In with the old, out with the new.
For the past year and a half now, I’ve been testing social media behavior. I’m not known for my social media prowess—in fact, quite the opposite—but I’m also less of an idiot than much of what shows up in the comment sections.
What I’m trying to understand is what goes on in the minds of people who review—“look at”—e.v.e.r.y. thing I post, yet never engage at all. Why? Are you clicking through compulsively? If so, how? You follow at least 2,000 people—how do my posts even matter enough to surface in that shuffle of such volume? Especially considering I don’t do anything interesting enough on the platform to warrant that kind of commitment—particularly without interaction.
If you don’t care, it doesn’t make sense. A 100% viewing rate is incredibly hard to achieve in anything, yet somehow the one thing done with total consistency is looking at my dumb posts while not caring. That is the form of perfection you aimed for all your life? If you do care, that doesn’t make sense either—because there’s no interaction at all.
Do you just tap through to get to the end? If so, that still doesn’t add up. Why? Again, 100% is difficult to achieve—especially given the randomness I introduced. Some people never missed a post. One in particular. Never. Missed.
And again, I don’t do anything compelling enough to justify that kind of consistency. I’m not the Rock. I’m not someone posting highly curated, attention-grabbing content. I’m not a chick with big tits in bikinis and thongs. I’m not important. So if you follow 2,000 people, how do I even show up consistently enough to allow for a 100% viewing rate? Does that mean you sought me out? Ok. Cool. Thanks. Love you, too. But then—no interaction. However, I’m not foolish enough to believe that either. So it’s something in the recesses of the mind coupled with the platforms’ metrics.
I would intentionally disappear at random intervals—sporadic hiatuses—only to return to the same pattern: continued views and the same silent audience. Especially if an individual doesn’t care, what is the point? Why? Someone fucking tell me why? Does my name pop up specifically? No, it mustn’t. Are you seeking me out among 2000 accounts? Why? I don’t matter. Do social media platforms highlight me for you? Of course they don’t. So why!?
Have we become so broken that we consistently consume things we don’t care about—every single time? Or is there something more to it?
Society conditions us—grooms us—whether we realize it or not. But not to a 100% rate. Or at least it shouldn’t. Are we all just window shoppers? Look, but don’t touch?
It reminds me of a lyric in the Pearl Jam song, Corduroy, written by Eddie Vedder: “Take my hand, not my picture.” That’s what this feels like. Tapping through might be the lowest form of social discourse—the end, pun intended. We (you, really—I don’t do that) just tap to the end without ever wanting something real while convincing ourselves we’re doing what it takes to get there. What is real? That thing you saw in a movie or read in a book that you tell yourself you want but were never willing to do the work or provide the effort to achieve it.
We’ve grown incredibly unaware. Imperceptible. Again—you, not me. That’s my problem. I’m perspicacious to the point where those oblivious people think my awareness is overwhelming—afraid of it and seem to be made uncomfortable by it. Never my intention, but post-social-media humans don’t know how to interpret authentic interest anymore. People have put themselves on autopilot to such an extent that real engagement feels like a threat rather than something worth understanding. There can’t be depth on porcelain.
It’s sad. I don’t like being uncomfortable, just like the next person, but I understand, very much so, that is what it takes for anything to happen worth noting. Hiding behind your phone is and will always be the most cowardly form of socializing. It isn’t. You’re hiding. While telling yourself something else. The lie we’ve been conditioned to think is LIVING and is not boring. Well, it is.
You know how I can prove that? BECAUSE YOU’RE LOOKING AT MY DUMB SHIT WHEN YOU ALREADY DO ALL THOSE PLATITUDINOUS TRENDING THINGS OF THE TIME—travel, axe throwing, brunch, ‘I’M A FOODIE!’ restaurants—AND YOU’RE STILL BORED ENOUGH TO LOOK AT SOME SCHMUCK’S SOCIAL MEDIA PAGE WHO FOLLOWS 20 ACCOUNTS, 10% BEING REDUNDANT, 30% BEING ALTERNATE HANDLES OF THE SAME BAND, AND 2% A DEAD FRIEND’S ACCOUNT THAT I MADE FOR HIM BUT WILL NEVER DELETE OR OBVIOUSLY UNFOLLOW. Sorry, my caps lock was stuck.
You won’t find me doing that. I’m never bored. I do find things boring. It’s probably your brain.
People ask me what I do for fun, and my answer probably seems boring to those people. Because they think going to another country for a week and being able to put the flag emoji next to their last country they visited is “fun.” Yeah, sure. That’s cool. Nice to say. Sounds empty to me. Sounds like you’re following the crowd. Sounds like you’re boring and basic. My question is, where does your mind go when you think about the one you love? Who do you think of first when you want to be protected? What is the best gift you’ve ever received?
I’ll answer that one for you:
Understanding.
Have you ever been understood? No. I’m not talking about your best friend knowing what drink to always get for you or guessing what meal you’re going to order for “brunch.” I’m talking about understanding. The thing in your soul you may not even be aware of. Yes, it is scary. Someone knows something about you before you do just by observing you. How dare you think you know me!? …But how amazing that you noticed…me. Who I really am.”
That’s a discomfort you’ll never forget. And eventually cherish.
I want to quote another lyric from a friend: “When I find myself inside your head—I know—there’s no way out of here.” If only we actually dove inside like we were meant to. Like we were meant to in the days of great philosophy that actually expanded our capacity and mental acuity.
[If the answer is yes, there is something more to it.]
It seems heavy. It seems intense. Fuck—it is. But the value on the other side of that weight is worth a thousand lifetimes on different landmasses without lines of demarcation. It is connection. It is meaning. Find a person; find the people you can dive into the oceans of thought with. You’ll live. Then you can go on your little trips. Until you do, it’s all boring.
And all it would take is reaching through that imaginary window you’ve been standing behind—and choosing to “take my hand, not my picture.”
You know, like we used to.
“She turns to me sometimes
And she asks me what I’m dreaming
And I realize I must have gone
A million miles away
And I ask her how she knew
To reach out for me at that moment
And she smiles because it’s understood
There are no words to say
It’s all about soul
It’s all about knowing what someone is feeling
The woman’s got soul
The power of love and the power of healing”
Are we all just window shoppers?
Walk through the door.
We’re open.