Last week I deactivated my Facebook account.
I suppose I ought to apologize as, from what I’ve heard, it’s proper etiquette to notify friends that you’re closing your page down. I had a surprised wife who went from being “married to Richard Hauck” to just being “married”, got a text or two, as well as a phone call from a friend that thought I’d silently unfriended him out of anger (a childish tactic I hope I never execute). For the most part, my disappearance has gone unnoticed.
Apparently, I’m not alone, according to this NY Times article.
I didn’t delete my account because I’m assuming that I’ll inevitably reactivate it–either for a client job that requires it or from just plain missing it. Having no access has already made it difficult to confirm mailing addresses and access Spotify.
Why’d I delete it? It wasn’t for security reasons (though perhaps it should have been, considering how Facebook cookies infinitely track you), rather I tend to think I’ve ruined Facebook for myself, as my wall’s been overrun by acquaintances and high school friends I haven’t seen since I graduated. My Google+ account strangely started becoming Facebook to my Facebook account, as the latter seemed to have transformed into MySpace.
I could unsubscribe from these folks, but I also don’t like how Facebook has become the defacto use of the web. Have pictures to post? Don’t use Flickr or Instagram, use Facebook! Have a party to send invites to? Create a Facebook event! Need to log in? Don’t use OpenID directly, use your Facebook account!