Update: You did it, fam. I’m back in business! 🙏 🙏 🙏
I like to think my opsec is on point. I adhere to all the best practices: I have two-factor authentication set up for all my most critical apps, and my passwords are randomly generated and stored in a third-party digital vault. I sometimes deploy a VPN; I favor Brave or Duck Duck Go over Google; I shun location services, and I use Signal as my default text client, never mind that some friends never see my texts as a result. (NB: If you ever used Signal and then stopped, I advise you to delete your account, because otherwise you are likely missing texts from those of us who still use Signal.)
Yes, I’m well aware that my secrets are far too mundane to be of interest to anyone. As my mom used to say whenever I pointed out the surveillance capabilities of her Alexa speaker, “Well, if they are snooping on me, they deserve to hear this mishegas.”
That said, we appear to be on the brink of a massive societal breakdown. I want to be ready.
Given my many precautions, you may ask, just how did I manage to get my Twitter account hacked? Well, as every Nigerian prince worthy of the crown can tell you, the most fortified protocol is only as strong as its weakest link. Turns out being a pathetic old fool is a key vulnerabilty.
Basically, I got a DM purporting to be from Twitter Support warning me of a breach of some kind. Given how seriously I take my security, I dutifully heeded the instructions therein: Clicking a link, I arrived at an official-looking page where I proceeded to input my username and password (my god, did I really do this?) and fill in something or other to prove I was me. Within half an hour or so, I began receiving emails and DMs from friends, variations on the classic theme “u ok?” It seems my account had spammed them with the same message that ensnared yours truly.
I replied promptly: Guess I got hacked. 🤷 Don’t click! Of course, nobody did. Just me.
Anyway, it was then that I made a fatal miscalculation, failing to do the one thing—promptly changing my Twitter password and implementing two-factor authentication—that might have prevented my digital ruin. Why didn’t I have 2FA set up already? Well, funny story. I didn’t want to give Twitter my phone number.
Before I knew it, I was locked out of my own account.
I’m happy to say I didn’t panic. (I’ve recently been subjecting myself to ice-cold Wim Hof showers, and they seem to have leveled up my stress tolerance.) Instead, I serenely contacted Twitter Support—the real one, probably—filled out a simple form explaining what had happened, and immediately received an auto-reply containing a reference number. Wonderful, I thought. Things were under control. And perhaps a few days without Twitter would even do me some good.
That was more than a month ago, and I’ve yet to achieve a resolution. Does a blue checkmark mean nothing to these people? (Correction, I used to have a blue checkmark; my imposter seems to have lost it somehow.)
Desperation set in last week. I have a few acquaintances who work for Meta or Google, but the only person I know with a Twitter hook-up is my former boss who co-founded the company and once served as CEO. Even he couldn’t help.
Why am I telling you all this? Two reasons. First, because these miscreants rely on shame, and my refusal to give in to shame is all I have left in this world. If sharing my story saves even one person from suffering a similar fate, it will have all been worthwhile.
And second, because I’m still fighting for @aarongell. I normally wouldn’t bother, but as it happens, I have a blockbuster story about to drop in a couple weeks that is likely to generate a good bit of online chatter, and if I can’t participate or at least defend my reporting, there’s not a shower cold enough to save me from a full-on nervous breakdown. The story is about the apparent identification, after 53 years, of the Zodiac killer. It’s slated for the October issue of Los Angeles magazine, and when the Internet calls bullshit on me, I will throw hands.
Anyway, according to a good friend, I may have one last card to play before I abandon the account altogether and fully embrace my new nom de guerre @satoriburch¹. I’m told if I can put together a veritable army of folks to tweet at @twittersupport imploring them to restore my account, then whatever shmucks are still employed by that godforsaken hellsite might just flick a switch or whatever in time for LA mag’s mid September pub-date.
Friend, I need your help.
Here’s what to do:
Some time in the next 24 hours, “take to Twitter” and send the following message:
“@twittersupport - @aarongell was hacked a month ago. He has acknowledged his failings and learned his lesson. Please restore his account, so we can all find out who the Zodiac killer was and finally put this national nightmare behind us. Thanks!”
Or you could keep it simple: “@twittersupport please restore the hacked account @aarongell.”
And if you have any other advice, don’t hesitate to share. Thanks in advance. I owe you one.
I think this happened to my dad.
Oh man. good luck! I sent the tweet you requested.