At home with the price of rarity

On blooming on your own rare terms, in opposition of The Zuckerberg Premise

Why spectacular doesn’t need to be frequent

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Hi, everyone-

I was in the steam room the other day …

… when I was reminded of just how young social media is. And how new this worldwide need for frequency really is. A topless guy who owned a roofing company was marveling and praising Mark Zuckerberg’s rise. The guy who founded Facebook (now Meta—parent company to Instagram as well). He asked if I ever watched that movie they made about Facebook.

And I told him firmly: No. And I doubt I ever will.

Here’s why.

I remember the first time I heard Mark’s name. I was coming out of a brutal class in Princeton one late afternoon to meet up with my friend. For privacy reasons, let’s just call him “W.” If I recall correctly, the conversation went something like this:

W: Thalia, have you seen this email?

Thalia: What email?

W: I got this email that was CC-ed to like 20 other guys on campus. It’s from this guy Mark. Apparently he’s creating a list of girls in Harvard, Princeton, Yale, and other ivies. Along with their pictures. So that guys can comment, rate, and rank the girls.

Thalia: Are you serious?

W: Yeah! No joke!

Thalia: That sounds like it should be illegal. Who on earth is this guy!?

W: Dunno. Some dude from Harvard. Mark Zuckerberg? I got forwarded this email.

Thalia: And it’s just sent to a bunch of guys here?

W: Yeah. No wonder you haven’t heard. I guess it’s basically a way to stalk on girls and rate them? As girlfriends, maybe. But probably just as potential girlfriends.

Thalia: OK, that definitely sounds like it should be illegal.

I guess I was naive.

Apparently, it was neither illegal nor frowned upon. Because the following few months (and definitely years), Mark’s concept blew up. Which meant one thing: people gobbled up Mark’s directory.

By the time it became Facebook, there was no trace of this initial premise. You know, the creepy stalker premise. It had been rebranded to be reminiscent of that of a graduation facebook. Where you get smile at old pictures long after you’ve graduated and give them a thumbs-up, with the now mandatory “like” button that dominates all of social media. Sounds harmless, right? And that’s what millions of social media users believed. And still does.

Because not many got to see its origin story.

You can doubt me. I don’t have Mark’s original stalker-dude email. I doubt my friend still has it. After all, this was during the days of having only ten emails in one inbox. And deleting them was a regular (and fully manageable) occurence.

But:

The Zuckerberg Premise …

… for social media—at least before he realized he had to reposition what Facebook stood for—was twofold:

1

Let’s make decisions on whether we want to follow someone based on their name, looks, and how many others like that person’s name and headshot.

That’s it.

Yep. Sounds like a stalker’s premise alright.

So you see why I told that topless guy in the steam room that I will never … watch that Facebook movie. As a woman, and now mother of girls—something about watching it doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’m somehow advocating for that kind of wealth-creation.

Of course, now that follow has become a universalized word for friending someone online—by no means do I mean that each time we hit follow, we’re stalking. Not at all.

All I’m saying is that Zuckerberg’s original premise, the same premise that built Facebook, the same premise that other social media companies copied to build their platforms, all originated from this persistent and unhealthy obsession to choose based on on-the-surface names and on-the-surface looks.

The other part of this premise, was:

2

Let’s make decisions based on one perceived marker for value: frequency.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed. The online world is round the clock. If you don’t respond within a few hours—and at most a few days—people would presume that you’ve been hit by a truck. Or that you’re just no good. The presumption is obvious:

The more frequent you are, the ‘better’ you are.

Except we know this is complete bogus.

I mean, McDonald’s, anyone? They’re fast. And frequent. But by no means are they better. In fact, they are the absolute worst for the consumers, if consumed long term.

The illusion of frequency as a marker for value is not so much because the objects we behold are necessarily all that valuable. It is likely because short term memory has a very limited hold. [Data: National Institute of Health]

Social media is a McDonald’s hamburger. I’m not saying it’s all bad. Especially if it’s all you got and all you can afford. But consider how social media, and what Mark created, is only about 25 years old.

Remember when you’re 25?

Feral with potential. Sexed up with possibilities. We could do anything. Yet we’ve done nothing. We’re the best person in the room. And yet we continue to seek those who outdo us.

A stalker-premise is frequent, too. Persistent. Ever-present. Never obvious. Those too eager to be loved would mistake such frequency as a signal for greater affection. Better friendship. Or more value.

On the other side of the spectrum: those who rarely post and show their face, are immediately associated with less value.

I don’t blame Mark for this problem. After all, we, the people, are those who gave momentum to the now overbloated beast he created. We, the people, are the ones who encouraged the frequency. And we, the people, are the ones who easily forget about those who are rare.

Which leaves us with the question of “What does it really take, to be rare?” And to be:

At home with the price of rarity.

I say price of rarity, because I firmly believe that there is indeed a high price for being rare. And in your rarity: being valuable. The price is that we will lose the potential lure of present fame. It means that we will lose the ego-striking rush of being the it-person. And it means that our names will not be on people’s lips for many seasons …

… For now.

But being absent means you get to be like the Queen of the Night. An extremely rare flower that shows up only one night a year. Never having to toil under the sun for hundreds of days at a time.

Never seen this plant in person. Have you? I love, though, that we are still talking about it. [Data: University of Kansas. Photograph: Damitr Studio, CC BY-NA SA 3.0]

The Queen of the Night blooms on her own terms: overnight. It is said that when the right night falls, she just decides to open her petals. By morning, it’s all wilted. She’s gone to sleep. And you won’t see her again until she decides to show her face next year.

Queen of the Night is so rare, that it can neither be picked nor sold. As a plant, this is the ultimate. As a human, this is also the ideal. Never to be at the picking mercy of hands not our own. And never to have our souls sold at a price we didn’t agree on.

This ideal is difficult to reach. But not impossible.

I think it’s also no accident that places that have the highest Well-Being score in America are places where the need for frequent self-broadcasting is easily dampened by the preoccupation in nature’s vastness. [Data: Gallup Healthways]

If we don’t agree to pay the price of The Zuckerberg Premise, we must agree to pay our own price, on our own terms, so we can bloom on the night(s)—or day(s)—of our own choosing. Because:

Though we might never be at home with paying the price of rarity, we will always be at home—with the value of rarity.

I hope this helps you protect, whatever rare endeavor of yours … that allows you to only show up—on your own terms.

-Thalia

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Previously:

Efficient edits of writing a famous line

Upcoming:

Making a mistake in front of family

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-Thalia