anywhereisbetter

I was sitting in front of my computer screen when it finally sunk in: we were really done for. There would be no reconciliation; it was over. As I sat there staring blankly at her Friendster profile, I knew it was official. She’d changed her relationship status to single, and there was no going back.

Okay, maybe I’m being a tad histrionic; maybe that wasn’t the defining moment when I realized that it was time to move on. But I won’t lie‚ even though I’d changed my profile to ‚Äúsingle days before, it still bothered me to see that she’d done the same. For all the real life events leading up to that day, for all the reasons I knew that we were done, it is ironic that a few words on some dumb website out in cyberspace managed to make it feel more real. If I hadn’t felt it myself, I’d say it was about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. But I’m hardly the only person for whom such digital interactions have held such significance. The simple fact is that sometimes, it seems like we treat online personas in the same regard as the flesh and blood behind them‚ sometimes higher.

I don’t pretend to speak for every person of my age group, but certainly this is a generational phenomenon, and one I think is only becoming more prevalent. For those even a few years older than us, who spent their formative years getting their bad music from MTV rather than downloading it illegally from the Internet, the way we think of and use the Internet may be fairly incomprehensible. Why divulge your personal details, however trivial they may be, on a publicly accessible website for all of the world to browse? I don’t completely understand it myself. But that hasn’t stopped me from filling out online profiles, setting up wish lists on sites like Amazon, and of course, building this dumb website. Old friends, relatives, babymommas, and tax collectors can all run a simple Google search and discover an awful lot of information about me. A slightly more in-depth query would reveal my hobbies, musical tastes, school attendance and graduation dates, and the address of just about every place I’ve ever lived. Unless you’ve gone to uncommon lengths to cover your own tracks, the same holds for just about anyone that’s ever had a telephone, email address, domain name, or online profile.

But as much as a few simple clicks of the mouse can divulge about a person on the Internet, the degree to which a person’s true identity is revealed online is seriously limited. Our real life selves are distinct from our online alter egos, and in some ways, the two aren’t very closely related. Online, we act differently‚ we behave according to a different code of conduct. We write terse emails with barbaric grammar and abhorrent punctuation. We use ridiculous acronyms like BTW, ROFL, and TTYL. And cyber-stalking isn’t just a little less creepy than regular stalking‚ it’s relatively commonplace. Tell me you haven’t googled someone only to discover too much information (aka, TMI, btw). Matlock couldn’t discover half the shit we find within seconds online. WTF?

To protect the boundaries between the real world and Planet Internet, I think it’s important to make certain distinctions between the two. For instance, I’m sure you know that there is a big difference between friends and friendsters. The Oxford American Dictionary defines a friend as a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations (note the impressive use of the object whom), but the bar for friendsters is much lower. All you need to do is find my profile and click that friend request button. If I even vaguely remember you from some kind of interaction somewhere, you’re probably in. Maybe that makes me a Friendster slut, but that’s my online self; it doesn’t make me a real life slut. That’s information I reserve for my real life friends.

If you’re going to engage in any kind of online dating‚ and it seems that nearly every single person around my age in New York City has done so at some point or another‚ it’s very important to understand the distinction between cute and e-cute. The differences should be obvious: cute girls are, well, cute; e-cute girls look cute in their online pictures. But as any photographer‚ or unfortunate blind date to the e-cute‚ can tell you, pictures can be deceiving. So the equation (for girls) works like this: some e-cute girls are cute, and most cute girls are e-cute. But not all e-cute girls are cute, and some e-cute girls are just funny looking. And some are ugly. Or worse. And fyi, the equation works pretty much the same way for guys. Got it? If I had more ambition, I’d draw you a Venn diagram, but instead you’ll just have to pretend. (And if you’ve really got a thing for Venn, you can go here.)

Perhaps most importantly, it’s imperative that we remember that our true character is almost always distorted, manipulated, or outright discarded online. If your only exposure to me is through this site, for example, you probably think I’m a marginally funny but vainly verbose culture snob with an aversion to adulthood and an insufferable sense of self-importance. In real life, however, I also have tattoos. That’s the kind of thing you won’t just won’t find out on the Internet. No, uncovering a person’s true self online isn’t easy.

So think twice next time you’re filling out profile information for some stupid website. It’s okay to hide the fact that you truly love post-Wham! era Andrew Ridgeley for fear of being judged by your indy rock friendsters, but if you’re going to post pictures, make sure they actually look like you. Even if you’re ugly. That way, the next time your ex sees that you’ve finally changed your relationship status back to single, they’ll be able to find some amount of solace in the fact that you were one hideous creature anyway.

No offense intended to any of my ex-girlfriends, none of whom are ugly. Well, none of whom were ugly, anyway.