Category Archives: Social Media/Social Networking

Jun 02 2009
7 Comments
Social Media/Social Networking

C’est la vie.

So, do you think it is considered “progress,” per se, when you finally come to terms with the fact that every single one of your individual thoughts really does fit into 140 characters or less?

Do you think it’s considered “progress” when you finally come to terms with the fact that every single one of your individual thoughts really does fit into 140 characters or less?

Is it considered “progress” when you finally come to terms with the fact that every single one of your individual thoughts really does fit into 140 characters or less?

Is it “progress” when you come to terms with the fact that every single one of your thoughts really does fit into 140 characters or less?

Is it “progress” when you realize that every single one of your thoughts really does fit into 140 characters or less?

Is it “progress” when you realize that all of your thoughts really do fit into 140 characters or less?

Is it “progress” when your thoughts really are 140 characters or less?

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Apr 17 2009
2 Comments
Social Media/Social Networking, Web 2.0 Bubble

Take a bite outta social media’s neck & enjoy the fresh blood!

Although I’ve been no better than mute here as of late, I promise you I haven’t fallen into the depths of contented and disengaged nothingness (otherwise known as this American life?) just yet. Rather, I’ve simply halfheartedly moved on to more convenient, lazier channels of communication for demonstrating my social media prowess (and after I use the word “prowess,” I do believe it’s required that I growl.  Rowr.).

Behold, the recorded webinar!

Check it out – the following are two webinars I’ve done – one pertaining to social media in general, one focusing on Twitter in particular – to assist your average maverick Joe the Plumber from Main Street in dipping a toe into the social media bailout waters.

Man, actually, scratch that. Enough of the overused phraseology already!  I’ve grown unbelievably weary of the saying “dipping a toe” into anything. What do you get out of just sticking a toe in?  A shiver up your spine?  A saltwater-flavored phalange?  A wet toe?  I scoff at that!  I want the contemporary Everyman to thrust a gleaming knife through the heart of social media, and then draw it out again triumphantly, dripping with social media blood!

Oh yeah. Now that’s more like it.  And lick it clean, too, why dontcha.  For good measure.  And because it’s not polite to waste.

I swear I’m only this macabre when it comes to social media.

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Mar 23 2009
5 Comments
Social Media/Social Networking, Web 2.0 Bubble

Pop goes the SXSW cherry!

Pop goes the cherry!I am a new woman.  Yes, a totally, completely changed lady.  Can you tell?  Whaaa, you can’t tell? What if I spin around in a circle?  Throw my hip out like this?  Pivot on my left instead of my right foot?  Now do you see it?

Pfft.  I’m different, man, I am!  To me, it’s quite obvious.  You see, from here on forward, I am no longer writing as a SXSW (that’s South by Southwest, to those of you that don’t speak acronymic geek) virgin.  Yessir!  A mere weekend ago, my SXSW cherry was popped.  Pop!  Just like that.  It didn’t hurt at all, even though it was my first time (what a relief!).  In fact, it felt quite good.  And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

While the omnipresent Jeremiah may have compiled some killer tips for doing SXSW on the cheap, and the adorable Cindy Li has authored some kickbutt survival tips for doing SXSWi right, all I’ve got for you are my own accounts of what I’ve dubbed “Mardi Gras for Geeks.”  And not all of them are of importance to the masses.  My failed attempt at universality, for shame!  However, they do hold, at the very least, minimal entertainment value for at least 57.8% of you.  If we (wait, who’s “we”?) weren’t being difficult, we could call them “Lessons Learned,” but gosh, how boring would THAT be?  It might be pretty darn boring.  Dammit.

So, without further ado, here are Fayza’s Top 20ish SXSWi Takeaways:

  1. Sure, panels are good.  Some panels are even great.  But spending quality time meeting people outside the panels? Even better!
  2. If you’re gonna hang out at the Convention Center for an extended period of time (as you probably should), the TechSet Bloggers Lounge is the place to be.  For serious.  I only wish I’d known that before the last day.
  3. Except, if you’re gonna do that, you must also know this rule:  Do. Not. Sit. At. The. Chair.  Above. The. Power. Strip.  A.R.G.H.
  4. Well, helloooooooo, techie boys!  Where’d you come from and when’d you get so kayooooooote? I’d take one of you over a doctor or lawyer or famous actor any day.  Can you say “yummy“?  CALL ME!  Ahem.
  5. It doesn’t matter WHAT you’re wearing, except that you’re wearing comfortable shoes.  Wearing a dress?  Wear comfortable dress shoes.  Wearing a camouflage muumuu?  Wear comfortable camouflaged muumuu shoes.  You’re going to do more walking than you ever dreamed possible, you’ll be on your feet longer than you’d imagined when you packed your suitcase, and you’ll only spend time in your hotel room getting ready and sleeping.  And getting ready and sleeping will take up about 0.000018% of your entire stay in Austin.
  6. Piggybacking on that, SXSW certainly isn’t the time to catch up on your sleep.  Nor is it the time to eat healthy, start your detox program, worry about hygiene, complain about the weather, chill out, or decide that you want to be moody and independent.
  7. You see that big escalator at the corner entrance of the Convention Center?  It does not go to the 3rd Floor.  No, not at all.  And that elevator over there?  Well, it only goes to the 3rd Floor, but not the 4th.  But you can take the outside staircase to get to the 4th Floor.  Or is it the 3rd Floor?  Hey, has anyone seen the 2nd Floor at all?
  8. It’s pretty effing cute to see guys getting all fluttery and stuff about Guy Kawasaki and Tony Hsieh.
  9. Unless you have a lot of time to spare, don’t walk down the street with “A. Hughes” and his camera.  If you must, go to a town where it is guaranteed that he knows positively no one, and where there are absolutely zero pretty girls in sight.  Trust me on this one.
  10. Adding, “That’s what she said!” after, um, almost everything remotely suggestive never, ever gets unfunny.
  11. Oh yeah, and “server rack,” too.
  12. What’s Twitter?
  13. Did you know that you can cook Spaghetti-Os in a coffee maker?  Yum.  Breakfast.
  14. You wanna meet people at SXSW?  You’d better get yourself to some parties.  Or hurdle chairs to get to the panelists before they call security on you.  Or call you “cheap.”
  15. If there’s ever a mass button disappearance in America (and I mean “buttons,” as in the ones with the pins attached to the back), I have located their secret bunker.  They’re all hiding out on the tables at the SXSW Film & Interactive Trade Show.  Talk about buttons like whoa!  Even Joey would’ve whoa-d.
  16. Maggie wore her hair differently at SXSW.  No one noticed.
  17. So yeah, it kinda sucked not having an iPhone.  It was the equivalent of everyone wearing satin undies, and I was the only one sportin’ cotton.  With dinosaurs on it (okay, actually, that’s kinda cool).  Until AT&T proved to the geekiest throng in the world how badly its service actually sucks, making my incredibly uncool Verizon Wireless BlackBerry look pretty damn sexy when I got data and voice service, like, everywhere.
  18. Apparently, my vocal chords aren’t a fan of heavily imbibing for four nights straight.  What started off as a sexy morning voice quickly devolved into an enviable smoker’s rasp.  Pfft.  Lightweights.
  19. There is some brilliant technology on its way into the mainstream, my friends – lemme tell you! – but my favorite, by far, was Empressr.  A browser-based, rich media presentation tool?  And it’s FREE?!  Swoon!  I’m in love!  Marry me?
  20. If you become internet-famous enough, you, too, can land yourself on an Internet All-Stars Trading Card.  Ahem.  Yikes.
  21. All of Austin’s bars are outside.  This doesn’t bode well when it is, um, FREEZING.
  22. Err, clearly there are parts of #6 to which I did not abide.
  23. I really must learn how to spin boobie tassels.
  24. Dear Mr. Boss Man, if we ever, you know, needed to open, like, a satellite office in Austin, I would take one for the team and help establish a Schipul branch there.  You know, ’cause I’m, like, a team player ‘n all.

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Dec 31 2008
18 Comments
Social Media/Social Networking

The Definitive, Absolute, Best, 100% Accurate Rules for Being a Social Media Expert (Or Not).

We all know what happened to Icarus.Social media this, social media that.  Are you tired of hearing about “social media” yet?  Well, if you are, my heart aches for you in advance.  With the financial chasms in this country deepening and marketing budgets being the first to get slashed, expect social media to go the route of Icarus until it reaches its tragic meeting with the sun.

These days, it seems like everyone – theoretically speaking, at least – is doing social media.  As a result, there are dime-a-dozen self-anointed social media “experts” everywhere.  Everywhere, I tell you!  Overindulged “social media gurus“  (the less faint of heart despise the word “guru,” yet don’t hesitate to describe themselves with it) navigate the sinewy entrails of the interwebs, flaunting and strutting their proverbial feathers for anyone who’ll pay at least a backwards glance.  “Look at me, I’m a social media expert!  I know everything there is to know about social media!  I have the answers!  I set the tone!”

There are gobs and gobs of ambitious and savvy Internet users out there – cutting-edge marketers, calculated enterpreneurs,  impatient get-rich-quicks, critical executives, curious public relations personnel, bushy-tailed college graduates, tentative self-employeds, and so on – confidently asserting that they know social media.  Hell, I’m pretty much one of them!  We’re all out there claiming to be the definitive voice on social media.  Asserting our opinions like the deciphering Rosetta Stone to those social media hieroglyphics.  We’ve articulated how-tos, promulgated guidelines, set the acceptable standards.  We’ve engaged each other in the “echo chamber” via self-serving, back-patting discussions.  But by and large, social media “experts” really love to create copious – which, translated, means often indigestible and inconceivable – amounts of rules, rules, rules, rules.  Because, well, you know.  We social media folk know what social media is and we know what social media expertise is all about.

But c’mon – who’s really an “expert” at this, anyway?  An “expert” is defined at the core as someone “with a high degree of skill in or knowledge of a certain subject.”  Fair enough.  So those of us that “specialize” in “social media strategy” or “social media consulting” are then de facto “experts,” right? 

Really? For a subject that’s been around for such a short period of time that’s ever-evolving (as in hourly and daily – this is hyper-time, baby), just what out there can we possibly be “experts” on, exactly?  What’s the subject matter?  Okay, what’s the subject matter now? Even the ever-influential Malcolm Gladwell claims that we need at least 10,000 hours of dedicated practice to really master a subject area or skill – that’s 20 hours a week for 10 years, folks.  Has there even been enough time to become an “expert” on these tools, in these conversations, in these interactions that are always, always, always changing, and never, ever, ever constant?

So I ask again: Are we the experts?  I’ll speak for myself; I’m certainly no social media “expert.”  I didn’t go to social media school and my Juris Doctor specialization certainly wasn’t in social media.  I’ve learned everything I know through an insatiable enthusiasm for the trends, ascent, and usage diversification of social media, becoming a heavy user of the social media tools,  and through trial and error.  So is it still acceptable, although I’ve had no formal education on “social media,” that I hold myself out as a social media “expert”?

What do we – we, the self-proclaimed social media strategists, the social media consultants, the social media advisors, the social media evangelists – what do we really know, anyway?

Frankly, we know as much as anyone.  And that “anyone” is any of you.

Dearest random Facebook user, darling random Twitterer, querido random Flickr user – you specialize in social media just as much as I do, just as much as he does, just as much as we do.  You’re out there in Social Media Land, just like me, experiencing and experimenting with these tools and platforms daily, letting them transform your careers, your relationships, your leisure time, your hobbies, your social calendars – your very lives, at their most fundamental.  You’re in it, just like me, in the thick of it, having the conversations of Jane Everywoman and Joe Everyman, fueling the engines of social media.  You have no desire to analyze behaviors or value or ROI.  You don’t care how to participate in and massage conversations for marketing purposes.  You don’t care about tracking your brand.  And yet, you are what makes this whole thing go.  You are social media!

So then how can there be rules for this when the very nature of social media depends upon the spontaneity and unpredictability of human interactions, human conversations, and human experiences?  Are there rules for that?  Well?

Let’s extrapolate for a second here.  What rules govern your offline interactions with people?  For instance, do you consult a handbook before you lean over your cubicle wall to greet your co-worker?  Do you conduct extensive online research before going to the bar for drinks and idle banter with your friends?  Chances are, you probably don’t, because hard and fast rules don’t permeate your everyday relationships.  Not with flesh and blood, anyway.  Unless, that is, you’ve deemed the generally held notions of common decency “rules” by which you conduct your daily activities.  Normally, you’ll find such nonsecular edicts buried deep within the foundation of many holy institutions.  But for those of us that aren’t particularly religious, these mere proposals for human conduct are not transcribed nor housed in some public repository for all to see and admire, nor are they universally honored.  Besides, it’s a matter of course that these sorts of behaviors are subject to wild variations in interpretation from individual to individual.

Social media, my friends, is a study in sociology, at best.  It’s merely “an effort to use systematic methods of empirical investigation and critical analysis to develop a body of knowledge about human societies and human social activity.”  And it is chaos, at worst.  This is the humanity, and its actions cannot be prescribed, dictated, or controlled.  Social media, at all times, is a snapshot of the human condition.

Why?  Because there are no rules in social media.  There are norms.  There are customary behaviors.  There are habitual behaviors.  There are recommendations and suggested guidelines.  But there aren’t rules.

We “social media” folk study you.  We study your interactions, we study how you relate to each other in the sphere that geeks have most aptly dubbed “social media.”  We want to know what you do before you do it, so that we can say, “Yeah, we knew you were going to do that!  Because we know you!  We know what you did, why you did it, and we know what you’ll do next!  It’s social media!”  It’s amazing we social media folk have any breath left after proclamations such as those.

But fellow social media “experts,” we’re not the teachers here.  We’re the students.  Do you realize how much the public at large is educating us about our very own craft?  About our area of “expertise”?  We are learning our jobs from them!

Those people out there, blogging and using Facebook and YouTube and Flickr and Twitter?  They don’t call this stuff “social media,” kids.  When I tell people what I do, I usually have to say, “I help companies and organizations use Facebook and Twitter to market their businesses and interact with their clients.”  Because if I go into any additional details, I run the risk of alienating anyone that isn’t in the industry.  You know, those people for whom we created this term, “social media,” remember?  Yes, them.  The meat and potatoes of “social media.”

Yes, we social media “experts” are heavy users and early adopters of the social media applications about which we preach and gush.  Yes, we take part in the conversations swirling around us.  Yes, we push out well-written, meaningful content (which probably isn’t of interest to anyone else but us, but that’s outside the scope of this post).

But who creates this?  Who makes it so?  Who makes it “wrong,” for example, to follow someone on Twitter and then, after you follow them back, you’re unfollowed immediately?  Who makes a social pariah out of the users that are constantly intruding with invitations to Vampire Wars and Lil’ Green Patch applications on Facebook?  Who makes it “wrong” to fail to credit the usage of another Flickr user’s picture in a blog post?  Who makes those practices “norms”?  Who ushers them into “custom”?

Not me.  Not Chris Brogan.  Not Shannon Paul.  Not Jeremiah Owyang.  Not Laura Fitton.  Not David Meerman Scott.

You do.

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Nov 30 2008
6 Comments
Navel-Gazing, Refining Fayza, Social Media/Social Networking, Web 2.0 Bubble

How much is too much?

fayza-old-blogpostAbout four years ago (i.e., “way back in the day,” in the chronology of the interwebs), before the advent – or perhaps just the mainstream acceptance – of the term “social media,” I was a blogger.  Sure, I blog now, as you can plainly see (albeit woefully infrequently, I know), but I wouldn’t call myself a “blogger” at this point any longer. A “writer,” yes.  A “blogger”?  Hardly.

What did being a “blogger” entail then?  Well, it was a special, personal role that I embraced, and one that I relished.  I defined myself by this luminous and ambiguous “blogger” status.  I wielded my power to persuade, entertain, enrage, and educate mercifully.  I created a community around my blog.  I nurtured this community by participating and reaching out to the members of it via commenting on their blogs, including them in my blogroll and blogposts, corresponding with them in the comments, and taking an interest in the blogged and unblogged parts of their lives.  You see, they were all personal bloggers as well (as opposed to professional bloggers), and the trials and tribulations they faced became intertwined in my online presence and persona.  I tailored my writing style and content to this community so that they would remain engaged and invested, and so they’d encourage others to do the same.  I made new friendships (both online and offline), and I revived dormant ones via blogging.  Some of my closest and dearest friends originated from the days that I flourished as a blogger.

I wrote under a pseudonym, and it allowed me to write with unadulterated abandon.  It was PG-13 at best, and at worst, it was…well, it was never pornography, let’s put it that way.  It was both freeing and cumbersome to be so upfront and honest.  I allowed every minutiae of my existence to be examined by those that wanted to relate to me, those that wanted to understand human interactions through me, those that wanted to be amused by my debacles, and those that wanted to scrutinize and judge me.

After awhile, I made the executive decision that this approach was unsustainable, and besides, it way too close for comfort.  Perhaps I had not formally attached my given name to that wealth of documented failed dating escapades, for example, but did I really want to cement my reputation in the online world as the quintessential bachelorette, faltering and wobbling and second-guessing her every step in all things life and love?

In a word: no.  While my former blog depicted (and might still be) who I was at the time, it certainly wasn’t the way I wanted to go down in Google-cached history.  I’ve got too much brain, too much heart, and too much soul to make a voluntary and unpaid livelihood out of exploiting and poking fun at my own shortcomings.  As intimately enriching and soul-searching as it might’ve been for me.

And so I began using my real name in all forms of online communication.  My Flickr profile disrobed first (where I was always “Fayza,” but I strictly separated it from my existing online persona). Twitter followed suit shortly thereafter.  Eventually, the protective blog wall collapsed as well.  Without the veil to hide behind, Ifayza-old-blogpost2 was forced to take more responsibility for my words.  Not that I was an irresponsible author of online content in the past, but blogging under my real name made it clear that admitting to various singleton trysts and tribulations would be infinitely attached to both my personal and professional reputation.  In essence, it was time to grow up a little, and the statements I made public for all to see on the interwebs would have to reflect that.  The highly self-analytical, introspective, sacrificial lamb in me had to be gated and penned for the preservation of the Fayzablogging species.  Despite the fact that there were things I wanted to say – generally still being an older version of that haphazard, uncertain, frivolous singleton – there was a better home for those thoughts and observations; namely, not my blog.

But I struggle with this realization every time I explore possible blog topics now.  I wonder who I am based upon the drivel that eventually makes it to your computer screens.  And then I inevitably think, “What do I even write about anymore?”  If sharing the experiences most innate to me are invariably off-limits, what is there for me to say with any sort of authority or know-how or, most importantly, conviction?

I’ve had these conversations with Maggie in the past, and it helps to understand that I am not alone in the sentiment.  They’ve begun like, “There’s something I want to say about my personal life, and I want to blog about it.  But I don’t want to blog about it.  But I do want to say it.  How do you go about doing that?”  I echo those sentiments and that inquiry, because I have yet to figure out how to answer that question for myself.  There’s content that I want to publish – perhaps because I want your opinion, or perhaps because I want to tell you my story – but, as it seems is a no-brainer, I can’t.  I just can’t.  Using my real name requires a prudent exercise of restraint when it comes to what I do and do not post on my blog.  It comes with the territory; my dirty laundry doesn’t need to hang on a public clothesline.  But that sort of self-moderation has been incredibly difficult for me, in the end.  Almost stifling.

I mean, do I publicly string up series after series of text messages like a banner of disappointment from failed suitorships, which I did with glee in the past?  Not advisable.  Do I mourn the details of the professional mistakes I’ve made? Not judicious.  Do I selfishly expound upon what I still desire from this existence?  Not relevant.  Do I want to be defined by my personal life in a realm where I want to be viewed as a professional?  Not wise.  Do I hold back because the subjects with which I’m the most acutely familiar aren’t fair fodder for this blog’s purpose or function?  Absolutely.

Okay, so what I don’t say is generally clear.  But then, what do I say?

Note: Screenshots are actual posts from my former blog.  The PG-rated ones, that is.

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Nov 08 2008
21 Comments
Social Media/Social Networking, Web 2.0 Bubble

The Politics & Practice of “Following” on Twitter

qwitterI’m almost embarrassed to write yet another post about Twitter.  Sigh.  I mean, seriously.  It’s clearly documented all over the Twitterverse that I worship Twitter.  If it was possible to take Twitter, squeeze it and love it so, wrap it up in a terrycloth blanket, put a diamond collar on it, make it wear a pink fedora with a feather in the brim, and tote it all over town in my classic throwback Marc Jacobs bag, well, we all know I would do exactly that.  So, err, there’s no real need in re-traversing old ground here.  Right?  Ahem.  Is this thing on?

There are countless, brilliant informational treatises out there about Twitter – doing Twitter up right for your personal brand, Twittering for business, increasing your blogosphere love via Twitter, maximizing Twitter for marketing and PR, and seemingly, everything else in between.  And I mean, everything.  Including the kitchen sink.  At this point, the wonder of Twitter is indisputable – for those of us that actually get Twitter – and it has become invaluable, irreplaceable, and carries with it an energy and influence unlike any application we web denizens have encountered in the internets of yore.

Since that’s all so well-explained by the Twitterati, then what else is there to discuss regarding Twitter?

How about the issue of diplomacy and courtesy?

Yes, diplomacy and courtesy.  Of course, those concepts are ever-present when considering the content you push out through any online publishing platform, whether it be microblogging, on a traditional blog, via consuming and commenting, on forums, or whatever means you use to broadcast your vox pop to the Great Web Beyond.

But that’s not quite the scope of this post.  Nope, not this time.  I actually wanna get a little more touchy-feely than the words “diplomacy and courtesy” convey.  Right now, I’m actually interested in discussing “follower etiquette” on Twitter.  Or, rather, “follower psychology,” perhaps.  A discourse aptly spurred – but not entirely fueled – by the recent propagation of Qwitter, a voluntary sign-up service that so kindly alerts you as to when current followers become former followers by “qwitting” you.  Luckily, I am enough of a sadist to jump into bed with an entity providing such a grim notification.  Because, well, I care.  Hey, that’s my excuse, and I’m stickin’ to it, yo.

More than mere “follower etiquette” or “follower psychology,” however, I reckon I’ll just attempt to channel Bjork and take a stab at understanding human behavior.  In the Twitter context, I mean.  I want to discuss the reasons why we do and don’t follow a fellow Twitterer.

Reexamining the strategy behind who I follow on Twitter was an idea posited to me while I, appropriately, was lamenting losing a follower after the heads up from Qwitter:

fayza-qwitter-twitter

A follower of mine – ironically one that I had not yet followed – reacted:

@jameskirk-qwitter-twitter

Touche, my friend.

For once, I didn’t have an immediate response to that.  I developed a few in my head, but none of them seemed right in 140 characters or less.  So, I did the unthinkable – I said nothing.  I stewed and I stewed, but the pot never boiled over.  Not surprisingly, a few days later, I received the infamous Qwitter notification, alerting me that jameskirk was no longer following me.  He asked me a direct question, and I failed to engage.  I don’t fault him for that.

I can’t say there’s a set rhyme or reason behind whom I follow or choose not to follow on Twitter.  I don’t follow everyone, and I don’t expect everyone to follow me.  That much I understand and that much is clear.  But it’s hard to explain the exact science behind who I do and don’t follow.  Because, actually, it is quite the opposite of “an exact science.”

I suppose it’s easier to define whom I do follow as opposed to whom I do not.  As expected, I follow all people that I know “in real life.”  I follow people and organizations in Houston, the city in which I live and work.  I follow prominent and emerging voices in social media, the field in which I dabble professionally and find fascinating personally.  I follow some twittering attorneys – those that understand the medium and use it more similarly to the way I do, that is.  I follow witty randoms, because they add a sense of humor to my Twitterstream.  That list isn’t exhaustive, by any means, but it does seem to characterize the majority of those that I follow on Twitter.  There’s no scheme or method behind that whatsoever.  It’s more discombobulated than it looks.  Call it haphazard; I simply call it a mirror of the way the world works.

Who don’t I follow?  Well, I don’t follow bots or anyone that’s blatantly trying to sell me anything.  I don’t follow people that haven’t updated once, unless I already know who they are personally (and I continue to follow them in the hopes that they will tweet!).  I don’t follow people where it isn’t clear to me what they’re trying to convey – but that doesn’t mean I never will (case in point: I recently began following a long-time follower because, well, he won me over, and because I paid attention to him, even though I wasn’t actively following him).  You know that adage, “It’s easier to hire from within”?  When I’m looking for additional people to follow, my list of followers is the first location I consult.  I can’t follow everyone, because then I’d end up following no one – the sheer volume would overwhelm me, and my Twitterfeed would become unruly to the point of being painful to read.  But I can listen to anyone – following or not.

Frankly, it takes a lot for me to stop following someone altogether.  Either my follower unilaterally severed the following relationship, or the follower has repeatedly offended, bothered, or insulted me.  Or perhaps the person hasn’t tweeted anything for months and months.  Honestly, it takes a lot for me to click that “Remove” button.  I use it sparingly, and I don’t take unfollowing very lightly.

That’s the way I do it.  I fully comprehend that everyone’s self-regulations on Twitter differ.  And perhaps that’s one of the most difficult things about “playing” in this “game” of Twitter – the ground rules vary on each and every playing field.  Multiply that by hundreds or thousands of followers, and you see the dilemma.

But my expectations of fair play govern my Twitter field.  So, when people never follow me that know me, or when people “quit” me that know me, I’m often left scratching my head as to why.  Accepted Twitter etiquette paints crazy the Twitterer that actually asks, “Why aren’t you following me?” or “Why aren’t you following me any more?”  Thus, it’s not quite proper to confront the matter in most circumstances.

Qwitter could be argued as one of the worst things to happen to Twitter, and one of the best things for inquiring, obsessive minds since Twitter Search.  I mean, knowing that someone isn’t following you any longer isn’t new.  You were always able to determine when someone wasn’t following you by the fact that you’d be unable to direct message them, when before, you had that capability.  Sometimes, they’re random spammers or entities, and the loss isn’t a big one.  But what happens when they’re people? People that you know “in real life”?  What if these people that know you “in real life” stop following you, or never followed you in the first place?  What would make them choose to take (or fail to take) such actions?  Qwitter permits you to elevate your level of knowledge by discovering the exact tweet that made the former follower pull the plug, giving many a creative mind avenue upon avenue to traverse in search of reasons.

The truth of the matter is, these actions (or inactions) make a Twitter user like me second guess myself.  I want to ask, “Am I annoying to you?”  Yeah, sure, I tweet a lot.  Maybe, some would argue, too much.  But I have stuff to say!  I really do!  And isn’t that why you began following me in the first place?  Sure, I’m also a marketer.  I work for Schipul; web marketing is what we do.  But I’m a marketer second; I’m a human being first.  And that’s how I approach my tweets – flesh ‘n blood first, everything else second.  Did I fail to convey that to you, dear ex-follower?

You may be someone that follows everyone that follows them.  You may have a 20:1 ratio of followers to following.  But for those of us that treat Twitter as a personal playing field rather than a professional one, we care about the content we’re putting out, and the feedback you’re giving to us.  And there are millions – probably more like bazillions – of questions that swirl through the heads of those you unfollow or never follow at all.  “Am I not good enough?”  “Don’t I add value to your community?” “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”  “Do you only want me to hear what you have to say?”  “Aren’t you interested in getting to know me?”  “Am I boring?”

I suppose the beauty of social media is that sometimes, just like any break-up, you never get answers to any of those questions.  Your only recourse is to accept it and move on.  And find the next set of big brown eyes under which you will swoon.

Proverbially speaking, of course.  Next!

P.S. – Check out this incredibly healthy, incredibly empowering, incredibly balanced post on Twitter following and unfollowing, too.
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Aug 10 2008
6 Comments
I Left My Heart in Houston, Social Media/Social Networking, Web 2.0 Bubble

I’ve been unconferenced.

Ever had one of those weekends where, no matter how detoxifying your Sunday afternoon, you can’t quite conjure what you did on Friday?

I have. Actually, I did.

In fact, I’d shove this entire weekend squarely into that corner. And I’d give it a time out and make it face the wall, too. Lest you begin to pass judgment on me, however, you ought to let me explain why it was completely worth it.

Um, yes, sure, a few caveats are in order. For example, my statement is not to say that I imbibed so excessively that I dutifully sacrificed a portion of my memory and stomach lining to the Patron Saint of Porcelain. Ahem. You know what I mean. And, oh, that’s also not to say that I engaged in any sort of questionable activities that would lead to an intentional loss of cerebral cache (I gave up sniffing Elmer’s in the sixth grade, anyway). Not unless you classify sipping spirits with the local nerd neighborhood as a waste of brain cells. Which I truthfully think makes a great oxymoron. Oh, wow, there I go, remembering Friday night!

But it wasn’t a mere happy hour that threw me for a loop. Give your girl here a little more credit than that. I mean, I was in a sorority, wasn’t I? Errr, so, you see, it was the third annual session of this funny little un-conference called BarCamp Houston that really pulled the proverbial rug out from under me. While I don’t feel like giving you the etymology behind the nomenclature, suffice it to say that my executive summary highly endorses this disorganized organization of a collaborative workshop. And despite the misleading moniker, there was no bar at all. Well, not there, anyway.

It was my maiden appearance at such a symposium, and I had no idea what to expect. I had heard horror stories of races for your life to the whiteboard and Nancy Kerrigan-style thwackings of the competition (substituting IBMs for billy clubs, of course). So I donned a summertime-jubilee-in-the-park frock (while doing Nancy no justice by riskily exposing my invaluable knees), and toted my pumpkin-encased laptop along with me, in the event that it was necessary to assuage any doubts that I, too, am a very worthy member of the Houston techie geek community.

In true better-late-than-never fashion, I rolled into the Houston Technology Center well past lunchtime (’cause this vegetarian don’t play Pappas, yo), just in time to catch the very essence of what makes a great BarCamp seminar – my darling friend Tracy giving a presentation on the wonders, marvels, and thrills of the Flickr-verse. Except I’m positing a guess that when she floated out of bed on Saturday morning and put her cute, boisterous self in that smashing teal blouse, she probably had no idea she’d be doing any such thing. Speaking to a group of eager admirers, that is. Because yet again, in true BarCamp manner, every attendee is encouraged to become a presenter.

While I arrived altogether too late to participate in that way, I didn’t spend the afternoon bemoaning my inability to shower and dress at a decent hour. No, no, no. In the true spirit of me being me, Little Miss Extrovert took her show beyond the motherboards. The atmosphere was delightfully – and somewhat surprisingly! – congenial, and if there were any software engineers in the house, they certainly didn’t show it (I kid, I kid!). I maximized my time chatting up so many fantastic people from such far flung places such as Denton, College Station, and Katy (Bueller?), each doing his or her own thing to make cyberspace a happier, more interesting, more useful place for civilian neophytes the world over. We web lovers truly are a great lot (if I do say so myself), and we have the personality and pizazz to show for it.

Sure, someone got all shippy on me, accusing me of “diluting his personal brand.” And yeah, what occurred later with helium balloons is nobody’s business but our own. I can’t help it that the details got a little stormy as the day unraveled into twilight. But what happens at BarCamp stays at BarCamp? Not a chance. For what happens at BarCamp takes us all a long, long, longer way.

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Jul 24 2008
7 Comments
Social Media/Social Networking, Web 2.0 Bubble

Twitter me this.

Twitter, Twitter, Twitter. Man, do I ever hate to be judgmental, especially of you who has enhanced my social life in unprecedented ways. You who has made me feel connected in a world full of busy, independent people. You who has helped me turn acquaintances into friends, and cities into homes. Alas, as much as it pains me, I must play the critic today. Because how many clucks do I have left on my tongue for you, Twitter?

Your faithful disciples – me especially included – have endured so much while you have floundered your way through your fledgling endeavors. You’re new, you’re remarkable, and your cow is as purple as any for which Seth Godin could hope. You’re everything a social networking site should be. But face it, Twitter – you ain’t no spring chicken any longer. You’ve been around for a little over two years now, and – gasp! – we actually have standards for you, Twitter. Expectations, if you will.

Truth be told, they’re not all that high. No, Twitter, we, your loyal devotees, merely expect you to function. Consistently. Not intermittently, but on a regular basis. When we login, we want to see tweets from the people we follow. When we have something to say, we want it to post so that our followers can read it. If others have engaged us in a conversation, we want to see those replies. Sure, we understand outages and maintenance periods. Of course we do. All of that behind-the-scenes mumbo jumbo is stuff we get. And yet, more often than not, you’ve been unable to deliver solutions to these simple requests.

But we managed to make lemonade out of your service-issue lemons! We have lovingly adopted the Fail Whale as the unofficial Twitter mascot, shaking our heads knowingly (and affectionately) at its appearance, when we formerly regarded it with frustration and rue. We turned a new leaf on your shortcomings, Twitter! We know that you woke up one day, and suddenly, the jeans that fit you perfectly the day before were three inches too short. We sympathized! We worked with you! And when the wheels began a-turnin’ much more smoothly on your end, we even lamented that the Fail Whale hadn’t made an appearance in recent memory. Silly twitterers! But yes, we are silly. Silly us, we missed your failures, Twitter. However, we were also quite proud of your successes. After all, Twitter, we love you. Despite the advent of Pownce, Plurk, Identi.ca, et. al., we still prefer you. Anime sea dwellers disguised as error messages and all.

I, however, have lost my ability to cutesify your mistakes any longer.

Yesterday – Wednesday – you completely dropped the ball, Twitter. Your inability to stabilize whatever new operations you were performing cost us the communities we’ve built over months and even years, and that is no laughing matter, by any means. Speculation on-site has narrowed the affected follower/following relationships to those made in the past three weeks. For me, that’s particularly lovely. Two weeks ago, for example, I was out and about in Houston, meeting a gaggle of new people, attempting to reconnect with my old-turned-new place of residence. And as any female blogger can attest, last weekend at BlogHer, one of the single most important networking events for female writers, numerous new relationships were made and countless existing relationships were grown. So, thanks, Twitter. Thanks a bundle. You’ve managed to suck some of the newest members of my Twitter community into your drain of failures. From 418 to 320 followers. From 258 to 182 twitterers that I’m following. You won’t see me enshrining that epic disaster on a t-shirt.

As it continues and drags on unabated, as Wednesday turns into Thursday without noticeable progress on the issue, the less sympathy you’ll be finding from the community-at-large. It’s incredibly frustrating when Twitter doesn’t operate as expected, but to actually erase information and data from those of us who cultivated and rely upon these networks of people around the world? We trusted you, Twitter. To hold these relationships for us and keep them safe. Imagine if this had happened with MySpace or Facebook in their infancies. You log in one day, and 30%-50% of your contacts have mysteriously gone missing. A data dump of that magnitude would’ve been largely unacceptable. And you know it.

I realize that you’re having some major growing pains, Twitter. I think we all do. You probably had no idea that your little status-update start-up would become the next viable candidate for the Internet-Service-Turned-Verbiage List, a la Google. As a pseudo-techie, that I can understand. But as a mere user, you can’t make your troubles mine time and time again. All I truly care about, in the end, is that you make your service usable closer to 100% of the time than not, and that you fix the problems that you’ve created.

Expeditiously.

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