Facebook: A Profile

Look how cute I was ten years ago.

Emphasis on the past tense.

Ed Cahill likes this.

Mac’n’cheesy!

Gregory Goetz dislike

love these girls! we are such dorks lol Photos

G&B likes this.

Designed by Liz Howell yall are gorgeous but fml why am i so pale?? omg untag me right now!!!!

Justin Fenner b/c ur white lol. dont u wish u had some ethnic flava flav?

Tiffany Melanis pretty! j*fen don’t hate. wish my cheek was crammed in there too.

Profile Pictures:

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I am currently tagged in 1,159 photos. Some of the things I’m tagged in aren’t even photos (Why, thank you, Gail, for tagging me as “someone you used to be really close to,” but I might have preferred “the funniest person you know” or “the most smartest person you know”). Similar to how comments have found their way into the public sphere, so have photos. Other than reading statuses, I waste most of my time scrolling through people’s photo albums. It’s interesting to see the way someone presents himself visually. Perhaps it’s through a record of his most insane moments while inebriated, or through a collection of all the famous places he has visited. Sometimes, all you can see of his body in a photo is his elbow, and he is still tagged as if to prove his existence—to prove that he has a social life, that he is involved in this world. Some of my friends are huge proponents of un-tagging themselves when they deem photos unflattering for a variety of reasons: if there’s a beer can in the picture, if there’s poor lighting or if too much double-chin flab is visible. Some simply remove the photo feature, which is frustrating to us FB stalkers.

Oh, man. Facebook is raunchy. I see a flash of skin in most profile pictures these days, and I don’t mean cleave. I mean arm—a flash of pale, sexy, inner arm, i.e., the dead giveaway of a self-photographer.

There’s a reason some camera phones have reflective surfaces. We are constantly on a quest to find our best angles, to document our cutest ensembles, to showcase the caliber of people with whom we associate. If you click through six profile pictures for one person, you can learn a lot about him or her.

Maybe she’s that girl—the one who always grabs people she barely knows and ensures they take a picture with her, red-eye-reduction flash and all, so that she can tag them later as friends. Maybe he only posts pictures in an effort to parade his catch—whether it be the 100-pound girl he’s currently macking on, or the 100-pound mackerel he caught while deep-sea fishing. We may not judge fictional books by their covers, but we do judge Facebook friends by their profile pictures.

Malia wants to examine this obsession with Facebook, which has spread across the globe like pig flu panic. If she spends half as much time on this article as she does on deciding which artfully candid photo to select as her profile picture, she may actually make some sense. And then maybe she’ll stop referring to herself in third person because when you get down to it, this third person business is only serving to make her think of herself as an incredibly important entity that deserves attention on an hourly basis.

Not the Berlin Wall; the more important one. In the old days (six years ago), messages were strictly private. If you had something to say, you sent an e-mail, wrote a letter, or even called on the phone. Since the advent of Facebook, messaging has taken on an entirely new dimension within the public sphere. When you write someone a message on her wall, you actually write a news story. You open yourself up for critique, for debate (hence the “Comment” feature), and the recorded history of your conversation is never lost.

Comments. If you want to respond to the comment of a friend, write on her wall. Waste-of-space-book!

Basic Information

There’s a skill to the selection of personal information displayed on your personal profile because here you create a résumé for potential friends to evaluate. You give proof of your validity as an interesting human being. You present not who you are, but who you think you are. You are saying, “Hey, look at me! Look at all the sweet things I do! Look at how varied my movie tastes are; ‘Spongebob Squarepants?’ ‘Schindler’s List?’ Come on. Don’t you want to be my friend?”

Or you’re saying, “Look, I’m only listing one activity because my life does not revolve around checking Facebook, and I have so much going on that I don’t even have time to write more.” Your profile communicates subtle, hidden messages to those who view it. What are you really saying?

Sex: Scenario: So, like, there was this really cute guy at Moe’s, and my friend said she knew him, and I Facebooked him, and his profile says he likes men. If you’re like me, the majority of males you’re attracted to turn out to be gay. How do I know? Facebook. There are codes. If you’re openly anything, you proudly display your gender preference with “Women” or “Men” or both, depending. If you’re unsure, don’t want Grandma to know or are trying to make a statement, you completely remove the “Sex” component from your profile. If you want to mess with everyone’s minds, you check “Women” and “Men” and then declare that you are simply looking for “Friendship.” Really, thanks for that. Are you bi or just a friendly guy?

You remove the year if you are embarrassed of your age or don’t want others to know that you’re really 16 going on 17. If you are a sadist, you remove the entire date because you want friends to feel guilty upon realizing your birthday was yesterday and that they sent no well wishing.

Relationship I once joined a Facebook group called “Your Relationship isn’t OfStatus: ficial until it’s Facebook Official.” In the dark ages (toward the beginning of the millennium), you coyly held your partner’s hand in the hallway in order to establish your new love. Today, you declare your affection for your boo by taking his/her/it’s hand and promptly dragging him/her/it to the nearest computer to update your Relationship Status. By displaying that you are “In a Relationship,” you send this message: I am not available, so kiss my stat-ass. If relationships are a rarity for you, this message is more like: HA! By specifically naming your significant other, you supply a dog tag for your romance. You are aware that your relationship is posted to the News Feed faster than you can say, “I do.” You know that other people check these statuses to ensure the viability of a possible relationship or hook up. Occasionally, you complicate the process by checking “It’s Complicated.” This option confounds me. When Justin Fenner is “in a Complicated Relationship” with Tiffany Melanis, does that mean that things aren’t working out between them—or are they swingers? Either way, like candle wax seals letters, Relationship Statuses seal the legitimacy of love.

Birthday:

I check my Facebook with OCD religiousness in the hopes that a small, red flag will pop up in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen. This is a pretty useful feature because it’s fun to know what your friends say about your photos, but I’m not sure notifications like these are really necessary: Greg Goetz made your photo his profile picture. So? Helen Knight commented on Amanda’s Croy status. I know. I did, too. Caitlin Bradley commented on Amanda Croy’s status. Right, I know, but I have nothing to do with that conversation. Chelsie Paulson commented on Amanda Cr—I GET IT. My favorite notifications are comments that say “Hey, girl, just wanted to leave you a notification so that you know I care ;).” Oy vey.

Amanda Croy vey.

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Who needs The New York Times when there’s a feed to tell you the real news? I might as well call this the “Spoon Feed” because these days every minor occurrence in my friends’ lives is practically shoved down my throat. What happened to the day when we didn’t get to hear about Robert’s trip to Wild Wings—and more importantly, when we didn’t care?

Events Question: How do you “Maybe Attend” a wedding? In fact, how do you “Maybe Attend” anything? That said, the only option I ever select when invited to an event is “Maybe Attending” because, that way, if I don’t go to something, I can hold up my hands and declare that I never promised attendance. By inventing a “Maybe” option for events, Facebook gives everyone an excuse to lead an extremely commitment-phobic lifestyle. I am not okay with that. I don’t think. Maybe.

Suggestions Facebook moved Birthdays significantly lower on the home page and filled the spot with helpful Suggestions. For instance: Become a fan of Coffee. Kleenex. Ricky Martin. Oh, here’s a handy suggestion: Jim Burns. Help make Facebook better for him. Write on his wall. Reconnect with him. Jim Burns is my former English professor. He is a very nice man, but I feel strange having Facebook tell me about his social situation. Maybe Facebook is subtly trying to say: Help make Facebook better for Jim Burns, or he might turn to “Hannah Montana.” Ye gads! Don’t make this my fault. Here’s a suggestion, FB: Please restore Birthdays to their original, more convenient position so that I don’t keep forgetting to annually spank my friends (what? People do that).

25 Things You Should Take to the Grave.

Like On the surface, the “Like” feature seems to be a gentle seal of approval, but it is instead turning into the far end of a rapidly developing spectrum of involvement in our friends’ lives. The spectrum looks like this: Face-to-face contact, phone call, e-mail, Facebook message, text, wall comment, photo comment, Like. Think about it. You get lunch with someone you really feel close to, maybe give her a call to hear her voice. Snail mail is a dying art, but you might send an e-mail or a Facebook message because talking on the phone seems too invasive. You text “What’s up?” to check on a friend, but you don’t expect a response longer than 160 characters. You leave a wall comment knowing a wall-to-wall conversation may ensue, but you could coolly decide to ignore a comment at any time. You post a photo comment like “Pretty!” or “Cool!” to show you took the time to view your friend’s pictures, but that doesn’t guarantee the longevity of a conversation. At the lowest limit of the scale, you simply “Like” something. You can like the status of a girl you hardly know—of a girl you would never say “hello” to in person, on whose photo you would never even leave a comment. Liking something is similar to “Maybe Attending” something. You like something, but the commitment of a physical response is not required. When I upload photos, I’m always sad when my Notifications show a host of “Likes” from my friends, but no genuine responses. I’m not looking forward to the day when the Comment feature will be quietly eliminated, and all we are left with is one word: Like.

Like Like: Catching up with old friends.

Shenay Turner Freshman print journalism major

Life before Facebook was boring.

Dislike: Catching up with people I have never spoken to in real life (for a reason).

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You didn’t know what people were up to unless you were with them.

Facebook: A Profile

Between Malia Griggs and You November 23 12:15pm Dear Reader, Recently, my Facebook was mistakenly deleted for two weeks, and I felt like I had a phantom limb because I couldn’t write statuses or comments. But I continued to compose thoughts using Facebook syntax. “Malia is sad her Facebook got deleted!”

“Malia can’t believe that she is thinking in status format.” “…Dammit.”

After a few days of this “dropped-off-the-Face-of-the-earth-Book” state, I realized that I was (and still am) completely dependent on this virtual network. I compartmentalize my life into updates, and I forgo face time for Facebook. Every situation in my day is fodder for a new headline. Every photo and video I upload is carefully considered and captioned. I spend an inordinate amount of time browsing through the statuses, pictures and walls of people I barely know. We’re friends, and being “friends” allows me this privilege of insight. And yet, despite having been friended by that guy in my history class, I would never poke him (in class, anyway) and say, “Sorry things are complicated with your girlfriend, man, and that your teeth still hurt after surgery. Will you be at Cool Beans tonight studying again, or will you party with one of our mutual friends?”

You know why I can’t say these things? Because that would make me a stalker. Who am I kidding? I am a bonafide creeper, and I’m not alone.

Let me be clear: I do not hate Facebook. This social network achieves its goal of “helping you connect and share with the people in your life.” Some of my best friends live far away, and through Facebook, I glimpse their travels and everyday activities. I am not physically a part of their lives, but I don’t fear that we will fall out of touch the way my parents have fallen out of touch with their college friends. As for my own life, I can more easily keep track of happenings around campus, and I strengthen relations with people I wouldn’t know so well without the aid of Facebook.

At its heart, Facebook is an excellent communication and networking tool. However, in this profile, I couldn’t highlight every component of the system, such as FarmVille and Honesty Boxes, because these applications are part of a sprawling sensory overload that constantly seeks to reinvent itself by adding more and more activities and options and ads and suggestions and there’s so much of it that sometimes I want to step back and take a breath and just say, “STOP.” By supplying us with so many features, Facebook is redefining social norms. Situations that we once distinguished as private have become matters of public interest. We document our lives to be evaluated by others and approach situations with phrases such as: “These pics will be on Facebook! Smile!” When we break up with a partner, we allow the icon of a split heart to infiltrate our News Feed. We read (literally) into ignored Friend Requests and wall posts as evidence of rejection. When upset with a friend, we passive-aggressively send a biting message, and then proceed to smile and wave at her in person. We overlook friends who lack accounts—not because we are callous human beings, but because Facebook is constructed to occupy our time with only the features and friends it provides.

Facebook is useful for people like me who need a larger venue for communication, but it strives to alienate those who choose not to be so connected. You can’t go AWOL from this wall because to an extent, without a properly maintained profile, you virtually do not exist.

The idea of life without Facebook leaves us with an overwhelming sense of detachment from reality. We rely on Facebook for its basic communication system and for the intimacy of friendship it offers, but we cannot escape the multitude of extraneous features and applications that come along with the package. The 30 seconds we intended to spend checking our Inbox often turns into 30 minutes spent taking a quiz or analyzing our own photos. Facebook is transforming us into a generation of flaky, socially awkward, micro analyzing, exhibitionist, egotistical, passive-aggressive creepers. In other words, you’re all turning into me.

And that’s almost as scary as the prospect of not having Facebook for two weeks.

Mary Gotschall Sophomore business major

Now we’d all rather write on someone’s wall instead of calling him or even writing a letter.

?

Christopher Wilson Junior biology major

I’m off FB because I wasted time and was friends with people I didn’t know and learning things about them that they wanted me to learn. Also, FB is secretly owned by eHarmony (ok, not true, but it feels like it).

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