My apologies ahead of time. It’s long. Grab some coffee. I’ve already had enough for both of us, which may explain what follows.
A disclaimer for anyone contemplating posting on my wall:
Interesting posts will be read with sincere interest and, when warranted, thoughtful consideration. Stupid posts will be ridiculed incessantly. Potshots, insults, unsolicited opinions, and slanderous remarks will be returned with considerable vigor, at a time, place, and frequency of my choosing.
Please understand that my failure to respond immediately should not be mistaken for indifference. I may simply be busy, otherwise entertained, or allowing your foolishness sufficient time to mature before addressing it. Some things, like fine wine and particularly unfortunate opinions, benefit from a little aging.
There. I believe that establishes the ground rules.
I originally posted a considerably shorter version of that disclaimer some years ago, back when I still entertained the quaint notion that social media was a place where reasonable human beings might exchange ideas, share experiences, and occasionally demonstrate a functioning intellect. It was an optimistic period in my life. I have since recovered, although the caffeine dependency remains.
To be fair, social media is an extraordinary achievement. Consider what humanity has accomplished. We have developed sophisticated technologies capable of transmitting information instantaneously across the planet. We can communicate with people on distant continents, access centuries of accumulated knowledge, witness historical events as they unfold, and maintain relationships that geography once made nearly impossible.
And what have we done with this magnificent technological achievement?
We photograph our lunches.
Not particularly remarkable lunches, mind you. Ordinary lunches. Sandwiches. Salads. Occasionally a plate of enchiladas presented with the reverence normally reserved for religious artifacts. We then upload these photographs for the admiration of people who, presumably, have eaten lunch themselves and understand the general concept.
Now, I happen to appreciate a good plate of enchiladas. I have been known to regard a particularly well-prepared salsa de molcajete with something approaching religious devotion. But even I recognize that the world need not be informed every time I encounter a tortilla.
We also argue with complete strangers, offer unsolicited medical advice, announce personal grievances, and distribute inspirational quotations attributed to historical figures who almost certainly never said them. Somewhere, the brilliant minds responsible for developing the internet must be looking upon their creation with the same bewilderment a parent experiences upon discovering that a child has used an expensive set of encyclopedias to construct a fort.
And yet, here we are. Millions of years of evolution, opposable thumbs, reasonably developed frontal lobes, and unlimited access to information. One would think we’d be doing better.
One would be mistaken.
Perhaps the most remarkable achievement of social media is the modernization of that ancient and cherished human institution known as el chisme.
Gossip, for those unfamiliar with the term, although I seriously doubt such individuals exist, has been with us since the earliest human settlements. I suspect that shortly after our ancestors discovered fire, somebody was already whispering that the fellow in the neighboring cave had been spending an unusual amount of time with another fellow’s mate. And I am reasonably certain someone else was insisting that they weren’t judging, merely expressing concern.
Traditionally, however, gossip required effort. One had to visit a neighbor, make a telephone call, linger suspiciously near an open window, or happen upon a conversation while pretending to examine the tomatoes at the grocery store. Information had to be collected, interpreted, embellished, and distributed. There was a certain craftsmanship involved. A respectable practitioner of chisme understood timing, discretion, dramatic pauses, and the importance of beginning a conversation with the words, “Now, I don’t want to say anything, but…”
Which, of course, meant they were about to say absolutely everything.
Social media has rendered much of this professional expertise unnecessary.
Today, people voluntarily publish the details of their personal lives, complete with photographs, timestamps, geographical coordinates, and occasionally enough supporting documentation to satisfy a federal investigation.
We have eliminated the middleman from gossip. The subjects now do their own reporting.
Think about that for a moment. Generations of neighborhood chismosos spent entire lifetimes perfecting the delicate art of discovering other people’s business. Now the business arrives unsolicited, beautifully packaged, and occasionally accompanied by a soundtrack.
Consider the person who announces, “I don’t want anyone knowing my business,” immediately before publishing a six-paragraph account of precisely that business, including the names of the participants, their alleged offenses, and a cryptic warning that certain people know exactly who they are.
Of course they do. You’ve tagged them.
Then comes the inevitable declaration: “I’m not here for drama.”
This statement is generally accompanied by enough dramatic material to sustain three television seasons, a reunion special, and a documentary featuring interviews with former acquaintances. If the situation deteriorates sufficiently, there may even be merchandise.
The comments arrive almost immediately.
“Girl, what happened?”
“Call me.”
“Praying for you.”
And my personal favorite: “Some people are just toxic.”
Nobody knows precisely what happened, but everyone has developed an opinion, selected a side, and begun preparing closing arguments. Someone’s cousin has entered the discussion, an aunt has issued a cryptic warning, and a person who hasn’t spoken to the original poster since high school is suddenly offering emotional support with suspicious enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, the individual responsible for the original post announces that they will not be answering questions.
Naturally. Having summoned the entire village to witness the fire, they would now prefer a little privacy.
The neighborhood gossip has become a global enterprise, operating twenty-four hours a day, requiring no professional credentials and offering absolutely no benefits beyond the satisfaction of knowing something one probably had no business knowing in the first place.
Progress, I suppose.
Another fascinating development is the emergence of the social media expert, a remarkable creature possessing unlimited confidence and remarkably few qualifications. I have studied this specimen with considerable interest, usually while drinking coffee and wondering whether I should be doing something more productive.
Once upon a time, expertise required study, practice, experience, and occasionally a diploma. Today, it requires a smartphone, a reasonably stable internet connection, and the ability to begin a sentence with “Do your research.”
The research in question frequently consists of watching a forty-seven-second video narrated by an individual whose principal qualification appears to be an unusually convincing tone of voice. Bonus credibility is awarded if the video contains dramatic music, large yellow subtitles, and the words “THEY DON’T WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS.”
Who are they? What exactly don’t they want us to know? And why, if this information is so carefully concealed, is it available to everyone with an internet connection and forty-seven seconds to spare?
These are questions best left unasked. Apparently, asking them makes one part of the conspiracy.
Armed with this knowledge, our newly enlightened biped is prepared to challenge physicians, scientists, historians, engineers, and anyone unfortunate enough to possess actual expertise in the subject under discussion. Facts are negotiable. Evidence is suspicious. Disagreement is proof of conspiracy.
And should anyone produce a carefully reasoned explanation supported by credible sources, the expert has a devastating rebuttal prepared.
“That’s just your opinion.”
An extraordinary defense, really. With those four words, centuries of intellectual inquiry can be dismissed before breakfast. I suspect Galileo would have found the whole business exhausting.
I have occasionally considered entering these discussions, but experience has taught me that arguing with certain individuals on social media is rather like attempting to teach algebra to a houseplant. The houseplant, at least, has the courtesy not to interrupt. It may also demonstrate a greater capacity for growth.
Still, I confess that there are moments when I feel the irresistible urge to contribute. I begin composing a response, usually a rather magnificent one, complete with carefully arranged sarcasm and enough intellectual ammunition to leave a small crater. Then I stop, consider the value of my remaining years, and delete the entire thing.
Most of the time.
Social media has also transformed the humble act of living into a continuous public relations campaign.
We no longer simply enjoy vacations. We document them. We no longer celebrate accomplishments. We announce them with carefully selected photographs and sufficiently inspirational captions. We no longer exercise quietly. We provide photographic evidence that exercise has occurred, lest the calories somehow refuse to acknowledge the effort.
A person can no longer simply take a pleasant walk without informing the world that they are “choosing themselves,” “embracing the journey,” or “entering a new season of personal growth.”
It’s a walk, my friend. You’ve gone around the block. Congratulations, certainly, but perhaps we can postpone the autobiography.
Even modest acts of kindness occasionally require documentation. A person may perform a generous deed, photograph the recipient, describe the emotional significance of the encounter, and publish the entire experience under a heading about humility. There is something magnificent about publicly celebrating one’s own modesty.
Naturally, I recognize that people enjoy sharing their happiness, and there is nothing inherently wrong with that. I have done it myself. I have posted photographs, shared accomplishments, offered opinions, and undoubtedly contributed my fair share of unnecessary material to the digital landfill.
I am, after all, a fellow biped. I merely happen to be one with a functioning coffee maker and a slightly exaggerated appreciation for sarcasm.
I have occasionally posted something I considered clever, only to return several minutes later to see whether anyone else had recognized my brilliance. I have read comments that irritated me more than they reasonably should have. I have entertained the possibility of composing a devastating response, then reconsidered after remembering that I have actual responsibilities and a limited number of years remaining on this planet.
On other occasions, I have composed the response anyway. And, I might add, enjoyed myself immensely.
I never claimed to be an exemplary specimen.
No examination of social media would be complete without acknowledging the seemingly inexhaustible supply of inspirational wisdom circulating through our digital lives.
Every morning, thousands of people awaken with the apparent conviction that the world cannot proceed until they have shared a photograph of a sunrise accompanied by an observation about perseverance, gratitude, or the importance of removing negative people from one’s life.
Some of these sentiments are genuinely thoughtful. Others are so spectacularly vague that they could apply equally well to surviving a difficult marriage, purchasing a used automobile, or discovering that the refrigerator has stopped working.
“Know your worth.”
“Protect your peace.”
“Never let anyone dim your light.”
Excellent advice, I suppose. Although I occasionally wonder whether the individuals sharing these declarations have considered applying them before distributing them. I also wonder whether the sun has given permission for its likeness to be used in quite so many personal transformations.
Particularly entertaining is the person who posts a lengthy reflection about kindness, compassion, and respecting differences, then spends the afternoon insulting strangers in the comments section of a political discussion.
Apparently, enlightenment has office hours.
And then there are the motivational declarations about ignoring the opinions of others, frequently published by individuals who subsequently monitor the number of likes received with the intensity of a stockbroker watching a collapsing market.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks of me,” they announce. Followed twenty minutes later by, “Why is nobody liking my post?”
Human beings are complicated creatures. I suspect this is why anthropologists drink.
If social media itself is an anthropological curiosity, the comment section is its most revealing habitat. Here, the thin veneer of civilization occasionally disappears altogether. This, my friends, is where dignity goes to die.
Perfectly ordinary people, individuals who presumably hold jobs, pay bills, attend family gatherings, and know how to behave in public, transform into ferocious combatants over matters of breathtaking insignificance. A harmless photograph becomes an ideological dispute. A recipe becomes an argument about cultural authenticity. A simple question about the weather somehow produces a heated exchange concerning the decline of Western civilization.
Someone posts a photograph of a perfectly respectable bowl of menudo, and before long, three people are questioning the cook’s ancestry, two are demanding the correct historical preparation, and somebody from another state is insisting that they’ve been making it wrong for generations.
All the original poster wanted to do was eat breakfast.
I have witnessed discussions in which the original subject was forgotten so completely that the participants were no longer certain what they were arguing about. Nevertheless, they continued, apparently convinced that surrender would constitute an irreversible personal humiliation.
And all of this unfolds before an audience of strangers who have absolutely nothing invested in the outcome but are nevertheless delighted to offer encouragement, criticism, and the occasional animated image of someone eating popcorn.
It is theater without admission, rehearsal, or a discernible plot. One might reasonably conclude that social media has created a new form of entertainment in which the performers are unaware that they are the entertainment.
Which, come to think of it, may explain why I continue to visit.
There are evenings when I open social media with every intention of spending five respectable minutes checking on friends and family. Forty-five minutes later, I find myself following an argument between two strangers concerning a subject in which I have absolutely no interest. I don’t know these people. I don’t particularly care about the outcome. Yet there I sit, coffee in hand, wondering whether the fellow with the unfortunate spelling will return for another round.
Sometimes he does. And sometimes, against all reasonable expectations, he wins.
Now, before anyone accuses me of condemning social media and everyone who uses it, allow me to clarify something. I actually enjoy the place.
There are thoughtful people sharing remarkable ideas, talented artists displaying their work, families celebrating meaningful moments, old friends reconnecting, and individuals offering genuine encouragement to others. There is humor, creativity, generosity, and occasionally an observation so perceptive that it reminds me why these platforms were appealing in the first place.
I have laughed until my sides hurt at something a complete stranger posted. I have discovered interesting ideas, enjoyed beautiful photographs, and learned things I might otherwise never have encountered. I have even changed my mind about a subject after reading a thoughtful argument, although I try not to make a habit of announcing such developments publicly. One must preserve a little mystery.
And then, inevitably, someone posts that the Earth is flat.
Such is the human condition.
Perhaps the problem isn’t social media itself. Perhaps these platforms have simply provided us with an enormous mirror, one in which we can observe the full range of human behavior without the inconvenience of physical proximity.
We are intelligent and foolish, compassionate and petty, generous and self-absorbed, frequently within the same afternoon. We seek connection but manufacture conflict. We celebrate individuality while desperately pursuing approval. We insist upon our right to speak and occasionally forget that listening is also a useful human activity.
Most remarkably, we have confused having a voice with having something worth saying.
That distinction seems increasingly important, although I recognize the irony of making such an observation in an essay of this length. Apparently, I have quite a bit to say about people having too much to say. The coffee may be partly responsible.
The ability to publish a thought does not necessarily make the thought profound. The accumulation of followers does not establish wisdom. And the volume with which an opinion is expressed bears no reliable relationship to its accuracy.
Sometimes a thought is merely a thought. It can remain inside one’s head without causing permanent damage to the social order. I realize this is a radical proposition. I am not entirely certain I could follow it myself.
And so, after years of observing our peculiar digital civilization, I find myself returning to that original disclaimer.
It was written partly in jest, partly in exasperation, and partly because I have always believed that a little well-placed ridicule can be a useful corrective to excessive self-importance. I still believe that. I also believe that if one is going to make a spectacular fool of oneself in public, one should at least have the decency to make it entertaining for the rest of us.
But I have also come to appreciate that social media is not merely a collection of foolish people behaving foolishly. It is a collection of human beings behaving, well, humanly. The foolishness is simply more visible, more permanent, and considerably easier to share.
We are an extraordinary species. We have explored the heavens, mapped the human genome, composed magnificent music, produced enduring works of literature, and developed machines capable of communicating across the world in fractions of a second.
Then we use those machines to argue about whether a celebrity has gained weight. There is something almost poetic about that. Disturbing, certainly, but poetic nonetheless.
So, by all means, continue posting. Share your photographs, celebrate your accomplishments, offer your observations, and contribute to the magnificent, occasionally bewildering conversation that humanity has created. I will continue doing much the same. I will laugh at your jokes, admire your photographs, congratulate your accomplishments, and occasionally wonder whether you’ve suffered a minor injury to the part of your brain responsible for judgment.
Just understand that I reserve the right to observe, question, laugh, and occasionally respond with a degree of sarcasm that may exceed recommended daily allowances.
And should you find yourself offended by any of these observations, please feel free to express your displeasure in the comments below.
Your contribution will be reviewed, evaluated, and ridiculed at a time and rate of my choosing.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe my coffee has gone cold. And somewhere on the internet, two otherwise respectable adults are probably arguing about a sandwich.
I should check on them.
There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com.
Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing—one post at a time.
Stories have always traveled best by word of mouth. If one of these finds a place in your heart, I’d be honored if you’d drop a like or share it with someone else.
© 2026 Mariano Velez ~ InkBlotz Press
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