Confessions of a MySpace Holdout

Since the explosion of social networking sites, I’ve been utterly unimpressed by what they have to offer. Sure, MySpace provides a fabulous arena for me to spell out all my preferences in a detailed profile. I could display in cyberspace my myriad musical tastes and dislikes, while also posting funny pics of my face. Of course, I could just as easily have a conversation over coffee, allowing my companion to join in, debating over the finer points of metal while I defend the old-world sensibility of Ella Fitzgerald.

And sure, Facebook allows users to keep up with old school pals who you never thought you’d hear from again. While you might not want to literally talk to them, you can so easily, with a click of button, view intimate details about their current lives halfway across the country. Isn’t it wonderful? This is the beauty of the technological era and sweeping tides of the information wave, right? Not for me. I’ve never signed up for an account on any social networking site and plan to uphold my abstention.

The American youth culture doesn’t take this cyber-celibacy lightly, however. Now, people at bars no longer ask for your number at the end of the night; they ask for your Facebook account. They want to friend you online. When I respond as I always respond in these situations – “I’m not on Facebook or MySpace” – reactions range from mild surprise to utter contempt:

“You’re joking, right? Everyone’s on Facebook.”

“You don’t even use MySpace? Don’t you have friends? How do you ever know what’s going on?”

“Oh god. Are you one of those I-hate-technology-and-wish-we-could-all-write-letters-and-go-on-picnics girls?”

I must have been at the park while the whole world swirled into squares. I’ve been completely blindsided by social circles transforming themselves onto rectangular computer screens. But it all chalks up to the simple fact that I just don’t want to be involved. Already my friends talk their MySpace and Facebook jargon around me constantly:

“Kelly updated her profile. It says she’s in a relationship now. Who do you think it is?”

“Jon tried to friend me online. I felt too bad to decline him. Am I going to have to return his comments, too?”

It’s difficult enough to navigate real-world gossip and social awkwardness. Why would I want to sift through an entirely new set of rules in self-imposed tracking devices? Call me crazy, but I don’t want Billy-who-used-to-eat-glue from my second grade class finding me on Facebook and asking to be my friend. The only thing we had in common then was a height problem and an affinity for arts and crafts. What could we possibly have in common now? Not much that I can tell, except maybe that we have a long list of Facebook friends, which makes us feel better about the fact that our eyes are going cross-eyed from staring into mega-pixels that vaguely resemble meaning.

So while I hold my ground, distancing myself from social networking sites in the name of human interaction, I feel that perhaps I’m the one standing alone outside the circle. At lunch with friends a few weeks ago, we eagerly discussed weekend plans. My friend Tyler wanted to throw a party and informed us that he’d send an e-vite via Facebook. Then it dawned on him, and he rolled his eyes purposefully and annoyed. “Oh right,” he said, irritated. “Jenna doesn’t do Facebook. I guess I’ll have to send her an email.” It’s possible that my aim to be more socially involved will inevitably make me socially detached. I never did receive that email.

And aren’t these functions that are supposed to make keeping in touch easier, actually complicating things tenfold? The news of late is inundated with stories of employees freaked out that their bosses are friending them on Facebook, reports of businesspeople in droves leaving LinkedIn in favor of the hipper medium, follow-ups about the unappealing mesh of social networking and business networking online, instructional advice to censoring profiles, and cultural think-pieces about the socio-economic disparity between MySpace and Facebook. What world have we created when the complex matrices of social well-being have been transferred to the internet? The Marxist war cry echoed that the machine of capitalism would, like Frankenstein, overtake and destroy society as we know it. Have we created another mechanical monster?