Apparently people are quitting Facebook in droves. But people are joining ole FB in droves, too. It's just that the quitters live in the US and the newbies live in developing nations, especially in South America. (And I guess this isn't that new, as the NYTimes attests.) One of the anecdotes that the first article offers is about a young man who was in an elevator with a woman who he had never personally met, but about whom he knew much: where she was from, whose sister she was, and where she had last vacationed. Another story told of a woman who felt like she was in touch with everyone even though she had been communicating solely via social media. Both left the site for good. So all this got me thinking (in the spirit of Ms. Carrie Bradshaw as she sat down at her ancient Mac): why don't I quit Facebook?
Before I tackle the why quit question, I think I should start with why I like it. It is great to keep in touch with those friends that I don't get to see often, especially the ones in far flung countries like Spain and Peru. It's great to see pictures of my friends' kids, whose childhoods I'll likely miss. It's fascinating to see what So-and-so from 1991 is doing today, and what music she listens to. It's great to keep abreast of my friends' interests and blogs and music and thoughts and ideas.
But there's another reason that I like Facebook. (This is where I get a little bit uncomfortable because it's kind of like looking in a dark, demented mirror.) Truth be told, I like the validation: that people agree with my politics, my humor, my activities, my music. Do I have something witty to say about Rick Perry? Did I unearth that weird YouTube gem? Am I attuned to current events? Is that music video really as good as I thought it was? When I thought about removing my profile, I immediately thought about getting zero likes. What would my life be like without that constant validation? Well, for one thing, it would likely make me appreciate real live validations much more (that whole face to face communication thing). It also made me think of the ways that children seem to be coddled as of late - they're never wrong, they never fail, they can't ever fall. And I think that part of that stems from the constant hypes that they receive: you are smart, you are pretty, I like your Facebook post about your cat puking this morning. And then I thought: life is hard. Sometimes people don't like you or don't like what you have to say, and that's OK as long as that distaste is expressed respectfully (no punching, please). Isn't it good for us to experience that? The constant mediation of daily activities and deep-seated politics and values removes a sense of reality and a sense of place: who is my audience? Why do I filter? Why do I care?
This long look into the dark mirror is embarrassing and telling and I'm not sure what I'm going to do about it. According to AA, awareness is half the battle (or at least a really fundamental step); is that good enough? And yet I feel like I'm copping out, abusing my new-found awareness retreating into denial. But isn't that what the internet is all about? Instant information and ME ME ME ME ME? I have a blog for crying out loud. It was originally intended to inform friends and family about goings on in Peru but it has evolved (devolved?) into a Kathryn-shaped something.
2 comments:
This is brilliant, Kathryn.
I think the ambivalence of FB is pretty much built-in, and it's probably something they're aware of at FB headquarters. It's a little weird, but it's also fun. It's lame to have all these relationships with friends (i.e. actual friends) that exist almost entirely on FB, but we're all on the Internet anyway, so it's better than not doing it. Etc.
FB is maddening; I frequently think that LiveJournal circa 2003 was a richer and more interesting experience, and in that instance most of the friends one had/made were actually strangers, which is objectively weirder.
Yesterday I had a related thought about FB. I was thinking about how, in 2000 and thereabouts, when you discovered a great general-interest forum or a good forum that dovetailed with some specific interest, you were doing that essentially in private, atomized. You were doing that, and getting immersed in kite construction or test prep or baseball or whatever that forum catered to, and none of your friends knew anything about what you were doing. Those were the wild and woolly days of the Internet, and they were pretty great, in a sometimes-frustrating, slow-downloading kind of way.
The genius of FB is that it takes a person's natural peer group and makes a forum out of THAT, instead of making a forum out of fly fishing or badminton or whatever. So now, when my friend Ed discovers an awesome Brazilian musician, I know about it because I saw the six videos he posted today, and when my other friend vents about Obama, I know that too. It creates that web among the people you know about exactly to the extent that those people want to share it, which is fucking genius.
One problem is that the culture around those forums is pretty much dead, and I miss it. It's been replaced by blogs, but it's not really the same. You have your "YOU forum," which goes by the name of Facebook, and you have blogs, which is other people posting stuff. The interaction among strangers is not what it was, weaker. Maybe good in some ways, but not what it was in 2000.
Anyway, I hope you don't quit Facebook. :)
Thanks, Martin. No quitting for me, but I was on the edge there, for a minute anyway. I was mildly addicted to some of those forums back in college and beyond and I appreciated the community there, with more personal and private interactions. Thanks for reminding me, because I had forgotten all about that part of the world wide web. Did you see that New Yorker cartoon where a young girl and her mom were going through an old box and they came across the mom's diary? The caption was something like, "You mean, you're blog was private and nobody read it? What's the point?"
Unrelated to mediated forum life, but thanks for getting me totally and completely addicted to the New Yorker (got a subscription for Christmas). I'm falling down a deep (and brilliantly written as well as absolutely fascinating) rabbit hole.
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