The Stush Network

It’s no mystery that online social networking is extraordinarily popular. Just about everyone in the world has heard about Facebook, and just about everyone you know uses some kind of social networking platform, be it Twitter, LinkedIn or that FriendFinder (?) website that advertises every now and then telling me that there are hot women near where I live who want to have sex with me.

Social networks facilitate the sharing of interests, activities, backgrounds as well as discussion and truly do we max out that function. More and more, social networks are becoming a place where we advertise ourselves, and not just for dating. We don’t want to just share what we like, what we do, or where we went – we want to show it. In short, we use social networks to make ourselves look cool.

And that just opened up a whole can of narcissism.

While everyone is inclined to post up photos of themselves every now and then, I have to draw the line when individuals dedicate an entire album to pictures of… themselves.  

“Hey look it’s me!”

“Look it’s me again, no shirt!”

“Look it’s me! And my boobies!”

It may not always be an album, but it could be a series of photos of individuals just letting the world know how much they love themselves, and expecting you to love them too. Don’t forget to hit that Like Button folks!

What is there to be said about photos of guys flexing in the mirrors post-gym workout? Yes, we see that grim, tough guy look on your face. You want us to know you’re a bad ass, but seriously, it just indicates to us that that last lift gave you a hernia. Here’s the thing though: nobody wants to see your sweaty biceps and calves. Look, your man-boobs are putting teenage B-cup breasted girls to shame, and that’s not really something you want to be proud of. Truthfully though, some girls might find you attractive, but everyone else just thinks that you’re a douche.

We know you want us to lick those biceps, and eat your melons.

Then, there are the photos of girls casually wearing next to nothing.

“Lalala… I’m in my room… and look! A photographer has materialised and is now taking pictures of me!” Cue duck lips and bootypopping.

Six year old rapper Albert was the photog in your room, making you booty pop.

Nudity, half-nudity doesn’t bother me. I think everyone should be naked! Hooray! Except fat hairy dudes over fifty. And your grandmothers. And your parents. And my parents. Especially my parents. Call me a hypocrite, but there is a difference between wearing no clothes like you don’t care, and wearing no clothes like you do care. What you are saying to me and everyone else (including the ones who told you how pretty you are) is that you want attention. There’s a fine line between being sexy and slutty.  But hey, if lascivious dudes commenting, “Nice baby” or “Hottt” (with three Ts, for emphasis) does it for you then maybe I can look at how charitable you are. One less creep paid for porn today.

The best part is how these photos appear to be nonchalant – unceremoniously winding up on the internet. The flexing? - Just casual every day behaviour. The booty popping? She does that whenever she isn’t mobile. I could be wrong though; they could be so gross and do those things in public.

It’s also no surprise that most of these records of conceit happen to be photographed in the mirror. For flexing your sweaty muscles in the gym, the mirrored walls suffice, and for ‘pretty-girl’ photos, the bathroom usually makes the cut. Clearly, you’re too stupid to figure out the how to use the self-timer on your smart phone, and really, that is the only approach to tone your vanity down a smidgen.

Everybody takes photos of themselves when they want to remember a special occasion, a birthday party, a fête they spent $1000 on, or a musical event. Nothing’s wrong with that, but what about those who want to show us every photo of every… single… lime they attended… imaginable.

Or every meal they ever ate. Oh yeah? You’re eating doubles? Big deal! I’m gonna walk down the road in my pyjamas and buy some too! Who’s full now? Pics or it didn’t happen. Right?

But wait! The douchebaggery doesn’t stop there! Let’s take the photo records one step further! Show everybody on your social networking list that you are just the crème de la crème by taking a photo of that exorbitant bill that came up to $6000! We want to know how much you paid for that bottle of wine, we want to know how much you paid for that delectable meal of steak flavoured lobster with caviar on the side, drenched in ketchup! Thank you! oh great one of exquisite class, for it is through your photo I shall live vicariously and dream of meals that you assume that nobody else can afford. But, while you’re at it, don’t forget: nonchalance. Pretend that you are shocked that you didn’t know what you were paying for, as menus do not come with a pricelist – and we will pretend to be shocked too.

To cement the concept that you must show records of your evening excursions, you should also let everyone know where you are at that moment.

You’re at The Rig? Nobody cares!

You’re in Zen? Nobody cares!

You’re at One Fete (drop it so we all know you spent $1000 on a ticket)? Nobody cares!

You took a wine on Machel in Shakers? Isn’t he supposed to be in jail?

But I will give it to you. Some people care. They’re called stalkers. And they wait with heavy breathy sounds to know where you are, what you’re doing, and whom you’re doing it with. And you geo-tagged yourself too – basically handing them the map with “STALK ME!” tattooed on your forehead.  

Though, how else would we know how awesome you are and how pathetic we are in comparison, just sitting there, watching photos of you having a great time. Because, really, none of us ever had a good time like you did. The point is I could be toting just a bit. Why the hell didn’t you invite me? What kind of friend are you anyway? Now existential questions about friendship and who my friends really are begin to surface.

The messed up part about this over-sharing on the social networking is that the average user has no idea how to use their privacy settings. Maybe when you’re done wining on Machel in jail, you may want to use the social network site more productively and read about the dangers of your over-sharing. People do get kidnapped. People do lose their jobs. And you might just get caught kissing that stranger while your wife is at home taking the laptop and smashing it through your car window.

Everybody shares, everybody advertises himself or herself, yet, there is a point where it’s just too much.

More than likely those who need to read this won’t heed this anyway continuing in their attention seeking, nonchalant, apathetic ways because they’re too busy snapping photos of themselves in the mirror.