I mentioned in a previous post that I was a late adopter of pretty much everything: social media, iPhones, iPods, streaming, etc. That's not entirely true, however, as I was actually quite an early Facebook user ⸺ and abandoner.
I joined during one of its earliest phases where it was rolling out to individual college around the country. Facebook was the new hotness in town, and everyone was looking forward to it as a potential replacement of or addition to things like MySpace and LiveJournal ⸺ I was on the latter. I quickly decided, however, that I didn't like what this so-called Facebook was offering. I was socially anxious in Real Life™ plenty enough as it was, in part because of my ugly-ass face, and I couldn't handle the extra anxiety brought to the table by having my social life (or what little there was of it) being so visible online.
I knew almost immediately, perhaps instinctively, that an Instagram type of effect was at play ⸺ some years before a platform like that came onto the scene. I could look out and see so many things to envy in others, things others had in their lives that I had significant trouble with. Worse still was that everyone else could do similar drive-by judgments of my sad little life which had nothing enviable on display. It weighed on me heavily. I knew I was a loser, and Facebook allowed everyone else to know it too.
I stuck it out for a little bit, because I figured I had to, but Facebook eventually had its first privacy scare. I don't mean that they were hacked and people's details leaked, although I'm sure that happened. I mean it in the sense that Facebook, the platform itself, felt overly invasive for the first time. I'd known from the jump that it was invasive on a personal level, but this felt different ⸺ that the company itself was invading, trying to become deeply embedded in everyone's life.
From what I remember, it wasn't much that broke me. Facebook started this connection with Amazon where they would show others what you were buying: You'd make a purchase on Amazon and it would get posted for everyone following you to see. I'm sure it was optional, but I still didn't like it. Thanks to my social anxieties about it, I'd been looking for an excuse to leave Facebook and never look back. This, then, would be my excuse.
And it'd mostly be an excuse to myself, because I'm sure I knew in my heart that being on Facebook and using it to connect with people, to force myself out of my detrimental video game-fueled bubble, was the objectively correct call. You know when you don't want to do something and accept any ol' reason to put it off or not do it at all? This was that. I couldn't handle my profile being public, whether I left it mostly empty or filled it up to try to portray a normal guy with a normal social life. Both options felt bad to me. Regardless of the potential benefits this kind of social media could bring, I wanted an out, and I found one.
Thus, twenty years ago, long before most even had access, I joined and subsequently left Facebook. I don't recall how long I was actually around; it might've been months but I'm guessing it was mere weeks.
To this day, two whole decades later, I've avoided signing back up. I missed most of its college days, I missed its main fully-public heyday back when it was still cool and everyone was on it, I missed its downturn into uncoolness when everyone's mom and old racist uncle started joining, and I missed its full metamorphosis into an algorithm-fueled, hate-promoting, election-meddling, data harvester and broker. I'm sure I have a profile over there, because everyone does, but it isn't one I signed up for.
Perhaps ironically, after so long avoiding Facebook, I might get back on it, in as aliased and private a way as I can managed, just for its Marketplace. I've got a bunch of junk I want to offload, and it keeps quite literally piling up as I continue to go "I should sell this" about an item and then do nothing about it.