No surprise: Facebook is the most used social network. As tracked in this graph from Compete.com, it's steadily overtaken MySpace in terms of unique monthly visitors:
The most recent metrics (September 2009) show that:
- Facebook had nearly 125 million unique monthly visitors (a 200 percent increase over the prior year)
- MySpace had only 50 million unique visitors (an 11 percent decrease from the prior year)
So, why's it so popular? What's the appeal? Because I'm not a Facebook user, I asked my wife (who is) to give me a tour. She pointed out her Wall and some of the key features of the site -- News Feed, Profile, Photos, etc.
She also stressed the importance of privacy settings. As she talked, the image that rose in my mind was that of a hostess at a party, gliding from one conversation to the next, customizing her remarks based on how well she knew (and trusted) each guest.
I can see the appeal -- if not the insistent, addictive pull -- of having access to a constant stream of tips, anecdotes, and observations from my network of "friends" (no matter how loosely that term is applied). Facebook is a convenient one-stop shop for sending and receiving messages, storing photos, viewing that unwinding ticker tape that is the lives of others.
The challenge I have with Facebook (as with other social networking sites) -- who has hours each week (day?) to devote to them? And what of the depth and quality of these interactions? An article in the Nov. 5 London Times asserts that "The Internet is Killing Storytelling":The internet, while it communicates so much information so very effectively, does not really “do” narrative. The blog is a soap box, not a story. Facebook is a place for tell-tales perhaps, but not for telling tales. The long-form narrative still does sit easily on the screen, although the e-reader is slowly edging into the mainstream. Very few stories of more than 1,000 words achieve viral status on the internet. Meanwhile, a generation is tuned, increasingly and sometimes exclusively, to the cacophony of interactive chatter and noise, exciting and fast moving but plethoric and ephemeral. The internet is there for snacking, grazing and tasting, not for the full, six-course feast that is nourishing narrative. The consequence is an anorexic form of culture.
The debate rages on about the value of tweeting, texting, and posting... and there's no shortage of detractors. "The Greatest Generation (of Networkers)," a recent article in the Wall Street Journal, had this to say:
This generation has a gift for multitasking, and because they've integrated technology into their lives, their ability to remain connected to each other will serve them and their employers well. Others contend that these hyper-socializers are serial time-wasters, that the bonds between them are shallow, and that their face-to-face interpersonal skills are poor. "The unspoken attitude is, 'I don't need you. I have the Internet,'" says P.M. Forni, the 58-year-old director of the Civility Initiative at Johns Hopkins University, which studies politeness and manners. "The Net provides an opportunity to play hide-and-seek, to say and not say, to be truthful and to pretend. There is a lot of communication going on that is futile and trivial."
That's far too harsh an assessment, says Ben Bajarin, 32, a technology analyst at Creative Strategies, a consulting firm in Campbell, Calif. He argues that because young people are so adept at multimedia socializing, their social skills are actually strengthened. They're good at "managing conversations" and getting to the pithy essence of an issue, he says, which will help them in the workplace....
"They know how to optimize and prioritize..." [says Mr. Bajarin] And given their vast network of online acquaintances, they discover people who can become true friends or valued business colleagues—people they wouldn't have been able to find in the pre-Internet era.
Though I can see (and appreciate) the social angle, I'm afraid I'm just too pragmatic/utilitarian. When I get on the Internet, I'm looking for information: the answer to a question. I'm not thinking 24/7 about what my "friends" are doing or what's on their minds. If I want to check in with them, I send an email, pick up the phone, or (can you believe it?) sit down and have lunch with them. (Which is not to say I shouldn't be actively striving to expand my network...)
Also, as with any social networking site, users (especially younger ones) have to be careful about the information they share... and who truly qualifies as a "friend." People have to realize how public, and permanent, postings are. Crazy remarks or compromising pictures could not only prove embarrassing but be extremely damaging (i.e., behave responsibly, actions have consequences).
Unfortunately, the consequences of an online life may be more profound -- and insidious -- than that, as Nicholas Carr proposed in the Atlantic:
For me, as for others, the Net is becoming a universal medium, the conduit for most of the information that flows through my eyes and ears and into my mind. The advantages of having immediate access to such an incredibly rich store of information are many, and they’ve been widely described and duly applauded. “The perfect recall of silicon memory,” Wired’s Clive Thompson has written, “can be an enormous boon to thinking.” But that boon comes at a price. As the media theorist Marshall McLuhan pointed out in the 1960s, media are not just passive channels of information. They supply the stuff of thought, but they also shape the process of thought. And what the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. My mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.
I’m not the only one. When I mention my troubles with reading to friends and acquaintances—literary types, most of them—many say they’re having similar experiences. The more they use the Web, the more they have to fight to stay focused on long pieces of writing. Some of the bloggers I follow have also begun mentioning the phenomenon. Scott Karp, who writes a blog about online media, recently confessed that he has stopped reading books altogether. “I was a lit major in college, and used to be [a] voracious book reader,” he wrote. “What happened?” He speculates on the answer: “What if I do all my reading on the web not so much because the way I read has changed, i.e. I’m just seeking convenience, but because the way I THINK has changed?”