I was in lower primary when my mother told me to fix my fly.
This was after I had approached her, hoping she would offer a solution after the button had loosened and fallen off. It didn’t have a zipper. That private dehisence must have had at least two buttons. Two buttons were enough to seal the crevice and keep the privacy of my underwear colour between me and my shorts.
More weary than busy, she told me to fix it myself. She reminded me where the thread and needle were. I didn’t know squat about fixing buttons. But I figured it wouldn’t be that hard.
Determined, I imagined my next series of steps. I found the thread, with the two-inch needle sticking from its side, struggled to get the tapered hypersalivated end into the eye of the needle, tied it to the other end I had already cut, and began punching holes through my shorts. The repeated steps were easy enough. After multiple rounds, I felt accomplished. I went back to my mother, beaming, showing my achievement. She affirmed her belief in me.
This is one among the many do-it-yourself stories that punctuated my childhood. I have never asked anyone to fix my buttons ever since. Even after I started getting shorts and trousers with zippers, I’d find a way to fix them without anybody’s help. The agency is a big step in believing in oneself. Today, that agency is dwindling.
And more revealingly, fake buttons continue to exist everywhere.
Chasing fake buttons
Let’s start with the “I’m-happy-to-announce” platform.
On my mobile phone, the “like” button is a single one. In real life, thumbs up can mean you want to get a taxi. Or, if your friend is nervous and wants to approach a hot piece, you would give them the thumbs up to proceed. Sometimes, it’s used as an emoji on WhatsApp to minimize conversations or simply to tell the other side “cool”. On LinkedIn, it’s a button. It signals to the one who made the post that you liked it. They will take it that way, even if you have not gone through the post. You will get a notification that X or Y liked your post. They might even send you an email. This is the kind of button that cannot fall off your shirt or fly.
When using a different device, such as a tablet or a laptop, suspending your cursor over this like button reveals its other cousins: “celebrate,” “support,” “love,” “insightful,” “funny.” When making your “I’m-happy-to-announce” post, the goal shifts from being happy to how many people will press that button. It’s performative advertising. We’re chasing fake buttons in the name of engagement.
When scrolling down, on the right side, the platform gives you extra suggestions of who to follow and add to your feed. The button lingers at the bottom of a brief profile, and a face that should appeal to you. Nobody has their worst version of their face on their profile. Some will press that “follow” button. But why is this button fake?
“To follow” implies the existence of a leader. I would follow Raila if he said we were to meet at Uhuru Park on Saturday. But the “follow” button on LinkedIn is the fakest version of following. I have over 5000 followers. I am certain most of them don’t know who I am. They simply clicked a fake button, hoping I would follow them back. If I follow you and you follow me, it shows there was no need to have a leader among us. Only an inspired need to get more followers. Fake buttons.
The “I’m-proud-to-announce” platform doesn’t stop there. Indeed, they somewhat understand the meaning of a follower. The purpose of the entire platform is to connect. The first four letters of the platform, link, is already achieved by pressing the fake “follow” button, but they want people to connect. Connect how? But pressing the fake button. Fake why?
Assuming you are still on the platform, like me, who writes my newsletter and ships out faster than an invader in a wasp’s nest, do you know who your connectors are? Follow doesn’t match the deeper connection a “connect” button should guarantee. So we opt for the “connect” button, but do we really connect? Fake button.
Real connection exists in families and relationships. Even nemeses have more meaningful connections than the ones fostered in the “I’m-happy-to-announce” platform. Real buttons continue to get ignored as the same people button up their tops and suits, headed to work or seek employment, and refashion their online profiles for people to press the fake buttons in their favour.
It’s not hard to see how the other platforms create the fake buttons. The “follow” button is there on the “I-look-good-all-the-time” platform, where you can double-tap, and the love icon pops up. The “love” button also lingers at the bottom of every post. Is it really a button? Anyway, maybe it is. But does it really show love? Does the stress on showing how many people loved your post mean the others didn’t love it? This is a fake button because it sends a message different from the meaning of love, and gives the impression that if nobody punches that button, nobody loved the post. Fake button.
The same button is present in the “I-support-free-speech-but-I-control-the-AI-to-suit-my-wishes” AKA the app we loved with the blue birdie. Consider the few characters a post should have. How quickly does one punch that “love” button and move on to the next one? Is it really an expression of love for the message the post conveyed?
On the leading “this-is-what-social-media-should-have-been-like” platform, the notes section has the same icon. Most of the readers and writers on the platform should be smart enough to know the button is more attuned with “like” than “love”. But the creators would rather not have the “thumbs-up” button, lest they be likened to the “I’m-proud-to-announce-AKA-celebrate-2-years-of-working” platform.
One button they do have, however, which is unquestionably true, is the “subscribe” button. They also have the “pledge” and “upgrade-to-paid” buttons. I have no issues with these. The first one guarantees all my emailed posts reach my subscribers, the second one signals someone willing to pay for my written work, and the third one is the real-time support in cash for my ideas. However, the platform is still a victim of the fake buttons paranoia, as evident from its notes section. I’m certain by now you can think of all the other buttons with contradictory meanings.
The offshoot of (not) chasing these fake buttons
The fake buttons fail to capture the value they intended. But since it is what is given to its users, it is taken as the real representation of “engagement”.
Most online users have not picked a good book that engages them when awake and asleep. There are moments when I would read a book the whole night, to be alerted by hooting cars that dawn was breaking. That is real engagement. Chasing fake buttons misses the mark, and yet, that is what is prized. It also means fake buttons are the reason for the mental fatigue and tortured mental health of its chasers (I am extremely not a fan of the phrase, mental health).
It’s not so much that the fake buttons are chased, it’s that it becomes a measure for something totally different, a strong urge to feel loved, a sense of worth which exists outside one’s locus of control. And when the measure becomes the goal, it ceases to become a good goal.
Garrett Hardin haunts my articles, reminding readers that words do not just convey meaning; they also prevent thought. Our social media platform owners have extended this aphorism to include fake buttons. They don’t convey whatever they intend with their shapes and intentions.
The other offshoot is that few people will know how to fix the real buttons, as my mother had instructed me when I was still in lower primary. They would either rush to the nearby tailor or forget about the piece of cloth altogether.
An object as simple as a button can improve the agency that is lacking and waning in our online and automated world. Every time you prompt AI, you lose a bit of your agency. Redeemable, of course. But every time you pick that button to sew it onto your clothes, you reinforce it. The real ones are forgotten, the fake ones are chased.
You know who doesn’t have these buttons? Paul Graham. Visit his website. All his articles are like letters. No buttons. Vivid. Engaging. Insightful. He doesn’t chase these buttons. With every essay, he knows that chasing these buttons is never the measure. The founder of the biggest startup incubator does not have the buttons seen in most startups. What does that signal?
What I’m trying to say is…
Since when did buttons signal emotion?
They never had, and they never will, but they will trigger the worst kind from those who continue to chase them. It’s a difficult setup, because no reactions could just as well signal that nobody cared about what you posted.
Online users, contributors, influencers are then enslaved by the fake buttons and can’t find a way out without significant costs.
Real engagement exists outside social media. You only need to distance yourself from the device momentarily to appreciate it.
And also, button up with conscious awareness to remember the real buttons. The Pussycat Dolls knew what real buttons were. They made a fortune from it. We don’t always need to chase the money through buttons, but we should at least distinguish the real from the fake buttons.
This song inspired some of the lines used in this article. Source — YouTube