FRIENDS, IN THE AGE OF SOCIAL MEDIA

Recently I received an email from a recruiting firm informing me that I have been chosen as a referee for one of their applicants. I read further and discovered that it was a former student from a one-week workshop that I taught, that had me listed as a job reference, and when asked to describe our relationship, he wrote “lecturer and friend.” Later that week, someone I’ve never met introduced me in an email as “my good friend Henry.” A few days later, a virtual stranger who has tweeted me a few times retweeted an article I wrote with the adjoining note by “my friend Henry.” After I had made a comment on Facebook, one chap made reference to it adding as “a friend of Henry’s,” when our interactions have consisted only of a series of Facebook comments and one email.

I “virtually” like all of these people, but I wouldn’t describe any of them as my friends—I think that misrepresents how well we know each other and the kind of the bond between us. In this social media era, the boundaries on friendship have expanded dramatically. Someone recently, obviously after series of Facebook chats, called my sister a “dear friend” but didn’t bother to attend her wedding. Judging from recent friend requests, my friends apparently includes persons who ignored me in secondary school, a distant cousin’s university classmate, a colleague’s ex, my girlfriend’s former neighbour whom I can vaguely remember, and some guy who sat at a table near me at a watering-hole.

If you want to avoid committing the faux pas of describing a colleague or an acquaintance as a friend, there are certain rules you must follow to use the term. At the outset you need to have actually met the “person” in person. I once saw a phrase that states, “On the internet, nobody knows you’re a dog,” therefore if you’ve only connected by twitter, Facebook, email or phone, even if they are a real person, there’s no substitute for the trust that can be developed from meeting face-to-face.

In addition to this you know embarrassing things about each other that don’t show up in a Google search. Studies have consistently shown that self-disclosure—opening up and making yourself vulnerable—are one of the strongest drivers of close relationships. My friends know that despite the clumsy or absence of good lyrics, I still have a questionable like for Timaya’s music. They accept the fact that I still consider myself a “Christian,” despite not seeing the gates of a church for over ten years, not to talk of calling myself a catholic. We’ve had meaningful experiences together; as friendships are expected to involve mutual activities and shared memories. If you’ve never gone window-shopping together, was the wingman when you were chasing skirts, played a sport or game together, attended a party together, or played a prank on someone together, you’re probably not friends.

Not unless one of my friends becomes the president, we can call each other without scheduling a conversation. So, if you have to schedule an appointment on someone’s calendar to talk, you haven’t cleared the friendship bar. And when we discuss we never discuss politics, or ask “How are you doing?” we say, “How Far?” and that sums up the salutations. Neither do we bother ourselves with small talk, even though we go months without talking, we still pick up as if we’ve never skipped a beat. We lunge into deep conversations about love, life, and that infuriating conclusion of The Blacklist where Red kept us speculating.

Most of all we help each other without keeping score. We do not follow the norm of reciprocity as most people do in professional relationships; when they do someone a favour, and expect an equal one back. There’s no “I owe you one.” In my kind of friendships, the norm shifts from reciprocity to generosity. We focus on what our friends’ need, not what we can get back from them. Instead of keeping tallies of credits and debts, we give whenever we can.

However, what I value most in friendship, is the critical feedback that they give that I don’t want to hear, but need to hear. We never give “constructive” criticisms; rather we dole out a bull’s eye kind of censure. We have the carrying capacity to withstand criticism and bounce back from strain. My friends knows that harsh truth is compassionate… and if I’m wearing something ridiculous, they don’t sugar coat, they bluntly say, ‘You look like a monkey,’ and it saves me all the time.

Therefore, if you’re reading this post on my blog or any other, you’re probably not my friend, because if you’re my friend, you would know better than to read my purple-spews.