I rarely friend anyone. But I also rarely turn down a friend request—infrequent as they are—even if the potential connection is sketchier than a $100 Breitling. The result is a pretty random bunch of people, loosely tied together by the theory that we kind of, sorta know each other.
Obviously, part of social marketing’s allure is earned media. The free pass along and the untold value of a perceived endorsement by an influencer or someone, anyone other than the marketer. There are other real and perceived benefits, of course, but cheap promotion by people who might actually carry a little weight with potential consumers is the same kind of dream that pulled all of those pioneers into the American west.
But the clock is already ticking. How long before marketers have alienated or simply bored the social crowd? Worse, how long before they are ignored entirely? Could the fall of Facebook be as dramatic as its rise?
I’m sure that my loose approach to social network building and maintenance is largely responsible for my growing ambivalence. But nevertheless, when it comes to Facebook, I can hardly invest in the daily turn of my friends’ lives much less care about targeted products and services that are about as subtle as the cast of Jersey Shore.
I have largely given up on using the status update to dutifully wish people happy birthday, or be publicly thankful to Veterans for their service, or like people’s causes or political manifestos. I am also becoming less and less friendly to the microaction and the personal fundraiser request. Not that I don’t understand and appreciate all of these things—it’s hard to ignore the communal tug for the more worthwhile and interesting tidbits that pop up in the feed—but it feels like I’m piling on most of the time or only doing something symbolic. Thanks Facebook for making me smarter, but you’re also making me feel less sincere.
I’m guessing that what’s really happening is that the more I care about everything, the less I truly care about anything. So my reaction (which is usually no action at all) is to like, comment and post erratically—an approach grounded in unrepentant impulsivity. Is there an algorithm that accounts for my social ADD? Probably, but that’s not really the point. While you can correct for some of my social schizophrenia, you can’t necessarily solve for my growing disengagement. And engagement is critical to the online social compact.
I’m hoping that the randomness of my life is not unique and that the sure creep toward isolation is more collective than it feels. I suspect that there are an increasing number of similarly causal sects held together by the thinnest of social threads, and the belief that it’s easier to tolerate or hide some of the more bizarre ramblings of loosely connected “friends” than to delete them from your network entirely. In fact, who is even aware that their growing disaffection might be attributable to the quality of their network?
Is a marketing approach that is built on presumptive affinity and a flawed belief in shared values and interests any more effective than the mass marketing we’re trying to replace?
The girl from high school that I don’t really remember is every bit as disruptive as brand x ever was or could be because I let her into my semi-private gated community where she relentlessly bombards me with social spam. I might hide her eventually, but I’m just not that diligent a network pruner and the fact that there are plenty more where she came from—even in my small circle—is telling.
And if you can’t tolerate the content, why would you stomach the marketing?
