Inviting Comparisons to Others

A public service in these competitive times

Photo by Alex Ovs on Unsplash

I received an unprecedented email, designed to get my attention. Before I satisfied any curiosity by reading it, the subject line inspired this article, thusly it worked even though I only read the email in case its contents inspired those of this article.

One of the first sites I was exposed to after my Internet debut was classmates.com —of which I have nothing to say, but offer only to give context to this article itself. I was never a member, but as I was new to the Internet then, I saw no reason not to share details of my life for others who may know or remember me.

I forget much of what they may have asked and I lack the interest to see what it could have included and how others who may have learned certain other details about me over the decades might — through their membership or other means — be able to dig up more. Years before writing for Medium I encountered a site that measured one’s “digital footprint,” and was proud that mine had remained so small in these indiscreet times.

I’ve certainly loosened up since — not because of what some may (approvingly or disparagingly) characterize as the peer pressure of resignation, but — proud as I was of not simply offering what may be expected customary submission to openness and maintaining standards of confidentiality which appeared more dignified and intelligent — my sense of the golden mean lent itself to accepting something more akin to balance.

Of course, my reference to golden mean is metaphorical, rather than suggestive of any commitment to being 62% of the way between extremes.

I don’t suppose I’m alone in having heard so many variants of not comparing yourself to others…from not assessing others’ outsides with your insides, to how lives people present on Facebook might be at variance with holistic reality. But such touted individuality can also benefit from the golden mean…especially when another side is presented.

Especially in recent years, I’ve been in the practice of researching undergraduate and earlier classmates and teachers, all of whom I’d known before the popular Internet (is there as easier way to exclude the web of the seventies and eighties in such parlance?), but astonishingly few of whom I’d kept in touch with. I know others must as well, even if their lives are busier with newer activities.

But what surprised me was the most recent email I received from classmates.com — trying to coax me to become a paid member not by their usual method of telling me several people had reviewed my profile in hopes that I’d pay to learn who — but by specifying that I’d had (drum roll..) 83 profile searches.

83 voyeurs…what does that REALLY mean?

Even as I presume that’s the total for the last three decades, I considered myself low-profile enough to be surprised that the number was that high. As an introvert, that number might even be elevated because I attended more schools over time than usual (and recorded them all); on the other hand, from what few results their blurred view has revealed, all searches they’ve partially shown have been for the high school I graduated from, which I attended for only a year in a different city than the others.

Presumably, even a household name like classmates.com is little enough known in detail that such a metric is perhaps a meaningful indicator only for very active members and those who know them.

But it got me thinking: just because it’s healthy not to be in the habit — privately or publicly — of comparing our popularity to others doesn’t mean it doesn’t help others, whether rarely or often, to share such a statistic publicly. To let others know that whatever reasons they harbor for pondering their place or others in that particular pecking order is recognized as being meaningful to them.

I can imagine reasons why people might not want to share their salaries or health details…if for no reason other than expected propriety of not confusing others with their novelty. But as someone who has frequently been unafraid of dining out alone (for example), any conventional fear of being known for solitude hasn’t made an impression on me.

Making a difference (as platitudinous as that sounds)

I’m in no way claiming exhibitionism is remotely on par with, say, a survivor of sexual assault being a pioneer by sharing what used to often maintain its claim to the shadows. But maybe its frankness, though relegated to orders of magnitude less quantity, deserves a recognition of the same quality.

Not sure what this means about classmates.com, but that same day they sent me an email — the first ever— that I received a profile visit from a named individual in my high school class; I can’t help but wonder why the only such classmate identified by name was one whom, though I didn’t know well, I had researched a few years ago, and he had been well-known enough that I readily learned he died in 2014. But that’s a lagniappe for fans of the creepy. Bonus lagniappe (how’s that for a horror title?): they sent an identical one naming him two days later.

I understand paid site users sharing their registration with friends, but I’m hard pressed to understand the motivation of anyone using the account of someone long-deceased — whom I knew as little more than an acquaintance (though his mysterious alleged friend may have known me better) to search for me?

Either way, why would the site be motivated to name the registrant for me?

The point of this article, of course, is about outspokenness about popularity versus the benefits of not focusing on that. But as with other big issues, less-conspicuous questions present themselves — like the oft-reported case where Sherlock Holmes asked why a dog did not engage in his customary barking.

How platitudinous is popularity itself?

If you’re familiar with Mindvalley, they’ve freshened up promotions by shifting from what might easily be viewed as cynical sales to a different kind of writing. Just a few weeks ago, founder Vishen Lakhiani’s email was centered on this idea:

We live in an ecosystem where the author with the biggest Instagram following gets the recommendation slot, regardless of the rigor of their thinking.

I’m grateful to have a lot of followers on Medium — and that’s an example where comparison can give you additional information; while I’m unaccustomed to being popular online or off, it struck me that I had more followers than authors whose stories got comments when mine didn’t. Not only do I not expect others to take their busy time feeding me, but I’m not surprised that my writing leaves others speechless at times.

I don’t remember anything about the South Park episode “You Have 0 Friends,” but I feel like with a title like that, I don’t need to. Bold as that series’ humor had been, nuance was absent among its virtues; too bad Daria never made an appearance there (I assume with supreme confidence).