Computer Blew

Anatomy of a Facebook Rage-Quit

We’ve all been there.  One day you wake up and just decide to throw in the towel.  Maybe you’re sick of the constant stream of invitations to Zynga games, or the older relatives who snoop through your posts like a mother through a sock drawer.  Maybe you’ve got one friend with serious emotional issues who uses the status update as a therapy session.  Maybe you’ve just had enough of your friends’ embarrassingly bad Spotify playlists. 

Whatever the reason you’re rage-quitting Facebook, the process follows a predictable arc.  I know because I’ve done it four times.

1. Inception.

The idea is planted.  Perhaps by one of the preceding grievances.  Perhaps you just saw The Social Network again and think that Zuckerberg guy is kind of a dick.  Regardless, Facebook just isn’t doing it for you anymore.  You can’t remember the last time you used it to share anything relevant.  You express discomfort at the amount of lurkers in your friend list, and depression upon viewing the profiles of your high school graduating class.  You give serious thought to migrating to Google+.  You remember how easy it was to rage-quit MySpace.  You don’t realize that quitting Myspace is the equivalent of giving up grande mocha lattes for Lent, and quitting Facebook is like going cold turkey on heroin cigarettes.

2. Exhiliration.

You take the plunge.  Your last act is to post Percy Shelley’s Ozymandias on your Favorite Quotations section.  In a Randian display of your own greatness, you tear down the glorious temple you have built to yourself and relish in the thought of the unwashed masses languishing for want of your witty status updates and expertly shot photo albums.  You congratulate yourself for your ability to thrive off the grid.  You contemplate taking a solo bike ride across the continental U.S. with nothing but a beat up copy of Walden to keep you company.  You wonder how best to inform friends of your achievement.

3. Boredom.

It turns out the internet is actually kind of boring.  Reddit forums seem disorganized.  Updates get lost in Twitter.  Creepy business acquaintances look you up on LinkedIn.  You still haven’t done anything with Google+.  You begin to miss being in the loop.  “What’s that?  Your mom’s neighbor’s dog had puppies and they need a good home?  Well I didn’t know that!”  You develop a sense of paranoia that you are not being invited to parties.  Your paranoia is validated.  Your life begins to resemble that one episode of the Twilight Zone where everybody dies in a nuclear war and Burgess Meredith finally has time to read his books.  But then he breaks his glasses and he can’t.  You know the one I mean.

4. Relapse.

It starts with a close friend or significant other calling you over to the computer to look at something.  It could be new baby pictures, it could be an English Bulldog on a zipline.  It doesn’t matter.  You realize you need your fix.  You decide you miss the laziness of simply clicking a mouse to “like” something, without having to justify it using your imprecise human words.  You miss the self-esteem bump from having hundreds of friends wish you a happy birthday.  You miss voyeurism.  Most importantly, you miss being able to complain about something, without the responsibility and consequences of actually taking action.  And so, like a child who had run away to the end of the block, you log back in.  Your profile and all your friends are magically restored, because Facebook knew you weren’t really serious about quitting anyway.  Facebook urges you to tell everyone what you’ve been up to.  You share your adventure.