Coming of Age in the Age of Social Media

Post Generation Z, single letter markers feel unofficially defunct.

So, I thought it would be a good idea to come up with Generation So-Me. We live in times of Social Media, Besides, it’s all about ME, my SELFies, and all that yadda-yadda absorption.

Of course, we were raised to think it was all about us. We even had our own space.

Remember, we learned to pose right out of the crib? The attentive lens followed us, as it relentlessly tracked our growing years. We got used to several versions; Grandma’s large iPad, mom and dad’s varied smart phones, video and regular cameras. They loomed over us like unwanted appendages, until we saw what they could do.

How did an innocuous brag book turn into an incontrollable swag fest?

A worthy moment becomes one more addition to the photocollage on impossibly perfect parenting skills. Our milestones become their showcase opportunities. That frosted cake, this thematic party, these creative costumes, those fun games; the ensuing celestial comments and heavenly likes the world gives to perfect parents are preserved in albums stored in clouds. We quickly learn views and comments directly correlate with the amount we’re all loved and cherished.

Clips from all corners of the globe stream with impossibly talented babies and children. They up our game to perform at unrealistic levels. Mediocrity brings within us a crippling guilt. Every Youtuber has something better to show. Where do we fit if we don’t perform?

There’s creativity in every picturesque shot for your pleasure. We’re your gliding swans on surface, but webbed feet working furiously under water, are for our eyes only. We learned from the best. Our attractiveness is shaped by you.

In this modern world, it’s comforting some things still are traditional. Learning was passed on from parents. Swanned-around in picture-perfect settings for your delight, we relive memories from digital footage. Their loving and private date night? Posted only for thousand friends for approval. We’re glad they edited out daily spats. You must admit, those memories are simply not attractive.

It did not take us long to imbibe this instant gratification. Is privacy a privilege? We think reposts, retweets, and shares mean the world really likes us. We’re so special, and we have much potential. With good luck and work, we buy into the hope of joining influencers with million plus hits.

Your affirmations are Pavlovian reinforcements.

A perpetual onus is thrust upon us. We must make the world like and follow us. We will get our ACT together. “Children should be seen and heard; they’re performers”. We’ll complain and act naughty only if there’s that promise of going viral.

Our parents have prepped us well to glide into the world the way you like. Our early roles in parental Facebook world handed us a digital album of endless pouts and profiles, angelic smiles and beatific angles given easily on demand. Every personal moment is a (screen) shot seen and heard around the world. We’re now primed to navigate every social space in virtual, augmented and multidimensional, futuristic ways. Relax, we got this!

In a world where it feels normal to be trotted out and propped up, have celebrities replaced thinkers? Are we are living in our world or acting out video vignettes in yours? How did everyone count before this democratic (small “d”) celebrity status?

They’re compelling, these likes and comments.

Why, seasoned climbers literally went over a cliff in the quest to get one great “grammable” moment for you, their followers. The importance of your validation to their passion of the sport cannot be overlooked. Did adventure adrenalin relinquish the driver’s seat to digital dopamine?

Big Medium delivers on promise to make a celebrity of anyone. Narcissus did learn his lesson, are we about to learn ours?

Is the world a stage or is the stage our world? Should our reality be someone’s fantasy? How do you want us today? Flexible or funny, talented or tacky, wonderful or wacky? Do you like our thoughts, or do we put forth thoughts we think you would like? Do we think independently, or do we think for how you think about us?

The cloak of self-absorption sometimes frays to let in brief pinhole lights of critical thought. Could Gen So-Me not actually be about I, Me, and Myself? Have we become enablers of different versions of truth and Rashomon realities? Your viewing power seems absolute, and you constantly sculpt authenticity. Sometimes, the answer lies beyond echo chambers, feedback buttons and creative emojis.

Then who are we really?

An exhaustion of thought must not afflict the performing creature. Too much investment has gone on in shaping a persona with perceptions of likes and comments, retweets and reposts, shares and clicks, bounce rates, polls, and stats. Besides, the fear of being used or having followers stolen hangs like a paranoia.

"Look Ma, you’re wrong! There are free lunches. "

The biggest allure is to become a celebrity with no entry fee. The promise of digital equality means no one is barred from entering. It seems like so much fun to be on top.

But,

did anyone see a board like this while navigating at top speed on the congested information super highway?

ADVANCE WARNING

1. Prepare to connect with thousands of impossibly perfect people all over the world, maybe millions more!

2. Now prepare to be lonely-actually very, very lonely.

Are we enviable enough? Can we influence in likeable ways? Do you wish to be like me without knowing you turned me into what you want me to be? What is the limited number of characters to grab and capture your attention span? Liking mediocrity is no big deal when mediocrity loves you back. Are we influencers or the influenced? And when in this vicious cycle did we turn such slaves for world approval?

There’s got to be that escape key somewhere. The pressure’s simply too much to bear. Somewhere in the race comes the realization the summit is atop a dehumanized heap. The unspoken mantra is to survive or to perish.

We walk adroitly on the edge of a sword with a sacred knowledge: You have the power to pull us down as easily as you prop us up. A twenty-year-old influencer’s vacuous life takes precedence over pressing crises. The days of The Scarlet Letter are not left behind; we have only made it worse. Public shaming has grown from the small-town level to global platforms on steroid speed.

If we slip up badly, can we come back greater or be that object of ridicule? It’s a fine art to spin crisis to opportunity. Can we still craft a “just-enough” winning remorse to draw out collective empathy? Or, are we learning to make mistakes out in the world, and learning about the power of genuine apology?

This Me in Media is manufactured out of smoke and mirrors. The aggrandizing in the me, Me, ME, ME is alluring, but something’s weirdly off in this “Me” detached from the “I.”

Big Medium is a celebrity equal-opportunity bait. If I say I don’t want to be a goldfish in glass bowl anymore, will “It” liberate or pour me out to dry? This Wild West appeal gives grease to squeaky wheels. And those wheels run in tracks built with promises of autonomous thought where collective attention is the reward. In this large grind of things, will a thinking cog be a misfit?

I confess I sometimes want to share my honest, unvarnished self. I can bring back the original pictures devoid of airbrushing, skin-smoothening, and figure altering. Will I still be of interest? Will my fickle following change?

If I hold ground with fair, independent thoughts, can it help disrupt systemic flaws, or will the public opinion court not allow for this? Will they crush my sincere intent, and spit me out as that “how-not-to” meme? I don’t worry, for my world likes schadenfreude. They will pile on the negative attention and skewer me with judgment. This will cement my relevance, and a massive trend uptick will be my reward.

I’m not afraid of losing likes, followers, the fame or the notoriety. If I get off playing by this system’s insidious rules, it will not take long to be dropped like one hot potato. In the rolling feed of instant gratification, the spotlight will not miss me, and I may even find relief.

The real fear though, is not in oblivion; it lies in being existentially forgotten.

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Author's Note: This entry won a prize in the Prestigious Writer's Digest Competition in the Personal Essay/Memoirs category. In this culture of oversharing, perhaps this could serve as a way to see both sides of an issue. I wrote this over two years ago, and things remain the same. I have ever-so-slightly edited it to include a continuing story.

A free-spirited, IG famous young woman's life and untimely demise is all over the news today. Her gentle life was snuffed out while sharing her "Van Living," as she crisscrossed the country. Coincidentally, when the Challenge popped up as "Coming of Age," I decided to enter with this essay titled the same as a reminder.

This entry is dedicated to all youngsters traveling in the uncharted highways and bylanes of Social Media.