In January 2007, Joel Stein, a columnist on the Los Angeles Times, wrote an entertaining article railing at having to put an e-mail address at the end of his columns. Describing himself as “arrogant” and “solipsistic”, he claimed to have no interest in getting into conversations with readers, and asked: “Where does this end? Does Philip Roth have to put his e-mail at the end of his book? Does Tom Hanks have to hold up a sign with his e-mail at the end of his movie? Should your hotel housekeeper leave her e-mail on your sheets? Are you starting to see how creepy this is? Not everything should be interactive.”

It was a brave position to adopt, but an ultimately pointless one. “Hyperinteractivity”, as Stein put it, is one of the defining trends of our times, and fighting the fad for feedback is as futile as trying to deter a London traffic warden with a pair of blinking hazard lights - as evidenced by the fact that, just two years later, none of his imagined examples of feedback-gone-mad seem mad at all.

Many novelists have websites that encourage discussion of their work, the producers of new movies routinely pay agencies to encourage online buzz and most hotels are so keen on feedback that you could probably obtain an e-mail for your housekeeper. Indeed, feedback has become a daily chore for almost everyone, with sites encouraging the public to review everything from electronic purchases (amazon.co.uk),to hotels (tripadvisor.com), holidays (www.holidays-uncovered.co.uk) and teachers (www.ratemyprofessors.com). And then there are Facebook and Twitter, which essentially involve millions of people, including Phillip Schofield, commenting on each other's banal thoughts and activities in real time.

As it happens - as I wrote a few weeks ago - I like Facebook and Twitter, and in general believe interactivity to be a force for good. But on three occasions in the past few weeks the hyperinflationary growth in hyperinteractivity has frightened me, and, like Stein, I have found myself yelping out loud at the consequences. The first time I had just met someone nice at a dinner party and had done the usual thing of exchanging cards and numbers, then subsequently googling her name when I got home - only to be led to a comment on a website that anonymously remarked: “This woman is a NIGHTMARE. Avoid the witch. Yuck!”

There is a view, propagated by a media eager for hits and ratings, that all views are equally valuable, that any feedback is better than no feedback, and that all opinions count. But this isn't true. A significant portion of online feedback is mad and moronic (to see just how mad and moronic, I recommend that you log on to ifyoulikeitsomuchwhydontyougolivethere.com, an analysis of some of the dimmest comments posted on the BBC's Have Your Say website), and a certain proportion of this, in turn, is cruel and libellous, and a large portion of this, in turn, is anonymous and cowardly. This kind of stuff doesn't seem so bad when applied to journalists and public figures, who, frankly, often deserve it, but when applied to private individuals it is disproportionate and nasty.

Which leads to my second example of feedback gone mad: RateMyCop.com, an American website where people are encouraged to post reviews of individual police officers, based on criteria ranging from professionalism to fairness and satisfaction. When I first read about this it seemed like a good idea - if people want to rate cops after being beaten to a pulp in the back of a patrol car and/or helped home with their shopping, then so what? The police are public servants, after all, and should be held to account.

But then I a) remembered that a significant portion of online feedback is mad and moronic; b) realised that the police, because of the nature of their job, are exposed to the criminally insane to a greater degree than the rest of us; and c) trawled through some of the comments on the website. Having done so, it wasn't at all surprising to read last week that a man had been arrested in Tallahassee for maliciously posting the personal details of an officer and his family on it.

RateMyCop.com is a truly dangerous idea, a recipe for disaster, but it still isn't quite as creepy as www.secrettweet.com, which can be accessed directly or via Twitter, and encourages people to post their innermost secrets online anonymously. Typical examples include: “If my mom died, I would kill myself shortly after - I can't live without her”; “I am engaged and in a long-term relationship, but I have sex with my elderly neighbour so that she'll keep giving me pot”; “I pick my nose and eat it. I'm in my thirties”; and “I won't date him because he hasn't read the Harry Potter books.”

The idea itself isn't particularly original: there's an online community art project called PostSecret, whereby people mail in their secrets on one side of a postcard. But the incredible and creepy thing about SecretTweet is that it allows you to leave feedback about the secrets that people have divulged.

So, for example, in response to a message declaring “I am tired of hearing about Obama”, someone has commented: “You're not the only one.” In response to the message “My husband's breath has been really bad lately and I can't bring myself to tell him”, someone has remarked: “It could be caused by a health issue, such as infection or high blood pressure ... tell him.” And in response to the confession “I'm straight as you can be but I look funny, so the only sex I can get is with men in public restrooms”, someone has written: “Sex with ‘men' - under any circumstances - doesn' t ‘exactly' make you straight, Sweetie.”

It's utterly fascinating and compelling, but when people are proffering anonymous feedback on the anonymous, darkest and deepest secrets of complete strangers, I think it's fair to say that the feedback fad has really gone too far. Of course, if you disagree, you know how to let me know.

sathnam@thetimes.co.uk

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