Chapter 20: In Honor of Purim. Thoughts on Surviving the Facebook Masquerade Ball

Feb 23
4 min read

Welcome to the digital version of "Alice in Wonderland," only instead of a Mad Hatter we have someone from Holon who is convinced he's a replicant from "Blade Runner," and instead of a Cheshire Cat we have dozens of women who look like a combination of Gal Gadot and the "Barbie on Speed" filter.

Facebook, the place where truth goes to die and Photoshop comes to revive it with a kiss, has become one big costume party that goes on 24/7. And I'm not talking about me! I use a pseudonym because I'm trying to avoid an unpleasant encounter with hungry lawyers because of things I accidentally wrote about that guy from dating. My pseudonym is a tool. Their pseudonyms? That's a story for the closed department.

1. The creature from the wrong movie

Let's start with the "science fiction" type. You know him. His image is of a dark character from a science fiction movie, maybe a cyborg with a teardrop on his cheek (because that's terribly profound, you know?). He writes sentences in his statuses like: "I've seen things that you mortals wouldn't believe," when the most amazing thing he's seen recently is Walt's messenger getting confused on the floor.

What makes a grown man decide that a tortured android profile is the right way to communicate with the world? Is reality so gray that we must add a neon processor and Ridley Scott dialogues to it? Apparently, when you live in Petah Tikva, imagining that you are in Los Angeles in 2019 is a kind of defense mechanism.

2. The Erotic Poet (and the Filter That Refuses to Die)

Then come the “muses.” Women who look like a million bucks in their profile pictures and sound like a nickel of cheap passion in their posts. They write songs about “waves crashing on my thighs” and “the yearning of an autumn night,” usually accompanied by a photo of an Instagram model from Brazil.

They are the object of desire of every average male member of the "Steak Parliament" group, and they foster a fantasy in which they are both intellectual, horny, and have the complexion of a baby born in a L'Oreal laboratory. Let's be realistic: if you looked like this and wrote like this, you wouldn't spend your Tuesday afternoon arguing with bots in the "Divorced and Enjoying" group.

3. "The Tormented Queen of the Night"

Meet "Stormy Lilith" (a pseudonym, of course, with a rose and moon emoji). Her profile picture is a black-and-white shot of a woman with her back bare in a pose of "a moment before total surrender." Her wall looks like a memorial site for forbidden desires: she writes poems about "rough hands that tear the silence apart" and "nights of longing in rooms shrouded in cigar smoke."

But let's move the screen for a moment: Meet Haya (a pseudonym in real life), happily married to Moti, a mother of three from Or Yehuda. The songs about "smoke-shrouded rooms" are written while she waits in the car for her middle son to finish capoeira class, and the "hands" she dreams of belong to Moti, who right now is the only thing he's tearing off the wrapper of the yellow cheese. Haya simply wants to feel, if only for a moment, that she's not just a "ride" or "what to eat," but a MILF-fantasy figure who makes strange men skip a beat. Facebook is her refuge from the routine of schnitzel and laundry.

4. "The Mysterious Millionaire from the Riviera"

There's also the guy whose profile picture is of someone who looks like a cross between James Bond and an Italian oil tycoon. He's always photographed next to a private jet (which actually belongs to a photo equipment rental company) or with a glass of champagne against a sunset in Monaco.

He writes inspirational posts about the "Mindset of Winners," when in reality he's Yossi, who still keeps his Modern Talking CD collection in his mother's old closet. The closest he came to Monaco was when he bought Mediterranean-scented wet wipes.

5. "The Spiritual Hacktivist"

On the other hand, we have the profile of “Light of the Soul.” The profile picture is always of a woman in white dancing in a field of sunflowers in Bali. She writes only in exclamation marks and hearts, and preaches “free love,” interspersing quotes from the Dalai Lama with recipes for wheatgrass smoothies.

The madness begins when someone dares to write her a comment that doesn't go with her "chakras." Within a second, the "light and love" turn into a shower of curses that would make even a truck driver at the Ashdod port blush. It turns out that her spirituality is just a thin disguise designed to hide frayed nerves and a complete lack of patience.

So what makes them do this? (Pseudo-psychological analysis in Shekel)

After surveying this zoo, the obvious question arises: Why? What is a person missing in life that he must invent for himself the personality of a tormented cyborg or a sensual poet?

"The Neighbor's Life is Greener" Syndrome: The average person feels like their life is a boring black-and-white documentary. If you can't be happy in real life, at least be photogenic on Facebook.
The power of irresponsibility: When you impersonate, you don't owe anyone anything. It's a safe space where there are no consequences (as long as you don't get caught).
Loneliness shines: Most impersonators are simply lonely people who want attention. The fictitious character gets hundreds of likes that a "scam from accounting" would never get.
Fear of the truth: The truth is a naked, vulnerable, and sometimes a little disappointing thing. It's much easier to hide behind erotic songs and images from "Blade Runner" than to say, "Here I am, I'm getting old, and life didn't turn out exactly as I planned."

Optimistic summary (roughly)

So while they continue to pursue digital fantasies and swap identities like socks, I will continue to use my pseudonym for the right reasons - so I can continue to write the truth without anyone dragging me into court or being offended, God forbid, if they find themselves somehow identified.

Maybe we're all just a collection of thought bubbles on Facebook, but at least my bubble knows it's like that, and isn't trying to sell you an erotic song while it's waiting in line for a car wash.