Give Me a Like.

I greatly enjoyed Zadie Smith's article "Generation Why?" - so much so that I kind of feel like deleting my Facebook, and even not being on Blogger right now (alas, homework permits it). Smith comes from a different kind of mindset: I've read her work in the New Yorker, and an essay about her appreciation for Joni Mitchell - and from the article it seems as though she worked at Harvard for some amount of time. To me, though, Smith represents the type of person I want to be, rather than the type of person that I am: although I like the idea of reading the New Yorker and listening to Joni Mitchell on vinyl, I'm a lot more likely to be on Tumblr listening to Pharrell. Thus, enter Facebook.

I've heard a lot of people say things like, "I hate Facebook," and I'm one of them - and I truly do hate Facebook. It's a device that forces you not only into a box, but forces you to construct that box as well: how do you want to be viewed? Recently, someone uploaded photos of me swimming a breaststroke race at our Conference Championships, and I had to hold myself back from removing the photos. First of all, breaststroke isn't exactly an attractive stroke, and any photos of you taken during it are of you with your mouth agape, suffering through the disastrous yardage. Second of all, it alerted old friends that I was swimming again, after years off from the sport - and I could only picture the wields of their minds turning, thinking about my now less-than-fit body working through the water and laughing about it - because people think about me that much. Finally, the pictures aren't taken very well.

This is only a small example of how Facebook forces you to think about yourself. The fact of the matter is, I'm proud that I'm swimming again, and even though I'm slower than I was, and have a bit more a tummy, I like telling people it - it's essentially saying, "Hey, I'm doing something active again." In my real life, I'm proud of it - and yet on Facebook, I'm horribly embarrassed. Just like in real life I like the Fast and Furious movies, and will talk about them with anyone who will listen, but on Facebook I have There Will Be Blood and The Royal Tenenbaums listed under my movies, because those make me sound smarter. But I don't want to come off too smart: I only have The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen (my favorite book) and David Sedaris listed under authors - when my true literary loves are D.H. Lawrence and Joyce and all the other modernist greats - but I don't want people to think I'm that pretentious.

Smith brings up an interesting idea: as of now, I can draw the line between my Facebook self and my real self - and I'm able to fully appreciate that my Facebook self is a construction based on my own insecurities and overall narcissism. But with that being said, will I always know that? And do other people know that? If I'm on Facebook for long enough, will I forget that that's not me? Smith also has an intriguing read on Zuckerburg: He's a boring dude, who in order to make himself seem liked, created a system in which you're judging based on your choices instead of your character - it doesn't matter if you can talk about something, but if you like Breaking Bad, you're probably an alright person. It's a sad realization, and you can see it in Zuckerburg when he talks. I always thought there was something off about his interviews, but Smith threw it into the light: the sweating, bland answers, and little laughs - he's putting on a show, and the message is that we should like him. And I guess we kind of do. We like him more than Steve Jobs, because he's not an outward dick to everyone. But on the other hand, I'd much rather hang out with Steve Jobs. Because he's not afraid of what people think about him - and Zuckerburg does belong to a generation of people who are desperately afraid of what people think of them.

So the final question is: why remain on Facebook? Why not quit? Is it futile anyway, considering they most likely hold onto your information anyway? Well, I tell myself that I stay on Facebook because I have a radio show, and other things going on, and I want to be able to tell people about it. Also, I don't like the idea of losing people, and never hearing about them again - even if it's people from grade school. But maybe there's something deeper. A fear of having to exist outside of a screen, and only outside of a screen. I don't know, maybe I'll quit. That'd be nice. Because I hate Facebook.