Like many of us, I often feel like there are too many people on the internet – too much noise, too much chaos, too much junk. It’s manifestly clear why people would want out – even before taking into account the roving mobs of violent harassers – and while I love many internet users, on the whole it seems like a mitzvah for them to give the rest of us some space. But often, when people make themselves scarce, the absence itself becomes a huge source of drama. I love to see social media users go, but I hate to watch them leave.
You should be able to leave social media for any reason you want, from “too much harassment” to “not enough snacks.” Unless you’re a social media manager or something similar for your actual job, participation is not obligatory. There’s a reason people describe Twitter as a cocktail party, not a cocktail jury duty.
But there’s essentially no way to leave gracefully.
The classic flounce, a move almost as old as the internet, involves announcing your intention to leave and then continuing to hang around, getting more and more furious when people say “bye, Felicia.” It makes the flouncer look exceptionally foolish, not that this has diminished its popularity. Announcing your intention to leave and then actually leaving is more mature – but it presents its own host of challenges. Notably, if you’re just like “I’m outta here” and don’t stick around to explain, your move is open to misinterpretation. Social media is optional, but abandoning it still feels like an extreme move to many, and they may cast around for equally extreme explanations.
For most of us, that isn’t going to matter as much as it does for, say, Joss Whedon. When he left Twitter this week, it exploded in a riot of finger-pointing – the feminists were to blame! No, it was the Marvel purists! No, it was Whedon just being too big of a crybaby to hang! No, it was definitely mostly the mean nasty feminists! Whedon has made it clear that this accusation is “horseshit” – feminists didn’t chase him off Twitter, he just retreated to get some peace and quiet – but his explanation comes too late to stop people like comedian Patton Oswalt and game designer Jonathan Blow from making fools of themselves. (Oswalt has acknowledged his error; Blow has doubled down.)
But even if you’re not a multibillionaire director, an unexplained exit may cause consternation. (Or, conversely, off-putting triumph. One friend of mine, hounded by harassers who had posted her phone number and address, confessed to me that she didn’t want to take a break from Twitter because the abusers would think they’d won.) What if your friends panic, assuming you’re in a deep depression when in fact you’re just mildly fed up? What if someone assumes you’re directly overreacting to something they said? Okay, but what if that person is your mom? Voluntary participation or no, people get accustomed to knowing your online presence is out there. When you disappear entirely, it’s dramatic, more dramatic than it has to be.
I’m a big fan of the “ghosting” approach for real-life interactions, where you just leave instead of making a whole thing of it. Nor am I alone: Seth Stevenson sang the praises of ghosting in Slate a few years ago, and Amanda Hess has advocated a version of it for relationships that aren’t working out after a few dates. For social media, though, the right approach might be the “zombie” – dead, like a ghost, but still kinda corporeal, still shuffling slowly along. Don’t make a big announcement, don’t delete your account, don’t explain yourself – just step away, for as long as you need. Schedule a tweet or two, maybe. Turn off reply notifications, but turn on notifications for DMs, so people can reach you, or take Facebook off your phone but leave that janky Messenger app. You don’t burn down your apartment when you need a vacation, or even sell it; you don’t need to flee social media to get a little breathing room.
But by all means, take breaks when you need to, and let your shambling mindless account amuse itself eating brains until you return. Imagine the world of social media as a field of prancing zombies, with just a few real people here and there. Doesn’t it sound relaxing? I can’t wait.