Last Tuesday, Facebook suggested I wish a happy birthday to Robert, my college roommate who died three years ago. His profile picture—grinning on a hiking trail, eternally 32 years old—appeared in my notifications alongside the cheerful reminder. For a disorienting moment, I forgot he was gone. Then reality crashed back, bringing with it an odd mixture of grief and technological discomfort. Robert’s digital ghost continues to haunt the platforms we once shared. His Twitter account…
My phone buzzed at 2:17 AM last Thursday with that familiar notification: “You’ve lost a follower.” I’d like to tell…
There’s a moment of pure, crystalline horror that exists in the space between clicking “Reply All” and realizing you’ve actually…
The night I found myself sitting across from a woman who looked nothing like her profile pictures – while realizing I probably looked nothing like mine either – was the moment I truly understood what dating had become in the algorithmic age. Both of us had presented aspirational versions of ourselves: her photos were from seven years and one dramatic haircut ago; mine strategically hid the gradual surrender of my hairline to time and genetics.…
My wife discovered my secret last Tuesday. She’d borrowed my laptop to check her email while hers was updating, and…