I recently announced the break-up of a ten-year relationship on Facebook. The announcement was factual (X ’n Y have broken up), optimistic (hope to stay friends), newsy (X is dealing with it by...) and—as was only appropriate—community-minded (and welcomes other suggestions on how to deal with...).
The responses came in quick and fast and were characteristic of the networking site’s preoccupations: eight friends suggested wine as therapy. ‘A glass, no make that a bottle.’ ‘Wine, wine and more wine.’ ‘Splitting a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.’ Thus chimed the oenophiles.
But there were others. ‘Back-to-back episodes of 30 Rock.’ ‘Retail therapy.’ ‘Reading Thich Nhat Hahn.’ ‘Spa vacation.’ And, of course, the black humour: ‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone,’ a wag messaged.
This levity and jokey humour might have struck another in my situation as offensive—even cruel. But in fact, it was exactly what I was seeking.
By opening up what is regarded as a traditionally painful situation to a social networking site somehow took the edge off the sadness. In that community of urbane, battle-weary, forty- and fifty-somethings, each with many relationships under their belt, I felt at home, understood, forgiven.
Breaking up was not a wrist-slashing, self-flagellating, inner demon-wrestling exercise any more—it was a social enterprise—like getting a haircut or new Bose speakers or discussing the latest Almodovar film: you could talk about it. People had suggestions, tips and experiences to share. And then, you could update to the next post.
In many ways, breaking up on Facebook, bringing a deeply personal part of your life onto such a public platform, for me, had the same effect as popping Prozac. You know the pain exists—but it lies six feet under.
Also, putting it out there, in the community of my peers, it didn’t remain my business alone. After posting, I felt lighter, freer, more at peace. After all, once it was in the public, didn’t it cease to be merely personal?
I guess, in the absence of wailing walls, confession Sundays and group sessions, Facebook is the nearest we have to therapy for today’s denizen: that self-obsessed, hyper-aware, timidly gregarious, trivia-loving animal who lurks on social networking sites. It is empowering, plastic (by which I mean easily manipulated) and affords you the feeling of never being alone.
Nervous in a doctor’s waiting room? Read about a friend’s obsession with the BP oil spill. (Yes, I’m mainlining—I’ve got it on my iPhone.) Anxious at the traffic signal? There’s that latest video of The Whirling Kalapas. And insomniac at 4 am? Log on and engage in mindless chatter with others on your affliction or ensconced in other time-zones.
As you can see, I’m a newbie and my delights are belated and predictable, but they’re indicative of the site’s incredible compatibility with a certain sort of person and his needs.
Like its users, Facebook’s unwritten code is its over-arching attempt at cool. Certain subjects are avoided: personal illness, debt, envy, halitosis. It has its own rules of what aggregates interest: gadgets, obscure Scandinavian documentaries, Scrabble, global warming, retail and rock videos.
Sex is hardly ever mentioned, unless in a self-deprecating nostalgic way; spirituality wins over religion, dogma is quickly tamped down, and no one ever admits to nail-biting, teeth-clenching paranoia or loneliness unless in irony.
Actually, everyone on Facebook attempts to come across as urbane, witty, sophisticated and cool, like they’ve recently walked off a Woody Allen screenplay.
Of course, what Facebook users dig most is its elitist ambience (it was created at Harvard for god’s sake!). Everyone on it affects a persona that is casually savvy: of coffee-drinking, well-informed, bourgeois-bohemianism.
The Facebook user is the equivalent of the man in khakis and linen in an Istanbul bar, puffing on a hookah with a copy of Pico Iyer in hand.
Which is not to say that Facebook is a teddybear’s picnic. This is where cyber bullying, data-mining, paedophilia, bestiality and racism flourish. Pro-anorexia groups? Check. Holocaust-denial clubs? Check. Suicide Sluts? Check. But over this stomach-churning grab bag of danger and threat, Zuckerberg & Co have managed to pull a blanket of gentility and mind-numbing security. The phrase comfort zone takes on a whole new meaning with the existence of Facebook.
I guess that’s why I posted my recent break-up on Facebook. And of course, I didn’t call it a break-up. That would be so uncool.
It was a transition.
