“A key element of social networks is that the nodes are capable of cognition. People are reflective and projective creatures, and this affects how they react to their network positions, and how they change their network positions in pursuit of their goals. As a result, network researchers in the social sciences have become increasingly interested in how individual actors perceive (and systematically misperceive) the structure of the networks they are embedded in, and the consequences these perceptions can have…”
“Network Analysis in the Social Sciences”, Stephen P. Borgatti, Ajay Mehra, Daniel J. Brass, and Giuseppe Labianca Science 13 February 2009: 892-895.
Facebook is eating the world. The global monolith went public in 2012 with the one of the largest rounds of financing in modern history. Its 28-year-old founder, Mark Zuckerberg, never has to work again — he can live a millionaire’s life off the interest from his shares alone. Earlier this year, the company released Facebook Home, an Android app that it claims will make you think differently about all social media.
All these statements obscure a singular fact about the company: its true value is in making suckers like me care about its success. In economics, this is called network effects; the more users of a product, the more valuable it becomes.
Of course, these are more recent appeals. When I joined in 2005, Facebook was cool precisely because it was exclusive. “You need a college email address to join,” my friend pitched convincingly. So we bristled when it opened to high school students, and we were fully outraged when, finally, Zuckererg opened it up to the public in 2008. As a Millennial, Facebook was ours: our first expression of cultural maturity. And yet, while we grow annoyed by new and intrusive features — photos, news feeds, timelines — we remain indescribably drawn to its success.
Facebook’s IPO was symbolic in that its ownership transferred from the Millennial generation — us — to Wall Street. It is no longer exclusively ours, it is publicly ours.
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And I say all this because here is what I really want to say: my mom is joining Facebook.
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“I’m not accepting your friendship,” I told her immediately. We were lounging on the living room couch.
“Do what you want. I’m still joining,” my mom said defiantly. “I have my own friends.”
“You are not my friend.”
She bristled, clucked her tongue, then went back to reading her book club novel. A pregnant silence came over the room, and eventually it rang in my ears and I was forced to leave.
And this is when I began to hate Mark Zuckerberg and his fucking company.
In the hands of a marketing business model, real words — “friend”, “like” – have no meaning; and their imaginary opposites — “unfriend”, “unlike” — are devastatingly important. I am supposed to assign friends to circles, acknowledge their engagement photos, and comment when they share news articles. A close friend — whom I saw regularly — once cornered me because I never respond to her wall posts. “You’re supposed to reply back,” she practically shouted. I no longer manage friendships; I manage social codes.
Am I being unfair? I imagine it is not easy for my mother to hear her son tell her I am not her “friend.” Especially if he has consumed your life for the past quarter-century: making his meals, staying up with him when he wakes up crying, listening patiently as he spills his messy dreams and his insecurities to you every day; especially if you care about him more than he cares about himself; if friendship is precisely what he can offer in return.
How can I not “accept” “friend”-ship, on Facebook or otherwise?
Perhaps this is why I am so angry: because a simple marketing ploy forces its way into my world and makes me think deeply about my relationships. Or perhaps: because that’s what it takes to make me think deeply about my relationships.