CTRL + DELETE + EX
Once upon a time, you broke up and rarely saw each other again, but in the world of social media, things aren’t that simple, writes Katie Glass
INEVER hear from my very first boyfriend, the one I dated pre-mobile phones. He’s not my Facebook friend, he doesn’t follow my Twitter or my blog. We’re not connected by Gmail, Skype or LinkedIn. If I wanted to, I suppose I could google him. But I don’t. Because, y’know, I’m not a masochist.
In 2013, such luxury is lost to us. We catalogue our relationships relentlessly online: in Facebook statuses from “it’s complicated” to “married”, in sexts and 140-character chat-up lines. Which is all very romantic until the inevitable happens: we find ourselves inextricably tangled with our exes when we split up.
For my social-media-obsessed generation, which sleeps with its smartphones, our exes are never out of our beds. They swarm our iClouds like herpes, occasionally receding, but never truly gone. My exes appear in my inbox, hijack Facebook conversation threads. They “like” my posts, retweet my bad aphorisms, tag me in Facebook albums at parties I’ve forgotten I was at. They text me at midnight, ominously asking: “What’s up?”
Our exes are everywhere now. A new book, Be the Hollywood Heroine of Your Own Life, by Trelawney Kerrigan, suggests that the invasive power of social media causes women to obsess over past relationships and prevents us from moving on. “If you’re relying on the internet to provide your divine power and strength,” she says, “you’re going to be fighting a feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction on a daily basis. Instead of connecting with ‘something bigger’, you are connecting with a feeling of ‘something missing’.”
On Facebook I’ve got two former boyfriends, one holiday romance, two dates, one disastrous fling and someone I snogged at the Christmas party. Most of these men I rarely speak to. Instead, I watch their lives unfold on my newsfeed, where they tag pictures of themselves with hot new girlfriends, post wedding pictures and flattering selfies. I’ve dated two men who follow me on Twitter. I have an ex in Berlin who spies on my website (I know from the sudden spike in Germany on my stats). I have one ex I occasionally google when drunk, uploading his LinkedIn page to stare nostalgically at his online CV. I have googled old boyfriends for clues about what they’re up to because I miss them. I’ve also done it to avoid them.
My friends have the same ever-present exes. Kat appears in sarcastic comments on her ex’s Twitter feed. Lauren complains one partner she’d cut contact with has re-emerged and started “endorsing” her on LinkedIn. “It just brought up all the memories of our relationship,” she says, “and how he used to disappear for weeks at a time and manipulate me.” Even my own mother — not a navelgazing millennial — bumped into an ex online: her teenage sweetheart was on Friends Reunited and she ended up on a date with him. (Verdict: bald, divorced, dull.)
As complicated as our connections with exes online are, however, we also cherish them. “All my break-ups have been amicable,” says Bianca, who has 10 old flames on Facebook. It gives her a gentle way to stay in touch.
Sherry Turkle, a professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, says: “Technology appeals to us where we feel most vulnerable.” It gives us clear tools to negotiate complex emotions. Online we have distance to deal with people in sporadic and scripted ways. We can edit our emotions, presenting perfected versions of ourselves, hiding behind screens in ways that embolden us. We can “like” someone, then withdraw offline (like the man who texts me come-ons, but won’t kiss me in real life). Unlike real relationships, which are demanding and messy, technology feels slick and controlled — no awkward touches and uncomfortable silences.
Yet the ghosts are always there. So how can we commit to new relationships if our exes are always online? I spend dates texting exes, I lie in bed beside lovers talking to other boys on Twitter, I look at my ex’s Facebook profile and wonder where he is now. One friend has her online ex-management well and truly sorted. “I use Gmail to check when he’s at his computer,” she tells me. “It means he’s at home, so I know it’s safe to go to the pub.” — © 2013
Times Newspapers Ltd, UK