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专栏 - Stanley Bing

Facebook就是个超级大泡泡

Stanley Bing 2012年06月15日

斯坦利•宾(Stanley Bing)是《财富》杂志专栏作家,最近出的一本书是《高管秘籍:在职退休手法指南》(Executricks: Or How to Retire While You're Still Working,Collins出版公司出版),各处较好的书店有售。他的联系方式是bingblog@gmail.com。
我们的流行文化机器和后工业资本主义的贪婪引擎联手炮制了这么一个硕大无朋的泡泡。但所有泡沫到头来都得破灭。这就是泡沫的宿命。

    我不喜欢Facebook公司。我就要这么说。你知道吗,实话实说的感觉好极了。我不喜欢,不喜欢,就是不喜欢Facebook!我觉得,还有很多人都有我这种感觉,只是他们不好意思这么说罢了。我们的流行文化机器和后工业资本主义的贪婪引擎已经联起手来,炮制了这么一个硕大无朋、舆论趋同的大泡沫,而我们大家还都置身于这个泡沫中向外打量。不过,这么做真没道理。之前那些类似的泡沫早就破灭了。说白了,所有泡沫到头来都得破灭。这就是泡沫的宿命。

    男人以前都习惯戴软呢帽。现在呢?只有时髦人物才这么干,不过挖苦味十足。呼啦圈早就消失得不见踪影了。同样下场的还有:中层管理人员穿的背带裤,人人在办公室里抽烟喝酒的习气,微金属音乐(hair metal, 微金属是一个用以讽刺的术语,用于那些80年代后期以流行乐为起源的重金属和重型摇滚乐队——编者注),还有性爱自由。诸位尽可以把我归为反潮流分子、勒德分子(Luddite,害怕或者厌恶技术的人——译注)、落伍分子。不过我就是不相信,以后人人还会总想着到网上分享些啥。

    实际上,我就不喜欢跟人分享。我可不会分享自己的牙刷。我也不会分享自己的猪排,除非你眨巴着大眼睛、颤抖着双唇,轻声细语地问我要一点,我可能会让你咬一口。我不分享自己的思想,除非是为了求爱或是赚钱。我不想让你看到我在鲍勃生日聚会上拍的照片。我也不想看你拍的卡桑德拉蹒跚学步的照片,也不想看到你在“西南偏南”(South by Southwest,于奥斯汀举办的影音科技文化嘉年华——编者注)上出席社交媒体研讨会的视频。我尤其不想看这个!

    我的所谓“好友”并不是我真正的朋友。现实生活中,我也许有那么四五个真正的朋友。大家知根知底,因为我们经常见面,常常把酒言欢。另一方面,我在网上所谓的“好友”其实就是一群不同生活阶段中结交的前同事和旧情人,一群乌合之众而已,我对他们根本没什么兴趣了,但他们都还在我Facebook账户的留言墙上,那里贴满了他们的高见,各式小照片,还有这样那样的职场吐槽。我也讨厌这墙上的自己。这家伙是谁呢?山寨版的我自己?

    我也讨厌被营销。这也是为什么Facebook无处不在的原因,它就是个超级巨大的营销工具。也许一开始它还有点真玩意,比如让哈佛(Harvard)的学生用它寻觅意中人。但现在呢?它就知道营销,不是推广嘻哈音乐和精神病药物,就是猜谁会成为当地下一届参议员。如果你想兜售点什么东西,那就上Facebook吧!好吧,我可不想去“赞”一下(like)汉堡王(Burger King),虽然我确实喜欢汉堡王。

    前不久,我在旧金山和一些人共进午餐。这座城市盛产泡沫,而且善于把泡沫变成真金白银。这些人都创办过三四家初创公司了。这些公司多数都价值上千万美元。它们不生产任何东西,主要业务就是创造这么一个公司化实体,被其他人高价收购后,立即再次转卖或是抛售。大家喝着浓缩咖啡,分发小甜饼,这时,其中一个家伙不无得意地说:“我们这笔交易募集了10亿美元。大概2.5亿美元用于业务。其余7.5亿美元都被投资人捞走了!”话音刚落,就引来众人的一片笑声,大家纷纷点头附和。

    I don't like Facebook. There, I said it, and you know what? It felt good. I don't like Facebook I don't like Facebook I don't like Facebook. I have a feeling there are a lot of people who feel the way I do but are ashamed to say so. Our pop culture machine has come together with the greedy engine of post-industrial capitalism to produce a gigantic bubble of consensus, and we're all inside that bubble looking out. But there's no reason for it, not really. Bubbles just like it have popped before. In fact, in the end, all bubbles pop. That's what bubbles do.

    Men all used to wear fedoras. Now only hipsters do, with irony. Hula-Hoops are gone, as are suspenders for mid-level executives, ubiquitous smoking, drinking at the office, hair metal bands, and free love. Call me a reactionary. Call me a Luddite. Call me late for dinner. But I can't believe that in the future everybody is going to continue to want to share things.

    In fact, I hate sharing things. I don't share my toothbrush. I don't share my pork chop, although if you ask me nicely with big eyes and a trembling lip I might give you a bite. I don't share my thoughts, except for love or money. I don't want you to see my pictures of Bob's birthday party. I don't want to see your pictures of Cassandra's first steps, or that video of you on that panel at South by Southwest about social media. Particularly not that.

    My Friends are not my friends. In reality, I have maybe four or five actual friends. They know who they are, because now and then I see them, usually over drinks. My Friends, on the other hand, are a ragtag bunch of former associates and failed loves from various phases of my life, in whom I have no interest whatsoever. Yet there they are on my Facebook wall, with their observations and grainy little photographs and professional extrusions of one sort or another. I hate myself on my wall, too. Who is that person? Is he really that bogus?

    I hate being Marketed to, too. That's Facebook (FB) all over, just one gigantic tool. Maybe in the beginning it had something genuine about it, like Harvard students looking for sex. But now? Now it's all about Marketing, like hip-hop and psychotropic medication and who's going to be your next senator. If you want to sell something, you gotta be on Facebook! Well, I don't want to Like Burger King, although I do like Burger King.

    I was at a lunch the other day with some people in San Francisco, where bubbles are born and monetized. Everybody was on his third or fourth startup, most worth hundreds of millions of dollars from business activity that had produced nothing but an entity that had been acquired at great cost by another that immediately diffused or abandoned it. "We raised $1 billion on that deal," said one proudly as the tiny cookies were passed around over the decaf espressos. "About $250 million went to the business. And $750 million went to investors!" Then there was a bunch of chuckling and nodding.

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