• Elon Musk and Donald Trump are breaking up on social media.
• On the social media they own, that is: Musk is using Twitter and Trump is using Truth Social.
• But it wouldn't matter what platforms they use, or own: When you're this rich, famous and powerful, everything you say or type shows up everywhere, instantly.

It was easy to predict that Elon Musk and Donald Trump would break up someday. Even the dummy typing this imagined it.

What I didn't imagine was that the divorce between two of the most powerful men in the world would play out on rival social platforms.

Musk is tweeting away on the thing many of us still call Twitter — which he owns, of course — and Trump is firing back on Truth Social — the would-be Twitter rival he owns.

First and foremost, the spectacle of two billionaires having a potentially deeply consequential flame war is … truly something. When Jack Dorsey and crew were dreaming up their microblogging service nearly 20 years ago, they weren't dreaming of this.

But the fact that it's happening on two different social networks is also fascinating. And it underscores that "social networks" isn't always the best way to think about these platforms. At least when it comes to their mega-rich, mega-wealthy owners, these things are simply megaphones to holler at the world.

Trump, recall, became a surprisingly effective Twitter troll in the run-up to his first election, and especially once he took office. He became expert at "programming" the news by tapping out a few incendiary lines on his Twitter account, and reveling in the chaos that could create. (The guy typing this made a pretty good podcast about all that.)

Then Twitter banned Trump, which by all accounts deeply upset Trump, and that banishment helped prompt Musk to buy Twitter, and then reinstate Trump.

Why Trump never really came back to Twitter

But in the meantime, Trump had created his own Truth Social network as a Twitter alternative. And Trump has both a legal obligation and a financial imperative to post on Truth Social first.

A license agreement with Trump Media & Technology Group, the company that owns Truth Social, requires Trump to post all "non-political social media" items to Truth Social first, then wait six hours before running them anywhere else. More important: If the guy who owns the social media platform isn't using the social media platform for his social media, why would anyone else use it?

Even after Musk and Trump merged forces last summer, Trump still spent almost no time on Twitter. Instead, he's kept plugging away on Truth Social.

And what's happened since — and especially now — forces us to rethink how these platforms work.

For instance: Lots of people who used to use the platform formerly known as Twitter thought that removing Trump from Twitter would diminish his power. But that obviously wasn't true. Trump crushed all comers in the last Republican primary, and won a meaningful victory in last fall's general election, despite little-to-no presence on Twitter.

More important is that Trump's ability to make the world turn based on his words isn't dependent on Twitter at all. He's the President of the United States, so whatever he says, whenever he says it — on a Truth Social post, on the White House lawn, aboard Air Force One — gets instantly amplified, oftentimes with great consequence. Trump could spout off on Tumblr or Friendster (I just Googled — Friendster still exists) and his message would get out there.

At the same time, Trump's presence on Truth Social doesn't seem to have meaningfully boosted usage on that platform.

We can't measure that with traditional metrics — because, tellingly, Trump Media continues to not provide any metrics about how many people use the service — but on vibes. You may read plenty of stories about how Trump posted something on Truth Social, but what about anyone else?

Meanwhile, the things we can see from Trump Media don't suggest the platform is booming: In 2024, the company's meager revenue line actually declined by 12% over the previous year. Even more telling may be the company's seeming pivot into life as a bitcoin repository — which may turn out to make a lot of money for Trump and his partners, but doesn't suggest a real interest in running a media platform.

And at the same time, a Trump-less Twitter has … I don't know if thrived is the right word. A meaningful number of influential users and big advertisers have left the service, and its financial condition seems hopeful at best.

But despite the rise of would-be challengers, Twitter remains the most prominent place for public, real-time chatter, more or less by default. That's why people who tell you social media isn't great for you still use Twitter when they want to insert themselves into the conversation — like The New York Times' Ezra Klein did last year during crucial points in the election cycle.

That speaks to the stickiness of social networks, and how hard it is to replicate them somewhere else. But again, that isn't relevant to Musk's use of the platform to attack Trump: Musk could print out all of his insults on paper and they'd still carry the same weight and import.

When mega-billionaires speak, people listen

Put it another way: Mark Zuckerberg owns multiple huge social networks. If he were going to join this brawl, it wouldn't matter which one of them he used to come over the top rope. All that would matter is the world's second-richest man was in the fight, too, and anything he said or did would be covered by everyone, everywhere.

So cut to Thursday, when Trump has been calling to cut "Billions and Billions of Dollars" from the federal budget by "terminat[ing] Elon's Governmental Subsidies and Contracts" and Musk is accusing Trump of suppressing embarrassing information about disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein because Trump "is in the Epstein files."

The insults and threats are being lobbed from different platforms — and are at the same time directly responding to each other but also pretending the other one doesn't exist. Like exes who refuse to speak with each other, but spend all their time telling their mutual friends how awful the other one is, knowing it will get back directly to the person they're complaining about.

Except in this case, the exes are two of the most powerful people in the world. So it doesn't matter what platform they use to do it.

• Lester V. Ledesma, 50, started backpacking across Southeast Asia in the '90s and never stopped.
• He says that back then, travelers were able to let curiosity, not the internet, lead the way.
• These days, he says smartphones and social media make it harder to connect with locals and discover places on your own.

I began traveling across Southeast Asia in the late '90s. After college, with just a backpack, a camera, and a sense of adventure, I set out to explore the Philippines — my country of birth.

That early journey sparked my career as a travel writer and photographer and led me to move to Singapore a few years later, where the rest of the region was just a flight away from Changi Airport.

Since then, I've collected travel stories that range from simple to sublime and downright strange.

In my 20s, during my first trip to Cambodia, I spent a hilarious evening of "cultural exchange" with a group of tuk-tuk drivers — we taught each other the harshest cuss words that our native languages had to offer.

A decade later, during the Thingyan Festival — Myanmar's New Year celebration — I found myself on a trishaw as it rode through a gauntlet of cheering, cross-dressing revelers who drenched me with water hoses and planted playful, hairy kisses on my cheeks.

The following year in Bali, I stood in the middle of a perang api — a ritual fire war between groups of villagers who hurled glowing hunks of coal at each other.

None of those adventures had been inspired by a TikTok, and I hadn't been led there using GPS on my phone.

Back then, backpacking involved hands-on research — often lugging around a thick copy of "Lonely Planet." I had to make landline phone calls or write emails at internet cafés to reserve rooms. Flights were more expensive, so I often got around by commuting overland (or sea, as the case may be).

I was on the road so much that I would often arrive at a destination without any plans or bookings.

These days, backpacking's a breeze with everything online — Google Maps shows us where to go, and sites like Expedia and Booking.com let us plan every detail beforehand. It's all super convenient — maybe too convenient.

As a salty old road warrior, I'd say we've lost something in this hyper-connected, instant-gratification era. Backpacking in Southeast Asia just isn't what it used to be. Here's what we're missing.

The gains of serendipity

Getting lost to find oneself was part of why backpacking was so much fun. But with navigation apps now available on everyone's phone, does anyone still ever really get lost?

Transformative travel is no longer the norm these days, replaced by must-see, must-eat, and must-do lists that bombard our social media feeds. Indeed, looking at long lines of people waiting to take the exact same photo at so-called selfie spots, you'd think the whole point of traveling is to feed the all-important 'Gram.

For all their game-changing functionality, Google Maps and Street View have diminished the joys of discovery on even the simplest neighborhood walks.

My journeys back then felt raw and unfiltered. Since the world was still largely offline, we old-school backpackers let our curiosity (and our printed maps) show us the way.

Connecting with the locals

There are plenty of crowd-sourced and influencer-approved travel tips on your phone, and they often guarantee the same experience as everyone else.

Of course, some would say that's a modern blessing — especially if you have FOMO — but there's nothing like a touch of kindness from a friendly local to make an experience unique.

Over the years, I've shared impromptu meals, received generous rides, witnessed proud displays of skill, and even been welcomed into intimate occasions. It was all because I dared to reach out and engage with the locals.

The cold efficiency of online booking, navigation, and even ride-hailing apps has lessened the opportunities to make meaningful connections. I remember when all it took me was a smile and a curious question to break the ice.

Getting away from it all

In this day and age, we can still travel solo, but constant connectivity means that we are never alone. Not too long ago, backpacking was all about immersion in a place, and oftentimes, it was easy to just fall off the grid.

Nowadays, travelers are more likely to update their Facebook, Instagram, or TikTok accounts in real time than keep a handwritten journal.

There are also those amusing vloggers who walk around while talking to their streaming, selfie stick-mounted phones. Despite some travelers being physically far from everyone and everything we know, our cellphones are always pinging with text messages, emails, and social media updates.

Being part of a community

Once upon a time, independent travel was a shared experience among a loose community of fellow backpackers. We'd cross paths on the road, and then later meet up in traveler hubs like Bangkok's Khao San Road or Saigon's Pham Ngu Lao Street. Here we would swap travel stories over cheap beer, and trade dog-eared guidebooks at secondhand bookshops.

Occasionally, we'd leave messages for newfound friends at guesthouse bulletin boards, before pushing onward to the next destination. Formerly a source of so much camaraderie, this IRL culture has largely dissolved into the realm of social media.

These days, we might find our travel friends online, but the things that drove our journeys back then — a sense of adventure, a willingness to connect, and curiosity about different cultures — are values today's generation of net-savvy, card-carrying travelers seem to be missing out on.