JULIE
R WORLD with Julie Teckman
T is last month I’ve felt like one of those children who stumbled to the back of the wardrobe only to fi nd themselves in a wonderful but strange new world that only vaguely resembled the one they’d left through the fact that the occupants conveniently spoke English. I haven’t exactly been clambering around in closets (although, with the amount of unworn clothes I own, perhaps I ought to start) but I have entered a rather strange new land ± I ’ve discovered the amazing parallel universe that is the social network! Yes, last month I set up a Facebook site and found myself in a world in which I have been enthusiastically welcomed by a host of friends who have initiated me into the rules and opportunities therein.
Let me explain. Having resisted signing up for years, using well-worn excuses like “I’ve got enough friends, I don’t need online ones” and “I don’t want to share my (boring) life with everyone so everyone realises I’m a delusional liar”, I fi nally realised I was missing out. I’d been to a fabulous party and couldn’t see any of the photos because they were on Facebook and I wasn’t. And so I did what any self-respecting middle-aged social network virgin does, I begged my teenage son to set it up for me. And he did what any self-respecting teenager does, he moaned at me for taking him away from watching puerile videos on YouTube and Tweeting his mates about puerile videos on YouTube and then sorted everything out in about two minutes, fi ngers fl ying around the keyboard at lightening speed and asking questions I couldn’t answer about profi les, photos and posts.
In moments I had a proper Facebook profi le (albeit with a lego-like silhouette head instead of a photograph for reasons I’ll explain later) and half a dozen friends who obligingly welcomed me into the community and suggested I take my full date of birth out (fi rst lesson learned!). It was a truly enhancing experience and I really see now why people get addicted to their Facebook friends. By the time I returned from making a cup of tea, I had about a hundred people Facebook thought I might like to add as friends ± friends of friends, friends of friend’s friends and even one or two relatives and their relatives.
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And then of course I discovered that I could click on their profi les and gatecrash into
their Facebook worlds. It was like being an invisible guest at a really great party where you know no-one but it doesn’t matter because everybody’s happy to tell you all about themselves. I was transported into near strangers’ family albums, holiday snaps, even their arguments with their nearest and dearest. It was all there and laid out for me to dribble over. I even got a poke from God
I begged my teenage son to set it up for
me. And he did what any self-respecting teenager does, he moaned at me...
whose Facebook page is a combination of interesting observations and all-out attacks from other users who don’t think He’s funny. Is He friends with everybody by the way? Because He really ought to be…
So I experienced the heady rush of seeing the little numbers showing on that world symbol at the top of the page as people commented on my posts or, even better, ‘liked’ them. And in turn I ‘liked’ the comments other people made about anything from the deep to the painfully obvious and it felt like
I was patting them on the head and making everybody happy. In no time my happiness was determined by those little numbers and I was addicted to my next ‘fi x’, posting every thought that popped into my head like some low-level philosopher and waiting for the ‘likes’ and comments to leap back at me.
And then reality kicked in. I couldn’t be Mrs Legohead forever hiding behind my silhouette photo like a criminal on a news programme interview. I needed a profi le pic but deciding which one to use was tough. Some people are really photogenic or use studio shots so they look like glamorous movie stars, others choose shots of themselves that show them in exotic locations or with friends and relatives at jolly occasions while the more wacky ones select random images or cartoons, updating them as the mood takes them and enjoying the reactions of others. As a newby I didn’t want to make too much of a statement but neither did I want to look like I was trying too hard, or worse, not hard enough. Photo after photo was rejected on the grounds of making me look old, mad or like one of those ‘before’ photos you see on cosmetic surgery adverts. And then I found the perfect one, I looked casual, caught in the moment and, best of all, you could hardly see my face although it was obviously me. I sent out the message “Hooray, I fi nally have a face” and my brother helpfully posted back, “And that was the best face you could fi nd?”
Next up Twitter. And I’m sure Lord Sugar and Stephen Fry can’t wait…
www.facebook.com/julie.teckman
www.r-magazine.co.uk 61
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