I’ve been on some form of social media since I was in elementary school, I think I was 7. I learned how to use the computer in a class I started taking at my school. I was lucky enough to grow up with consistent access to computers. It was the perfect storm. I was able to breeze right through the warnings on the news that parents are so aware of these days, because in the 90s that wasn’t a thing. Back then, my Dad worked at an office where he fixed technical equipment, and I think we got our home computer as a donation from his workplace.
Having grown up without siblings, there was never any competition for a spot in front of our giant tan desktop (Windows 95 baby!!!!!). It sat in my living room, right next to the TV, and this was my home entertainment center. My daily return signified the beginning of a ritual that carries onto this day: get online. My Dad was an absentee father, so he never was an active part of my rearing. My mom studied Computer Programming during her Associates and she was always trying to push me forward, forward, forward in life. She didn’t think that to stare at the screen would stunt my brain growth, or affect my ability to socialize, or make me a violent person... you know, like the way that we all think about technology these days. There was also no talk of horns growing from the base of my neck. So, that was my free pass to use the computer all day, all the time. Older folks hear all this and they’re shook, but people my age (early 20s) are right in the same boat as me.
The first song I ever posted on my Bebo profile was “Hips Don’t Lie,” by Shakira and Wyclef Jean. My background was Winnie the Pooh and sparkling pink and purple glitter stars, superimposed over a black canvas. I look back on these memories fondly because they remind me of a time when my online persona was mostly a reflection of who I truly am, or was, inside — a child. Although pink is still my favorite and I do still love bears, I’m not that person anymore. And I’m not sure that I’ll ever have the chance to express myself so freely and truly ever again.
I used to sit in class and customize my Bebo page for what felt like hours until it was perfect. I loved it. It was fun to express myself via widgets and gifs. It felt private, because my parents couldn’t access it, and public because everyone else could. Eventually, I migrated to Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter, and Snapchat, and Instagram.
Online, I am and have been many things. Onyx Ramirez, Onyx Mane, Onyx Ra, etc. I have tried to be funny, cute, provocative, sensual, sexual, creative, witty, included, and in the know. I think about the number of selfies I have on my account vs. actual pictures taken of me by others. I think about my captions, are they funny enough? Will people judge me if I use a song lyric as my caption? What’s the right amount of presented nonchalance that will get me the likes I need to continue my day and feel good about who I am in society?
Through all this, I’ve never been sure of who I should aim to be. The standard for “should” is, obviously, whatever will make me and my posts the most famous. Whatever will make me feel the most loved by virtual strangers.
There’s no way to be truly real on social media.
I’m not totally unaware of the hit my self-esteem takes when I spend more time scrolling through my feed and seeing folks' posted accomplishments. I see through the bullshit, okay. I know that couples are typically on the verge of breaking up when they post on social media how happy they are. I know that people come across as change-makers and activists when they do their dirt in DMs. I scroll, and scroll, and I hate them. I get angry and put my phone down and judge, which is the point.
I know it’s all fake.
And yet, I update constantly. I waver between disconnecting completely and judging silently as I scroll through the inauthenticity of it all. Every time I open my account, I hope and pray that I’ve gotten more followers online so that I’m valued by society as cool.
My mentor says that young people, people my age, aren’t fooling anyone but themselves when they share online. That the connections that we make with folks online are for the purposes of expanding our worldview, but that’s where the buck stops — you have to continue offline to make it real. And I often think she is right. There’s no way to be truly real on social media.
