Facebook’s Madame Bovary


Annie, a married seventh-year associate that I work with, seems to be using Facebook as an alternate universe where she brags about imaginary exploits and engages in online affairs using a faux persona. Apparently, when it comes to having a mid-life crisis, Facebook is the new Ferrari.

Up to this point, Annie has always exhibited limitless attention-seeking behaviors, including (but not limited to) constantly sharing private details about herself. I’ve never asked her a single personal question, yet I know that she was raised in a strict Protestant evangelical family and went wild in college with cocaine and clubbing; that she briefly split from her husband and had an affair with an auto mechanic from the western suburbs (and claims he is still in love with her and that his new wife stalks her); and how much she spends every time she goes to Target. Once she (ironically) openly pouted at an associate cocktail hour because no one noticed her new Juvederm injections.

Last week, she and I traveled to Dallas for the case we work on together. On the way (thanks to Gogo Inflight Internet), she spent the entire time on Facebook and randomly turned to me to exclaim things like, “I’m friends with an artist from Brazil who painted a psychedelic portrait of me and posted a photo of it online—I wonder if that makes his wife mad!” and “I bet it makes the new wife of my old lover so jealous when she sees the pictures of my fabulous life!” and “My yoga instructor is so hot, and he just wrote on my wall!” With her, these non-sequiturs are par for the course, but something did spark my attention—the fact that her profile didn’t look like it had her real name on it.

Now, my personal relationship with Facebook developed over two phases: Hostility and Acceptance. During Hostility, I insisted that anyone over 23 was pathetically misplaced on the site. Whenever a co-worker professed to being a member, I would gripe, “Facebook called and they want their demographic back.”

Hostility lasted until this past December when I discovered (after signing in as my 23-year-old sister) that Facebook serves up the best Schadenfreude the web has to offer. I created a profile and have since made countless satisfying discoveries, e.g. that Jim P. (the frat boy who mercilessly used me junior year in college) recently married a fat girl and sells Wissahickon Spring Water for a living.

However, I am new enough to the phenomenon to have still been unaware that Facebook poses the risk of serving as an ill-advised tool for histrionic personality types to act out fantasies. I squinted at Annie’s computer screen in disbelief when she turned her attention to the stewardess and memorized her nom de plume: “Mackenzie Smith.” Later in my hotel room, I searched for the name and was delighted to discover that I could access the entirety of Mackenzie’s profile simply by joining the same geographic network.

One thing was for certain—Mackenzie was having a lot more fun than Annie and me. Thanks to her average of 11 status updates per day, I learned that Mackenzie was “Drinking margaritas with the girls and shopping for Louboutins” on a night when Annie and I were both stuck in the office until 1 a.m. working on a brief. While Annie was getting ready to defend depositions in Dallas and oversee my review of client documents, Mackenzie was “Looking forward to a few days at the spa with my honey in Scottsdale!!!” In fact, at the very moment that Annie was wedged next to me in coach, Mackenzie was “Sooo excited to be having a Bloody Mary in First Class… Gotta love upgrades!”

Had I stopped reading after the status updates, perhaps I would’ve concluded that the faux profile was a mostly harmless form of adult imaginative play. Sadly, I had only just begun to peel back the onion. I followed a thread of wall postings and learned that the “yoga instructor” she referred to was a very good-looking guy, several years her junior, who she apparently met and “friend-ed” using her alternate personality after meeting him in a salon waiting room. Judging by Mackenzie’s lengthy friend list, it seemed that anytime she met a male stranger in everyday life, she followed up with a friend request and lots of outrageous flirting.

It seems she met the “Brazilian artist” on a long flight—hence the string of wall postings beginning with “I hope you’re recovering from the red eye!” and rapidly evolving into “Too bad…I’ve always wanted to be a member of the mile high club ;o)”

As for the extra-marital portrait Annie alluded to, a click on “View photos of Mackenzie” quickly displayed a gallery of art the Brazilian created, photographed, posted, and “tagged” her in. Without the tags, I wouldn’t have even recognized her likeness, given that they all portrayed psychedelic, hyper-sexualized priestesses floating in the air surrounded by flames.

After 45 minutes of familiarizing myself with Mackenzie, I was less than thrilled to spend the next 5 days with her creator.

Sure enough, given what I already know about Annie’s shamelessness, I wasn’t all that surprised when after our third 12-hour day, she burst into dramatic tears at the hotel bar after two and a half glasses of Pinot Grigio.

“I’ve been having such a miserable time in my marriage, I don’t know what to do or why I went back to him. If he doesn’t wake up and start paying me the attention I know I deserve, I’m going to be left with no other option, you know?”

She trailed off and dabbed her eyes. I stared at her and anticipated hearing something about online affairs and fictional characters.  Instead, with almost rehearsed gestures, she leaned in and lowered her voice.

“All I’m saying is, I can’t be blamed for giving into temptation. They are lining up for me, that’s for sure.”

I nodded speechlessly.

Aside from The Real Housewives of New Jersey, Annie/Mackenzie is the most interesting reality entertainment that’s come my way in ages. I don’t know how long she can keep up the ruse before it all comes crashing down, but I plan to watch what happens.

If the overwhelming emptiness wrought by the combination of a loveless marriage and slaving away in BigLaw can only be quieted by developing online multiple personality disorder, then maybe I should be a little more comfortable with my single status.  At least for a little while.

Law Firm 10 may lack the dazzling, magnetic charisma of a girl from the hottest sorority in school, but she (arguably) makes up for that with her wit, humor, and low-maintenance-ness. Read more from Law Firm 10.

17 Comments

  1. BL1Y

    May 28, 2009 at 4:59 am

    Being married and still working at a law firm should have been the first sign this woman is crazy.  If you can opt out, for the love of God, do it.  There’s nothing noble or admirable about someone who pisses away the best years of their life with securities filings and second-tier doc review.

  2. Anonymous

    May 28, 2009 at 8:58 am

    who of us doesn’t have a fake account?  right?  RIGHT?

  3. blogenfreude

    May 28, 2009 at 10:06 am

    I, like you, was dragged onto Facebook kicking and screaming.  Some old girlfriends have found me, which is a pain.  On the other hand, I can avoid a lot of people I don’t want to see by interacting with them on FB.  Lose win.

  4. Craig

    May 28, 2009 at 10:56 am

    I like the upgrade on the article pictures. The first picture was a bit odd and confusing.

  5. Daily reader

    May 28, 2009 at 11:08 am

    Ditto Craig

  6. Dill

    May 28, 2009 at 11:17 am

    Broads like “Mackenzie” (whatever happened to names like Jane and Mary?) give me a pain in the butt.  They are head cases, looking for excitement, when they really should just be buckling down and doing their job, or leaving the field altogether.  Put up or shut up, will ya?

  7. Craig

    May 28, 2009 at 11:28 am

    “whatever happened to names like Jane and Mary” – – Looks like someone is not so subconsciously craving some Mary Jane.

  8. BL1Y

    May 28, 2009 at 1:36 pm

    Craig: Good point with the name.  Keeping up on naming trends could help identify fake personae.  Mackenzie is far more popular a baby name now than it was 30-40 years ago.  (Just like how Alma was more popular 100 years ago then 40 years ago.)

  9. AW

    May 28, 2009 at 1:38 pm

    BL1Y, there’s nothing in here to indicate that this dame (Annie or Makenzie or WTF her name is) really had the option of opting out of work.  Her husband barely pays attention to her as it is, and if she didn’t bring home the bacon, he probably would have divorced her sorry ass a long time ago. Moreover, for all we know, he is pushing a broom somewhere at $36,000 per year and this beeotch is the “breadwinner”.  I know hopeless beeotches like this and they are really only good for one thing–and you know what that is.  So this guy is probably in it for the buckaroos she is bringing home as a 7th year, and throwing her a lay once a week or so while on the hunt for better tail in a year or 2 when she doesn’t make partner and starts looking for another job.

  10. Anon Female

    May 28, 2009 at 7:14 pm

    what a trip to have worked with such a nut case!! facebook does kind of seem like it should be for the under 23 crowd….but I have heard once you get on you get addicted.

  11. Li Yuan

    May 29, 2009 at 5:02 am

    Ya, she seem like too old a bird to be on face-book, no?

  12. Li Yuan

    May 29, 2009 at 5:04 am

    And same bird too old to “Tweeter”, no?

  13. JanieJ

    May 29, 2009 at 5:58 pm

    this gal seems a bit old for facebook, but you can’t put an age limit on it!!

  14. Alma Federer

    May 30, 2009 at 12:07 pm

    This poor soul is lost and in need of spiritual direction.  I profess abstinence is the best way to cure these evils.

  15. Anonymous

    May 31, 2009 at 8:41 am

    I think Annie could use a good banging.

  16. Anon Female

    May 31, 2009 at 9:46 am

    another great piece law firm 10!! love ya!

  17. Me

    May 31, 2009 at 10:08 pm

    All my settings on Facebook are set to PRIVATE.

    I have 30 friends. Loser? Nope. I hate when people have a million friends that they don’t even talk to anymore.

    I don’t have friends who have to tell me their bowel movements or what they’re thinking every single minute of the day.

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