Sometimes, the world of social media is mundane and depressing. All strangers are “friends” and all things are “liked.” Everyone is beautiful and fun. The newsfeed scrolls down and down and down and somehow, at some vacant hour of the night, you might find yourself sensually touching your laptop keys, its heat in your lap, as pictures of your friend’s roommate’s 2008 family vacation flash before your eyes. Your profound boredom turns erotic. Don’t blush; it’s the tide of the times. We’re all guilty.
An episode like this adds a strange, nearly invisible film to the world of social relations. Facebook is one of those 21st century innovations that complicates the way we view the world and ourselves. Like any other social space, Facebook is filled with funny nuances that are worthy of meditation. One of these beautifully accidental performances resides in the infamous Facebook Status Hack. (FSH)
The FSH can take on many forms, and varies from what I will call the “generic” hack to the “meaningful” hack. A generic hack only typically takes on one form: “I’m gay” and its manifold variations, like “I like men” or the more lewd “I like dicks in my mouth.” No matter the language, the ultimate aim of the generic status hack is meant to look like the afterglow of sexual catharsis. “Hello world, I’ve found myself, I’m finally me, I love men and I love you!”
While this generic FSH is uncreative, the FSH can also take on a higher form. An artful FSH disrupts the character of any Facebook user’s internet avatar, or their online personality. (Does my Facebook profile imitate me or do I imitate my Facebook profile?) Proper execution requires a working knowledge of the victim. It’s like sarcasm but better because it looks so real to the untrained eye. The typical Facebook user knows a good FSH when he or she sees one. You know…LOL.
Some people know the art form. My friend Pablo is infamous for great FSHs, and I know from first-hand experience. On my Facebook profile, there’s a song from skinhead punk band Skrewdriver sandwiched in between Beyonce’s Love on Top video and a tagged photo of me holding a Pabst tall can. One of these things is not like the other. The status attached to the Skrewdriver link reads, “there’s still hope for white America.” Pablo, nooooooooo! I’m no skinhead! Adoring fans! Can’t you tell this isn’t me?? The glass through which I am window-shopped is tarnished.If I were to mourn, I’d have to weep all the way to therapy. Instead, I laugh. I “like.” Good job, Pablo.
Pablo’s FSH inspired me to explore the FSH because I was shocked that I found it funny at all. Further, I found it strange that I was mostly laughing at myself. Even generic FSHs are funny, albeit mildly offensive. But how can this be? Humor is a tricky type of art. Have we lost our way?
I don’t think so. This vein of humor is self-reflexive; we like to be the butt of our own jokes because we are funny creatures. We do funny things like hang out on the Internet all day and update our statuses for no one in particular and everyone at large. The FSH is funny because it is self-aware. When a person updates their Facebook status, we generally assume it to be genuine. The status is living and breathing because we trust that it is. The FSH challenges our deepest assumptions about Facebook by poking fun at them.
The FSH disrupts the flow, at least momentarily, and allows its captive audience to laugh with the victim and tip a hat to the hacker. But by laughing at a hacked status, Facebook users are also laughing at themselves. The FSH reminds us that Facebook is neither life nor death; it’s just virtual reality.