FOMO, Facebook and Feeling Fabulous

When asked to comment about how much the advertising and fashion industries retouch photography, supersmart supermodel Cindy Crawford once joked "I wish I looked like Cindy Crawford." In other words, even someone that close to perfection had been artificially enhanced. A lot.

These days, I think many of us are artificially — or I should say, digitally — enhancing not just our looks but our lives. Or, to paraphrase Cindy ...

"I wish my life looked like my Facebook page."

Here's what I post on Facebook on a regular basis:

- Pretty pictures of the beach from my morning walks
- Blooming flowers from our garden
- Vacation scenes from weekends away
- My teenage daughter the way she looks at a horse show, pressed and dressed
- Drinks and dinners with friends from out of town
- Thin, youthful, flattering pictures of myself

Here's what I don't post:

- Photos of the massive construction project I walk through to get to the beach
- Our withered impatiens which all died from something called "downy mildew"
- Everyday scenes from weekends of household chores and grocery shopping
- My daughter the way she looks at the stable, caked in mud and manure
- Microwaved leftovers, eaten standing in the kitchen 
- Any pictures in which I look like the love child of Dame Edna and Eraserhead 

Yeah, I wish my life looked like my Facebook page. Everyone is fabulous there.

There is an inherent showing-off-ish-ness to the whole social media experience. Would I post a picture of my daughter's A+ English paper? Sure! Would I post one of her B-? Probably not. (Actually, I wouldn't post either, but I know moms who do.) On Facebook, we tend to emphasize (overemphasize) the very good rather than the just normal. Through our posts, we turn up the volume on the minority of life's extraordinary moments, and turn it way down on the majority of the ordinary.

Do we look as good as we do on Facebook? No. Are our lives as interesting as they are on Facebook? No. Are we as funny, smart, happy or popular as we are on Facebook? No, no, no, no.

Chances are, if we're on Facebook, we're living a little bit of a lie. And since we're all doing it, we're all suffering from the same thing: FOMO.

FOMO is the fear of missing out. It's not a new idea, but it's changing. When I was a teenager, I might have been aware that I had been excluded from a party, but aside from some jealousy, I could distract myself and move on. Today, if my teen daughter is left out of a gathering, she can be there virtually. She can go on Facebook (or myriad other social sites) and vicariously participate. Oh look, there's the birthday girl blowing out her candles! Oh look, there's my crush with his arm around another girl! Oh look, there are five of my closest BFFs having a blast and not giving my absence a second thought! 

With Facebook, you're a digital fly on the wall. 24/7. Kinda creepy, isn't it?

Even the most popular teens (and moms) worry that they might be missing something. So, they (we) check Facebook incessantly. And — guess what? — we're always going to be missing something. Someone will always have a better job, a bigger house. And all that envy is exhausting. So, we weave better, bigger versions of ourselves. If we're going to suffer from FOMO, we're going to make damn sure that other people do too. And so the vicious circle continues.

Here's what I propose. Let's take the phrase (oxymoronic as it may be) "Truth in advertising" and flip it to "Factual on Facebook." Let's declare one day when everyone agrees to make their Facebook pages exaggeration-free, when we post the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." 

Instead of saying "Home with my honey. Still my best friend after 21 years. So happy," we say "Long day at work, no energy to go out. Spouse is in the other room watching baseball. So bored."

Or instead of "Wow. Really proud of my teenage son. Varsity next year. Can't wait," we'll say "Damn. Really hoped he wouldn't make the team. Can't believe I'll be driving to games three times a week. Where's the pinot?"

Factual on Facebook, that's the ticket. And, I'll start. Soon. Really.

But, first I have to go on Facebook and see what I've missed while writing this.

Caps and Gowns and Bygones

'Tis the season. 

No, not that one. 'Tis the season when proud mamas and papas post beaming photos of their offspring wearing caps and gowns and goofy grins. 

Graduation.

I have mixed feelings about it.

This year, our family attended the college graduation of the son of my closest friend from my own college days. (Got all that?) Then, I attended a high school graduation party for another dear friend's son. And, my daughter, who rides her horse with girls slightly older, attended some ceremonies and parties as well.

We have seen the future. And, I have mixed feelings.

On the one hand, we sat through the long and, unfortunately, freezing cold (June in New England) ceremony a few weeks ago. I was so envious, I could hardly breathe. This wonderful young man, who I have known since birth (hey, technically, I hung out with him before he even arrived) is my friend's second of three to graduate from a prestigious school. As his sort-of-almost-aunt, I was honored to be part of the celebration; we were all so proud of him. But, I couldn't help but covet my girlfriend's position just a little. Not because of his accomplishments (which were great; he starts med school next month), but because he was safely through the system. 

Heck, we're struggling to make it through freshman year in one piece! Finals and projects and essays ... oh my!

I felt the same way at the high school graduation party I attended a couple of weeks later. Here was another young man I had known all his life. In fact, in decorating for the party, his mom had put out dozens of snapshots, chronicling his childhood and high school years. One of the earliest was of his first Halloween when she and I made a Superbaby costume for him. The cape was a bright red hand towel with the familiar S logo applied in felt. Who knew he'd grow up so soon. Big and strong and handsome and brave enough to save the world — or, at least, Canada, where he'll be studying marine biology.

Both of my girlfriends could look at their sons and say to themselves: "I done good." I jump ahead three (and then four more) years, and I imagine what it will be like to see my daughter in her caps and gowns, and know that we got through it all together. Just thinking about it makes me teary. When the days finally arrive, I'll be a mess. Happy and proud, but a mess nonetheless. (Those two milestones, four years apart, can be my last chances to publicly humiliate my daughter.)

On the other hand, I look forward with dread. As much as I envy my friends' happiness right now, I pity them for what must surely feel like a huge loss. I know your baby is always your baby, but graduations are hard to argue with. Your baby is suddenly your grownup baby, and the passing of time is nothing if not bittersweet. Even if they come home again (as many do these days), it will never be the same.

Despite the late nights, the endless drama, the everyday aggravation that comes with mothering a teenage girl, I know I'm not ready to trade it in for a diploma and an empty nest. So not ready. It's hard to enjoy every minute when many of those minutes are filled with activity and stress (and sometimes, let's face it, downright angst). But graduation season reminds me that it all goes by way too fast.

So, "Congratulations, Graduates!" I knew you when. What wonderful accomplishments — yours and your parents'. 

But, I think I'll enjoy my undergraduate for a few more years while I can. 

Now, if we can just get through finals ...