Me, you and everyone we know—on Facebook

Are there any private moments left for us?

Filmmaker Kiran Rao, who comes from a middle class home, says very little about her life has changed since she married Bollywood star Aamir Khan. Except that she has become more conscious of how she dresses in public, knowing that she will be photographed when she steps out for an evening or an event.

“I couldn’t land up in Bata chappals,” she tells me. In my head, I’m thinking, isn’t this true for all of us right now, surrounded by snapperazi with smart phones, hooked to social media, turning most moments into ‘events’ with family, friends, and above all, with self? Only the numbers consuming those images might differ.

It’s hard not to accidentally photo bomb even when you’re at the local coffee shop, because somebody is getting #cappuccino #truelove with #BFF #RandomMonday. The grey T-shirt you wore last week that you repeated last night, the zit on your forehead and the bad hair day— all of it was reproduced for posterity’s sake and sartorial scrutiny on Facebook, and is currently being watched by hundreds of people you may not even know.

Pop psychology has a term for all sorts of mental allergies—ombrophobia (fear of rain), triskaidekaphobia (fear of the number 13), arachibutyrophobia (fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth). Yet, there is no word for someone’s morbid aversion of being photographed. I suffer from it, like many others who can’t hold a pose or fake a smile for too long. I’ve had to seek self-cure, because frankly there is no escape—unless you wish to perenially be a thorn in the company of friends and acquintances who are keen on stashing each public/ private moment into an appropriately large online folder that serves as PR pap for what all they’ve done, where all they’ve been, and who all they’ve met.

Within a decade, Facebook became a republic of a billion plus. The modus operandi of its younger residents, for the most part, is still not vastly different from the platform’s original intent. Of course, by now, families and grannies have joined the social network; it’s a matter of time before kids will find another room.

To be fair, we’re all central characters of a movie named after us. Existence on social media could turn some people into competing blockbusters. But if you’re a guy, it’s a checkmate, buddy.

It’s common knowledge that Facebook started out as a college platform to rate women as hot or not, much like Tinder, currently a popular dating app. Therefore, it is not surprising that unlike films, Facebook is favourably skewed towards female lead characters. The rapidly rising number of ‘likes’ as a woman changes her profile picture seem like coins jangling once you’ve hit jackpot on the slot machine. This sort of instant validation could be addictive.

You would earlier seek a photographer for this vanity fix; with the selfie, you can keep clicking yourself until you’ve captured the perfect frame to upload, and then lie back, relax, and read the onrush of witty comments online: ‘Wow,’ ‘So pretty,’ ‘That is hot’, ‘Woohoo’. If I was a woman, I would do this all day: when in doubt, round your lips, and pout. All timelines are a series of the same selfie poses, garnering a minimum 100 ‘likes’ each.

The ‘usie’ (a group selfie), of course, looks no different from the large set of party snaps with anonymous folks I would endlessly scroll past on my wall when I first got addicted to Facebook. Technically, I wasn’t being voyeuristic, since the access was by invitation. These people sharing the time of their lives were my Facebook ‘friends’.

Provoked by the Fear of Missing Out (#FOMO), I decided to attend the real life party of the most happening singles’ club on my timeline, because y’know, You Only Live Once (#YOLO). The party wasn’t half as exciting as the carefully timed photos on Facebook. After the mad poses, the guests would un-freeze and return to a dull night at the bar.

Over time, I realised that nobody is as hot or happy as they appear on Facebook. It is merely their public face, because that’s just the way we are, whether we like it or not: famous for 15 minutes on someone’s timeline.

In the offline heterosexual world, men size up women (regardless of how they’re clothed), and women check out other women for what they are wearing. It can’t be too different on Facebook. I guess I’m safe then. What choice does one have but to feel so? I can’t do without the chappals and one can’t avoid getting clicked anymore.

About The Author

Mayank Shekhar