or the Fear of Missing Out.
Contrary to their ancestors, their speciality isn’t a deadly glare, but a perpetually distracted one. They’re seen preoccupied by multiple attractions, always distressed about not being present elsewhere. Their leader, if they had one, would be known as Balor of the Destructive iPhone.
These modern-day Fomorians are inseparable from their phones, wandering the streets like zombies, faces stuck to screens in the fear of missing something significant. They’re often seen crashing into lampposts due to their obliviousness.
Their phones never leave their sight, not even on public transport or while driving. And it goes without saying that they blatantly disregard requests in cinemas and theatres to switch off their devices.
It’s always within their power to mute their mobile phones, but that doesn’t stop the inflow of imperative updates and messages, including those from friends attending more entertaining activities, inevitably stirring a sense of regret among the Fomorians that they didn’t opt for the better show readily at their disposal.
This similar sentiment is somewhat mirrored during their holidays. The influx of images from friends and colleagues showcasing their adventures in foreign lands leaves the Fomorians, at home, with a constant sense of longing. The reverse is true as well, with the Fomorians receiving updates from friends having a blast back home, when they themselves are holidaying.
However, it’s the music festival that is the Fomorians’ real playground. Simultaneously, it also marks the thriving domain of the new Tuatha Dé Danann.
The contemporary representation of Nuada and his Silver Arm are the privileged few at a festival possessing an “Access All Areas” wristband, or any similar bands that enable access to exclusive areas in the venue.
Therefore, even amidst the most buzzing events around the town, the Fomorians are always dodged by the idea of missing out, of not being in the most happening part of an event.
Being part-Fomorian myself, I share this inner conflict, often swinging between the two modern tribes. A recent instance was my experience at the Electric Picnic, where I also held temporary membership among the new Tuatha Dé Danann.
For a day, I lived as the modern-day Nuada, privileged with two different wristbands – one named “Mindfield”, indicative of spoken-word events and another yellow coloured one coined “Performer”.
These wristbands unlocked a host of delights for me, including access to a backstage green room, complimentary beer, and superior restroom facilities. Wearing them gave me a feeling of importance which I savoured for two days even after returning home, wearing them in the shower and to bed.
However, you can’t just slide them off your wrist as you would a watch due to their tight fit. Their magical powers cease once they’re cut off using a knife or scissors. In the end, I had to reluctantly sever them, a sentiment akin to the sorrow Oisín felt upon alighting his horse after returning from Tir na nÓg.
Regrettably, at an occasion as multifaceted as the Electric Picnic, even all-access permitted Fomorians are persistently troubled by the thought that they should be located elsewhere within the venue. This conundrum is further complicated by another misfortunate trait they possess: the compulsion to instill FOMO in their peers as a means of self-affirmation. I found myself succumbing to this behaviour, not for the first time, whilst at the Sophie Ellis-Bextor concert held at the main stage that night.
Despite not personally resonating with the genre of music, it was unavoidable to see the pure entertainment and enjoyment radiating from the enormous crowd, who were singing in unison. As a reaction to this, I instinctively pulled out my phone and recorded the spectacle, ensuring to capture the vast number of attendees engaged in the same activity.
Afterwards, much like the number of people around me, I spent a considerable amount of time editing the video and contemplating an apt caption before sharing it on social media platforms. This action made me ponder, that this is perhaps the peak Fomorian predicament: the fact that even though one is situated where they believe they should be, they find themselves disproportionately focused on reminding others of what they’re missing out on, thus not fully embracing the moment themselves.