I managed to get to the age of 34 before I even contemplated Facebook. The only reason I got it in the first place is because I wanted to start a page for this blog and unfortunately, unless you have a personal profile you aren’t allowed a page which is stupid if you ask me but there you go.
So I reluctantly set up a profile and cleverly (not really clever) pretended my last name was Brown in the hope that no one would find me on there. Hooking up with old school friends online is my idea of hell. Actually seeing them in real life, trying to avoid them and then acting way over the top surprised to be seeing them when they walk up to me is my idea of hell. I just can’t get my head around why anyone would want to stay in touch with a person they once knew but didn’t like enough to stay friends with in the real world.
But then I have never been very good at having lots of friends so it makes sense that I’m the weirdo. Whatever.
Even though I’d set my personal profile up as my pseudonym: Brown. Stupid know-it-all Facebook seemed to already be able to suggest who I *might want to be friends with*. In a moment of unexpected Facebook excitement, I added my old next door neighbour from when I was 12 and also the Avon lady from down the road who sometimes uses our microwave to cook a jacket potato. She doesn’t have her own, because, cancer.
I digress, next came my relatives and a handful of friends who must have thought I was being an absolute loser for not using my real name and questioning why I’d even done it in the first place.
Cue major embarrassment when I had to explain I didn’t really want anyone finding me on there but had gone into some mad Facebook friending frenzy and literally added every person I’ve ever met in my whole entire life. I’m not even sure why I did that but let’s move on.
The all-seeing all-knowing oracle that is Facebook began to annoy me immediately by identifying exactly what I’ve been googling (on a separate flipping device might I add) and then has the audacity to target me with ads. Infuriatingly I’ve spent more money than I’d care to admit buying things from Boden at 1 am as this sort of strange recklessness comes over me and I’m seduced by bastarding targeted ads.
Years ago – before I’d even signed up to Facebook – and in the days of watching the Sopranos boxset, when I used to do normal things like gawp at the TV and not be on Facebook in the evenings. Tony Soprano described it as FaceFuck. Oh how Justin and I laughed at all the idiots that spent their days scrolling and scrolling their timelines. Looking for snippets of gossip, and feeling a bit better about their own shit lives because their friend from 20 years ago is a right heifer now with 6 kids and 5 different dads. That was my best guess at what Facebook was really like. We both said at the time that we would never be loser-ish enough to be on it.
Pah! Who’s laughing now, ey?
Turns out I am that sad loser that reflexively types ‘Fa’ into my browser every single time I sit down at my laptop and spends an inordinate amount of my day nosing into other people’s lives.
And I bloody well hate it.
Facebook otherwise known as FaceFuck otherwise known as FaceBastard only serves one purpose and that is to make me feel like shit.
So why on earth do I spend way too much time on it interacting with a bunch of people who I don’t even care about? Obviously there are lots of people on there that I LOVE but honestly, they are mostly creative types who I could stalk on Instagram. I just don’t know what it is about it that makes it so addictive, I’ve even had to physically lock my self out of it when I’m supposed to be working. How did I go so many years without it? HOW? Now I don’t even go one day without signing in and scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.
But my biggest reason for hating Facebook is being blatantly ignored by certain family members. Example: About a year ago I posted an update saying that a few pictures I’d taken for a work thing were being shown on a BBC documentary and that one of the images had made it into The New York Times (true story) It was one of the proudest moments of my career. Loads of my friends commented and congratulated me and yet not one family member even liked the post. It’s The New York Times for Christ’s sake!
Now when I post things I have to check who’s liked my post (because I’m a psycho like that) and inevitably it will be my real-life friends, that say something. Thank you, you know who you are.
It’s as if the people that don’t like or comment are thinking I’m a massive twat for posting it, or mentioning it, or boasting about it; really I should just stick to the swimming lesson and play date updates.
I think the crux of this is if some of the people who are supposed to be the closest to you aren’t liking or commenting on your posts it’s really like them saying: ‘I dislike this, I don’t care enough about you or what you’re doing to acknowledge you’ and that really sucks. Worst thing is I know they’ve seen what I post because they mention it in real life and they comment and like on other family member’s updates, so why not mine?
Cheers Facebook for making feel like a total loser. I’m done with you. And I’m never clicking your Boden ads ever, ever again.