All this week, like most weeks, I’ve been pondering why it’s so hard for me to get offline. Everyone I see who treats the Internet as anything more than a promotional tool seems fucking miserable. These are the very people whose profiles I find myself curiously, constantly scrolling through with a deep embarrassment that borders on shame. A feeling not dissimilar, I imagine, to paging through some libelous gossip rag you’d find in the checkout aisle.
“Why don’t you just stop engaging and go outside,” I ask as I swipe through. I’m not quite sure if I’m asking the Tweeter or myself.
Most people I know who accept their Internet addictions cite its important to their social lives. This is not the case for me. I’ve never really had “Internet friends.” There are probably a few reasons for this but I presume it boils down to my having never been particularly adept at existing online. I’ve come to accept this about myself. I am not witty in the right ways on Twitter. I’ve never really committed to crafting an online persona. Never particularly comfortable sliding into DMs. Beyond that, I’ve never known how to comfortably traverse the social bridge between real and online relationships. I’m irrationally nervous to admit I know someone from online. Yet, I remain online.
In late 2016 (this is relevant, I swear), I saw an up-and-coming band in Brooklyn with a large group comprised of friends and acquaintances from the comedy community. Inside the venue I must’ve recognized a fifth of the crowd from shows, parties and open mics. As such, it was a scene-ier affair than I like my concerts. Shaking hands, kissing babies, etc. instead of just getting super high and catching a vibe. I am, indeed, this type of guy at concerts. But I digress…
At some point, I realized most everyone I said hi to at the show went out of their way to mention how “proud” they were of the band for selling out the sizable venue. Casually dropping how “close” they were with the lead singer of the group, as if they needed me to know they don’t just go to concerts. They had personal reason to be here. This kind of posturing isn’t uncommon in entertainment - I’m guilty of doing it myself - but it felt peculiar that so many people claimed a person I’d barely seen around our relatively small scene as such a dear friend.
I came to learn the lead singer (who uses they/them pronouns) of said band had1 an incredibly active Twitter presence. This clicked things into place. Most of the folks who spoke fondly of them were incredibly online themselves. Still, I found myself wondering how so many people could feel close to someone they barely knew in the physical world? I found this equal parts depressing and dystopian. When I admitted as much to someone I came with, who herself had a sizable Twitter following, she reacted as if I had spit in her eye.
“What’s so weird about having friends you met on Twitter?” I remember her asking in an accusatory tone. “Our lives are all online nowadays. Most of my best friends are people I first met on Twitter. When we have kids they’ll probably meet all their friends through social media platforms.” I probably nodded and responded with something like, “Oh yeah. For sure.” Looking back, I wish I expressed how much her vision of the future fucking terrified me. It still actively terrifies me. I wouldn’t want my baby to come out of the womb addicted to anything…
Despite my acquaintance’s great hope for an incredibly online future, I recently saw she deleted her Twitter. Maybe she reached her limit and decided it was finally time to export her online friends to the real world? I don’t know. I don’t have her number. Still, when I finally muster up the courage to delete it all, I fear I’ll have much less to show for all this wasted time.
Past tense because they’ve since been cancelled for allegedly using their online clout to facilitate numerous instances of sexual misconduct and abandoned their account. The refusal of all these Internet friends to ever really comment on their “close friends’” transgressions feels like a topic in itself, but I can’t pretend to have knowledge of what they did or didn’t say/do in private forums. That said, when the singer tried to make a PR-assisted comeback from cancellation this summer, I didn’t see anyone bragging about knowing him then. There is a degree fickleness to most friendships, but I sense a particular insincerity to most ‘met on social media’ relationships.