Forget Summer Ball and the impending graduation ceremony, there is one thing that can’t come quickly enough: the Facebook cull is coming. The days of an unadulterated stream of vacuous nonsense are numbered.
Fazzy-B, as my housemate refers to it, is the ultimate addiction, and we all need some rehab. Excitement, intrigue, drama, love, loss and – of course – unmitigated voyeurism are a mere click away. It’s like an always-on episode of ‘Glee’, but with far uglier people.
A friend of mine remarked this week that without Facebook, she never would have known of the YUSU by-elections. Campus democracy aside, my social calendar would be positively bare without FB’s trusty events. Imagine my dismay, for example, if I had missed ‘Menstruation: A blessing or a curse’, in virtue of not logging in? Bloody nightmare.
Some final years, before sending a plethora of Graduate Scheme applications, battened down the hatches of their profile privacy, concealing photos of themselves dressed as cavewomen or strawpedoing bottles of Sauv Blanc from the eyes of would-be employees.
As Mark Zuckerburg transformed from social networking God to data-stealing scoundrel, City monkeys in the making made the tough choice to hide photos of their exposed genitals while sacrificing their ability to be searched by the hot fresher they met in Ziggys.
Yet this is just the tip of the iceberg. Embarrassing photographs and groups named after borderline racist jokes that you probably shouldn’t have joined in the first place might hobble you at Ernst and Young’s candidate research stage, but the real danger lies after July 3rd: How are you going to give up?
Some people seem unable to exist without telling everybody exactly what that existence entails. It’s a Saussurian nightmare
Let’s not beat about the bush. You know the annoying uncle who keeps trying to add you as a friend, or the 24-year-old that you once kissed at Gallery who now spends his entire time commenting on your statuses? That’s you very soon.
A close friend of mine attemped to go cold turkey in preparation last week by shutting down his account. Did it work? No. Unable to restrain his desires, he logged in using his pet dog’s account that is friends with his housemates, and got his fix that way. He lived vicariously through A DOG. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Some people seem unable to exist without telling everyone else exactly what that existence entails. It’s like a Saussurian nightmare.
Take, for example, a friend of mine who continually posts snippets of her essay during its writing. Congratulating yourself on particularly pretentious sentence constructions aloud is acceptable, though rather socially awkward. Stating them on Facebook borders on unbearable.
How will they cope in their first job? Should I expect statuses such as ‘Writing an email: “I feel today’s meeting was catatonically constructive, and a cacophony of creative concepts were concluded”’ or ‘Went for a meeting today. Was positively Baudelarian’?
Other students at York have also embraced Foursquare with similarly regrettable aplomb: a mobile app that updates your status to tell others where you are. So-and-so is at Roger Kirk, etc. Unless your promotion plot involves a campaign to be elected Majo-Domo of the photocopier, that habit will have to be consigned to the graveyard of social networking too.
And then there’s FitFinder, that sinister yet undeniably hilarious bastard child of the Facebook generation. That has got to go too: ‘Staff Canteen (Second Floor) Female, Brunette Hair, Head of Finance in super-hot pencil skirt and a rack just begging to be let free from that blouse. I’d stuff your envelope anytime’ is only going to get you a date with a P45.
Hanging up the keyboard gloves won’t be easy. Blind to M’s meandering tales of random acquaintances, ignorant of T’s politically provocative statuses and unable to view D’s photos of her fifth night out that week, will I drift in a world of disconnectedness?
Or will I realise that the 1,200 friends that I’ve somehow accumulated over three years of University makes me unselective rather than popular, having a good night out with friends shouldn’t end with 3am photo tagging, and that ‘liking’ a status is a wholly unsuitable way to celebrate someone’s engagement?
Diary and address book in hand, perhaps I’ll start that cull early.