Vol. 32: Privacy & the parasocial

My wife doesn’t use her name on public social media accounts - her account or mine. My IRL friends, even people I’m very close to, often don’t realize this. I’ve had to delete comments they made that included her name; I then text them thanking them for their comment and explaining why I deleted it. They often apologize, but I don’t mind. It’s natural that, because they know her name, they don’t notice that she exclusively uses “Bae” on the internet.

Parasocial relationships are one-sided relationships that an audience develops with a performer, celebrity or figure in mass media. While parasocial relationships have been around as long as we’ve had public figures, I’ve most recently seen them discussed in terms of “influencers,” a term I’m using perhaps falsely to refer to as people with larger public social media accounts (there’s a lot to be said about if a large account automatically makes one an influencer, but that’s not this newsletter). I’ve been thinking about parasocial relationships, both in terms of those I have with my favorite influencers, and in the relationship that my 10,000 IG followers have to me.

Once, I mentioned to a loved one that I wanted them to come over so I could show them my apartment. Their response - “I’ve seen it on Instagram!” made me sad because there’s a huge difference in sharing something online vs. seeing it in person, and the relationship building that comes from that.

I use social media to build relationships but also to maintain my preexisting relationships. I try to share important life updates directly with friends prior to broadcasting it to my IG followers, but I also like that I can stay in touch without keeping in constant contact. I love the kindness of a friend checking in on me because I mentioned in this newsletter that I'm struggling. Social media helps me keep abreast of the highlights of someone’s life. Key word here - highlights. With social media, I have to remind myself that I still have to reach out to loved ones even when I think I see what they’re up to on social media. Social media is a single, curated slice. 

I’ve been thinking a LOT about this post from Stephanie Yeboah, a fat Black woman with a large following who shared a message from a white follower announcing their unfollowing because Stephanie’s loving relationship was “triggering” to them. Stephanie writes, “My success and the success of other fat women or black women are not personal attacks. There is something slightly insidious about white women taking solace in my loneliness and mistreatment. It’s giving BW trauma porn and there’s a part of me that feels that there is a need to have their ‘fat, black favourites’ to have a degree of being somewhat miserable in order to feed their superiority complex. Us thriving means we no longer serve as trauma mules and frankly, it’s yucky.”

(I have a lot of thoughts about how some people - especially white women! - need to share certain feelings only with their therapist or trusted confidant. Not all thoughts need to be shared! But that is not quite this newsletter).

In last week’s Leave it to Leonor, Leonor wrote beautifully about the assumption that she’s not a private person because she has a weekly newsletter and a social media presence. Her piece (and the Brandon Taylor piece that she was in conversation with), inspired me to draft a long newsletter about my own boundaries and privacy, both on the internet and IRL. When I told my wife what I was writing, she asked, “You are a private person!?”

Okay, fair. In truth, I am one of the most open people that I know, both in person and online. But I do have my boundaries. Additionally, being with my wife, a significantly more private person than I am, has helped me think critically about why and how I’m sharing.

Honestly, I’m lucky in that I haven’t had a ton of personal boundaries crossed online. I’ve received questions about what apartment building I’m in because of the beautiful natural light. I’m not going to share my address with a complete stranger, and I respond in kind. Sometimes when I do Ask Me Anythings on Instagram, I don’t respond to certain questions that cross my boundaries, but I don’t personally feel the need to share these because it hasn’t become untenable in volume like it has for many other influencers, particularly women of color. If anything, setting online boundaries has been helpful practice IRL boundary setting with people I’m in genuine relationships with. Online, I am comfortable leaving strangers on read. In person, I’m working to be authentic and direct. 

One thing I’ve been working on in 2022 is letting go of the expectation that others react exactly as I would in a situation or think the same politically as I do. While I fiercely believe in calling out actual harm - racism, sexism, homphobia, etc - when I see it, I also want to improve at getting to know people where they’re at, not where I think they should be. I saw (and can no longer find) a video of Oprah explaining how this sets us up for failure, both for personal disappointment but also by killing the richness of diversity of thought. Parasocial relationships, because they are inherently one sided, can often strengthen these divides, and lead to situations where people feel hurt or “triggered” when an influencer who they’ve never met in person and don’t actually know responds differently in a situation than they would have.

As far as privacy, Leonor’s newsletter reminded me of a secret suspicion that people think I’m a less private person than I am because I am so open about celebrating my relationship. Reading Let the Record Show and reflecting on queer history, I’m reminded that for so, so many reasons and for so long, queer relationships were “in the closet.” I openly celebrate my relationship constantly because it’s my love language, and because my wife is hot. Is it just more shocking to (straight) people because they think I should be ashamed of being gay? I’m very proud to be with her and of the loving relationship we’ve built.

But then I go down this rabbit hole where I realize I’m being TOTALLY white-centered in my analysis. Lots of individuals, whether people of color, fat people, disabled people, deal with assumptions of this sort. While my suspicion is queer-specific, it’s not unique to the queer community. White queer people often do this thing where we’re obsessed with our queerness because it’s our entryway into oppression - for someone like myself (holding any combination of white privilege, ablebodied privilege, thin privilege, upper-middle class, cisgender, American citizen, the list goes on), I often see folks holding onto their sole oppressive experience as a way to excuse themselves from doing the work of examining and giving up their other avenues of privilege.

In short, am I just being super white by wondering if people think I’m not private because I’m obsessed with my wife!?

I’m also trying to walk a fine line where just because a relationship isn’t celebrated on social media, doesn’t mean that it isn’t a rich, loving relationship. Here is a funny story to close the newsletter: When Candace Parker came out publicly by celebrating her two year wedding anniversary with her wife, my loving wife of two months said, “she waited two years before sharing her wedding on social media.” Then, she looked me dead in the eyes and said: “one could learn.”

I wish I could properly explain to you how truly hilarious this moment was and how it perfectly illustrates both how far we’ve come as a couple, but especially me as an individual. I love being loved & celebrated in public, but mostly, I love love.

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