I’m in a gym in Buenos Aires doing boring dumbbell raises, headphones in, when I hear the comfortingly familiar ‘plips’ on my phone.
‘Forty minutes!’ I mouth to myself, adding up the four 10-minute WhatsApp voice notes I’ve just received.
I bang the dumbbell down and rub my hands together in glee. Combining them all together, I have a NatCast: a podcast-length voice note from my best mate back in the UK, Nat.
She dives straight into commenting on stuff I’d told her about in my last voice note: blokes I’ve kissed, journalism assignments I’m writing. She remembers names and details and asks me how they’re all going.
Then she tells a story in a silly accent we share, making me spit-laugh (and wonder if fellow gym-goers think I’m deranged). She scolds me for wanting to drop out of Spanish school. That afternoon, on her strict voice noted instruction, I sign up for another term.
The rest is a stream of consciousness about her life – what she’s reading, work, the pains of adulting, her current obsessions.
Right from the start of those 40 minutes, my mood is instantly lifted; and the rest of my workout flies by.
The first voice note I ever received was only a short one – barely a minute – from an early-adopting British friend, confirming some details of when we’d meet, but I remember thinking: why didn’t you just text me?
Tentatively, I left one back. First I reconfirmed the details of our meeting. Then I rambled on, thinking about how, contrary to my initial reaction, voice notes allowed me to vent, share and pleasantly chew the fat and indulge my loquacity. It was then I realised my response was three times longer than their initial voice note.
An obsession was born.
Nat and I were relatively early adopters. We met two decades ago doing English at uni, so we love a narrative, and can spin one.
Reading (and replying to) a long text can feel like a slog; but a long voice note, you can play hands-free. Nat listens while driving; I do while walking, on public transport or washing up.
They’re a multitasker’s dream.
When I moved to Buenos Aires to learn Spanish, kiss Latino men and be a digital nomad, voice notes became my lifeline. I arrived with near-zero Spanish, no friends and no contacts – just a dream of living an exotic and fascinating life, after lockdown made me reassess the life goals I’d been putting off.
But digital nomad life can be isolating, especially when you don’t speak the local language well enough for the banter that fuels you.
For the first 18 months, until my Spanish improved, I didn’t have many local friends or deep chats. So I leaned on my friends back home.
Short voice notes didn’t cut it: I needed long, meandering ones that told me every detail so I could assess what I was missing (and what I wasn’t). Messages that made the banal quirky and exciting, using the unique wit we’ve developed over our friendship.
Yet I discovered my friends fall into two camps: those who enjoy a long voice note – of five to six minutes or more – and those who don’t.
Some commentators describe those long voice messages as ‘annoying,’ or even ‘self-indulgent’.
But I couldn’t disagree more.
One friend repeatedly commented on how long mine were. He never got another! Not to punish him; I’ll tailor my communications according to the person’s preferences. I’ll still text, if our dynamic better suits that.
Or, if their voice notes are slightly short, I’ll match them in length. It’s about reading the room.
But Nat and two of my other friends left me those ones because they sensed I needed the company; and for that, I’ll always be grateful.
One mate who’d never sent a voice note is now hooked. Initially, he hated his own voice; now he keeps notes so he can reply to each topic I cover. I’m humbled by the effort, but his bin is full of Gary-agenda Post-its, poor sod.
In those early days in Buenos Aires, waking up to two a day, each five to 10 minutes long, felt like a virtual hug.
These days, I infinitely prefer a voice note over actual intrusive phone calls. When I see a call flash up now, I think: ‘S**t, who’s died?’ Or: ‘What kind of a psycho are you? Just voice note me!’.
That way, I can respond with my best version: caffeinated, at a convenient time, and when I have a filthy anecdote or piece of take-to-the-grave gossip.
Incredibly, seven billion WhatsApp voice notes are sent daily; and I’m all for that. Not just because I need the company – but because one of those transformed my life.
I’d broken my wrist biking down a volcano in Peru, was stuck in a cast, winter had made other nomads return home, and my situationship had just ended. I didn’t want to sign a rental lease for another three cold, lonely, sexless months.
‘No,’ my friend voice-noted. ‘Sign the new lease. It’ll get better.’ He spent four minutes convincing me.
Because of that, I signed the lease – and he was right. Life massively improved.
I don’t see myself shortening my voice notes any time soon. I’ve always been loquacious – and my notoriously long audio messages are, and will remain, a signature extension of my character.
My 40-minute monologue could change your life, too. If you can listen that long.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk.
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