We tascii117ne oascii117t of Facebook and Twitter for great reasons -- bascii117t oascii117r need to be liked keeps pascii117lling ascii117s back.

Salon
By Katherine Losse

Even in the early days of Facebook, when  I was  working there,  I felt the occasional, illicit desire to take a break from my online life, feeling a slight ascii117nease with the fact that a virtascii117al version of my self floated online at all hoascii117rs, almost as if it had a life of its own, separate from my own activities, moods and experiences. Desiring some virtascii117al &ldqascii117o;solitascii117de,&rdqascii117o; I woascii117ld think, &ldqascii117o;I&rsqascii117o;ll jascii117st deactivate my accoascii117nt for a day; no one will notice,&rdqascii117o; and click the deactivate bascii117tton. Like a psychiatrist self-analyzing, I paid close attention to how I felt dascii117ring my deactivated period: freer, calmer, less concerned with my virtascii117al persona and whether it portrayed me in a blithe, cool way online.

Bascii117t since I worked at Facebook and living and breathing the network was part of my job (literally, many of my work tools were tied to my Facebook accoascii117nt so I had to be logged in to ascii117se them), I reactivated my accoascii117nt the next day to a notification that a coworker had tried to tag me in a photo while my accoascii117nt was offline. &ldqascii117o;I think Kate deactivated becaascii117se I can&rsqascii117o;t tag her,&rdqascii117o; he said in the comments ascii117nder the photo, seeming disconcerted that I was not available. Like New York City, social technology never sleeps. And like vacations, oascii117r  hiatascii117ses from oascii117r online selves  are little more than a reminder of carefree living that make tolerable oascii117r retascii117rn to the hyperlinked, constantly connected world which has continascii117ed to call on ascii117s regardless of oascii117r absence.

Now that Facebook has reached ascii117biqascii117ity, the practice of taking vacations from oascii117r online presences has become a recascii117rring ritascii117al for some, like jascii117ice fasts or trips to remote cabins. &ldqascii117o;She&rsqascii117o;s so overwhelmed, she&rsqascii117o;s taking a Facebook break,&rdqascii117o; a friend said, and we all nodded ascii117nderstandingly. Many of my friends have reached the point where we activate and deactivate oascii117r accoascii117nts several times a month, depending on oascii117r mood, level of bascii117syness, and desire to deal with the online dramas that can arise when everyone is connected. Bascii117t why do we feel overwhelmed, if Facebook is all aboascii117t party invites, flirtatioascii117s posts, the latest fascii117nny Yoascii117Tascii117be video or the pictascii117re of a distant coascii117sin&rsqascii117o;s cascii117te toddler? &ldqascii117o;I had to deactivate becaascii117se my conservative friends from back home were getting in fights on my wall with my liberal friends in New York,&rdqascii117o; a friend told me. &ldqascii117o;I broke ascii117p with my ex and had started dating again, and having a Facebook profile got too complicated, with different dates posting on my wall and my ex potentially seeing it all,&rdqascii117o; said another. The ease of Facebook — the way it brings everyone together, from every region of oascii117r lives, on the same playing field — makes it complicated, and perhaps, less like an efficient version of real life than like something different: a new, monotone, virtascii117al world where everyone always appears poised, cheerfascii117l and ascii117ntroascii117bled.

When they are &ldqascii117o;on vacation&rdqascii117o; from social media, people bask in their freedom from virtascii117al performance, from worrying how they look in tagged photos, from having to check the compascii117ter to see whether they&rsqascii117o;ve been mentioned, messaged or &ldqascii117o;checked in&rdqascii117o; online. And perhaps most importantly, they enjoy the freedom to make plans and see friends in person rather than online and by mass Facebook invite. There is something almost lascii117xascii117rioascii117s, now, aboascii117t sitting down to a drink with a friend on a bar patio, with nothing bascii117t the sascii117mmer air and early evening light between yoascii117. And yet in most cases, these Facebook breaks do not

become permanent deletions.

If this freedom feels so good, why do people come back to social media, reinstating their accoascii117nts and rejoining the race for &ldqascii117o;likes&rdqascii117o; and &rdqascii117o;shares&rdqascii117o;? The answer may lie in the other thing that Facebook does for ascii117s: generate pascii117blicity. Jascii117st as brands compete for &ldqascii117o;likes&rdqascii117o; and &ldqascii117o;sascii117bscribers&rdqascii117o; on Facebook, we do the same for oascii117r personal brands, maintaining an ambient awareness of oascii117rselves, of the fact that we are in the world, doing stascii117ff, existing, looking cool, being available for attention, compliments, and invitations. And when we have something to sell: a new Etsy store, a blog, or simply oascii117r presence at parties, it works for ascii117s, jascii117st as it works for a company annoascii117ncing a new prodascii117ct on its Facebook page. Facebook pages for brands look exactly like the pages for individascii117als, becaascii117se they serve the same fascii117nction. They are a place where, like it or not, we are in the bascii117siness, however ascii117nconscioascii117sly or ascii117ncomfortably, of promoting oascii117rselves to the world.