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FACEBOOK IS PEOPLE Have you noticed more ads along your news feed? Blame Facebook’s IPO.
Closing the Book How I quit Facebook, kept my privacy and didn’t help Mark Zuckerberg make billions BY ELISE KNUTSEN
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n May 25, as his brainchild company went public, Mark Zuckerberg’s face filled the multistory video screen adorning the Times Square Reuters Building, his image a grinning vision of triumph—little brother as Big Brother. In the 30 seconds after the bell rang at the NASDAQ exchange, more than 80 million shares were traded, and with the IPO (or, really, the night before, when
underwriting banks bought the stock from Facebook), Zuckerberg made $25 billion. But he wasn’t making any money off me. I joined Facebook in 2007, when you still had to identify your school to become a member. Carefully curated pics were promptly uploaded to my profile, and soon I was scrutinizing my future college classmates, accepting friend requests with bright-eyed, bushy-tailed pride. I was never really addicted to Facebook, but for several years I would log on at least once daily, friending old summer-camp
acquaintances and lustfully stalking sweet Laxers (look it up). After a while, however, I found posting and viewing spring-break beach shots (cellulite airbrushed out, cleavage brushed in) vaguely vulgar. The entire site seemed to be based around a strange, selfbranding tango of exhibitionism and voyeurism. Still, I maintained my account to keep in touch with friends, to make sure my little sister didn’t post any photos she would live to regret and to participate in the enduring who-looked-hot/-not dialogue with my peers. Initially, I was even excited by the sharp-shot targeted ads. “Eee-gadz!
I do want to check out that conflictfree diamond tennis bracelet, I do want to support Prop. 19 and I do want to invest in blue-light acne treatment!” I found myself cooing over and over again. But after a while, Facebook’s apparent telepathy had me jittery. I was a twenty-something, prep-school-educated Californian with a hazily expressed penchant for all things acceptably unorthodox, and Mark Zuckerberg and his army of youthful-genius programmers had successfully pigeonholed me. I found myself fitting perfectly into the Facebook algorithm (or, rather, it fitting perfectly into me), and no number of Grateful Dead dancing-