Because the icon was no longer an icon. It was a mirror. And in its polished blue surface, she didn't see her own reflection. She saw what Facebook had always wanted her to be: a thumbnail. A crop. A summary. A headline. A single letter floating in an endless ocean of other letters.
And the ‘f’ is still leaning. Just a little. Like a head cocked to one side, listening to the silence of a user who finally logged off. facebook icon for desktop shortcut
The ‘f’ was leaning.
The Facebook icon was the smallest thing on her screen, yet it contained the largest thing in her life: the sum of everyone she had ever pretended to know. Because the icon was no longer an icon
The newsfeed was a river of curated corpses. Every post was a little death: a vacation photo from a marriage that ended last spring, a political rant from a man who cried at his desk after posting it, a birthday wish from a mother who hadn’t called in three years. Elena scrolled, and with each swipe of her finger on the mouse wheel, she buried them deeper. She saw what Facebook had always wanted her