Do you suffer from Facebook anxiety disorder?
Do you often log in, glance at your newsfeed and think, “Where did I go wrong?”
Do you obsessively check the info pages of people you couldn’t care less about only to make sure their successes are meager compared to your own? Do you find yourself looking at attractive photos of others and snarking, “Has she had work done? I don’t think she had that nose in high school.”
Do you find yourself scrutinizing the bachelorette party/wedding/baby shower photos of people you hardly know, wondering why you weren’t invited and thinking you would look much better pregnant or in a strapless white gown?
Do your friends’ status updates reflect their compelling, ever-evolving lives (Look! My growing baby bump!) (Off to Haiti to raise money for orphaned children) of high school classmates you would have otherwise cease to care about were Facebook a passing fancy during Mr. Zukerberg’s Harvard years?
Do you consider taking down your profile because then you, like all the other losers who are not on Facebook, would seem mysterious instead of lame?
Do you consider friending random strangers who put their pets or cartoons they resemble as their profile pics, simply because you know they are uglier than you in real life?
Do you ever wonder how all of your self-absorbed, socially obtuse, emotionally imbalanced, hopelessly pedestrian, and achingly needy former classmates/camp friends/exes all ended up with husbands (lawyers! doctors! consultants! gah!) while you, neurotic and unstable as you may be, are still being chided by your mother about not going on J-date?
Do you ever meditate on the irony that, thought you are about to earn your masters in mere days, your life is somehow a vapid black hole compared to the virtual domestic bliss of your counterparts?
Do you ever get so sick of being involuntarily subscribed to the daily serials of your friend’s lives – My Husband is Amazing, Your Last Boyfriend Is a Douchebag (and probably the next one, too) or My Baby Pooped Today: Why I Love being a Mommy.
If you’ve said yes, then you too might be suffering from FAD. Join me and those four nerds from NYU as we create our own network – and you’re not invited.
I move back to Chicago in six weeks, so wish me luck. Perhaps I’ll find a stuffed shirt and produce little miscreants of my very own.