Image: xkcd
For me, the Internet has always been a social place. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, through ICQ, telnet, forums and LiveJournal, I met people—for the first time—who had the same geeky interests in literature, culture and music that I did. I made friends quickly, stayed up until the wee hours chatting, gaming and role-playing and, perhaps most importantly, establishing a kind of unique space, much to the chagrin of my parents.
So when MySpace erupted and the Media went bonkers, declaring, “This is what the Internet is for! It’s not just dot coms and domains, it’s about people! The Internet is people!” I was not so impressed. I clung to the old regime. Sure, I made a MySpace profile and connected with people I hadn’t seen in years, but it was limited and honestly rather off-putting. I was not “into” MySpace. I didn’t even like Tom. And most of the pages burned my eyes.
Facebook was a little better, and well-timed since it appeared a little after college. For a few years anyway, I used Facebook as a means to reconnect with old schoolmates. Between that and LiveJournal I kept up with the bulk of my friends, both of the physical and internet variety. Family members, if they looked hard enough, could find me, but it was never a priority for them.
Then came the boom, brought about by new design, accessibility and keen publicity. But instead of widening our networks and broadening our experiences, for many, this social networking explosion has just crowded the box. In fact, it’s become outright cramped.
Sure, you may have 300 followers on Twitter; you may know over 500 people on Facebook. But how many do you actually interact with? How many are related to you? And perhaps, most importantly, how has that changed how you portray yourself online?
Because let’s face it: our freedom and anonymity is slipping away. Once upon a time the Internet was a very big sandbox. We moved, spoke and conducted ourselves as we wanted. We kicked sand, we teased the other kids, we even ate mud pies. Those of us who saw social media grow out of forums and chatrooms even crafted our own online presences or personas. And these are not necessarily ourselves. They’re versions of ourselves… and likely not the same person our families know.
For many users, social interaction on the Internet allowed for a kind of rebirth and restructure, a chance to carve out space aside from our daily lives. But with outlets like Facebook and MySpace, which practically beg you to widen your network and connect with people you really could have given a crap about otherwise, that line is blurring considerably. There’s only so many connections a single person can maintain, and therefore, we build little boundaries. You might not know you’re doing it consciously, but it’s absolutely natural, and likely to do with Dunbar’s number. We’re making little nations in our sandbox.
Both my husband and I have run into conflict in the last few months as more and more people we know join Facebook. I’ve been scolded for being snarky; my husband has been called out for being too political. And it occurred to me: our audience has changed drastically. We can no longer pick and choose—our audiences are now related to us, people in our daily interactions. That puts a whole new spin on social networking: obligation. It’s societal regulation all over again!
Now, anyone has access to everything you find amusing, intriguing or share-worthy. We can share across platforms with one click and never think twice. But someone who is newer to social outlets, say a distant relative, might only post things that they are really passionate about and mistake your casual sharing for zealotry and get offended. While I never worried about language before, or considered religion or politics to be an issue, now I do. Everything I do or say is recorded, read and digested. And it’s all undeniably me.
It may be that Twitter’s stripped-down take on social networking is all that’s preventing it from going gangbusters. A recent Harvard University study indicated that only 10% of Twitter’s account for 90% of its content. Some people just don’t get it. In fact, it sounds like around 90% of Twitter users even don’t get it.
But even if Twitter is slightly more resilient to networking conundrums, it can’t hold out forever. Whether or not we want our social networks to change, they will.
So that begs the question: what do we do to resolve this discrepancy? Do we censor ourselves? Or do we let it all hang out and hope that everyone else gets it? We could always go for different handles, screen names and aliases—but if you’re any bit of a professional, this would prove difficult to sustain.
What I see happening through social networks is a reassertion of social norms. Maybe we had a Lord of the Flies thing going on for a while. But Piggy and Simon are dead and well, society has claimed us again. And this means manners. For years, the Internet has harbored some pretty awful behavior, from flamewars to virtual stalkers, but we’ve tended to accept the good along with the bad. Except now there’s protocol. Even the geeks are saying it: “Don’t be a dick.”
My suggestion is to do things you’re proud of. Sure, there will be embarrassing pictures of us all somewhere, and likely some immortal forum rants. But if you do anything, do it well and because you love it. Do it without flinching, and be prepared to stick up for what you say and what you do. Because well, just about everyone may be watching. It’s Big Brother and it’s Uncle Bob. And soon enough, if it hasn’t happened already, it’ll be your kids, too.
Granted, before we know it something else is likely to create new, strange and unknown space and we’ll start all over again with a new sandbox. But until then, and as the online world grows, it might be that we’re learning something unexpected: accountability. Because you know what? Our kids are going to see what we do, too. Chances are, as never before, what we say will really go on after us.
