Apr 12, 2024 4 min read

I am a tired woman in her 70s who has many cats, bakes cookies every day, is into astrology and cycling, and holds a healthy suspicion of narcissists. Oh, and I love otters.

At least that’s who the Facebook algorithm thinks I am.

Social media has a creepy way of spying on what we read and watch, and then sending us a river of the same things. I rarely post anything on Facebook, but I log in a couple of times a day to chat with a few friends, get traffic and weather updates, and read The New York Times. Occasionally, something interesting or funny will pop up on my feed and I’ll click on it.

And with that, I’ve been profiled. When my back pain started last year around this time, my phone must have heard me talking to someone about it because within hours, my feed was jammed with physical therapists demonstrating stretching exercises. I clicked on one – just one – and that unleashed a whole parade of muscly men telling me it’s not my back, it’s my hips.

Last summer, I received content on my feed about the worst dogs to own – videos in which veterinary workers were asked to name the worst breeds. As the owner of the best dog in the world, I couldn’t imagine why the algorithm was sending me this stuff, and then I remembered: I was bitten by a neighbor’s small, mean dog, and I probably Googled, “Do I have rabies?”

Somewhere deep in the spaghetti of wires that is the Facebook data mining room there’s an image of each of us, sketched by an algorithm that reduces us to the collection of random click bait moments that sparked our interest. Daily, I get content about iron supplements, medicare plans, and, oddly, advice on how to spot a narcissist.

And lately, my feed has been filled with ridiculous videos of people falling – sliding on ice, tumbling off ladders, slipping off diving boards, rolling backward out of boats. It’s the worst kind of slapstick because the videos stop before acknowledging the unfunny aftermath of bruises and broken bones and concussions. I keep scrolling past those now, but I must have stopped to watch one of these videos, and now my feed is filled with them.

My friend Gina suggested this column topic when she shared her own Facebook “profile,” that of an 80-year-old sitting in a chair doing leg stretches while wearing ice skates and a cheap shirt, while eating beautifully decorated cake with one hand and petting a raccoon with the other. That is not the Gina I know, and it makes me wonder, what the heck has she been clicking on? And why doesn’t Facebook send me some videos of beautifully decorated cakes?

Also, where are my videos about bluegrass music, beginner guitar lessons, nonfiction books, hummingbirds and bees? Oh, and chickpea recipes. These are the things I would welcome. Facebook is a rather dumb judge of character.

So, just to be clear: tired? Sometimes, but a long way from 70; I like but am allergic to cats so I don’t have any; I rarely bake but I am always on my bike; I’m apparently a typical Taurus, but I think astrology is a bunch of hooey; and isn’t everybody suspicious of narcissists?

But the otters? The algorithm got that one right. Otters are sleek in the water, and they have cute, friendly faces. And so, Facebook: how about a couple fewer personal injury pratfalls, and fewer cats? And enough with the horoscopes.

But keep the otters coming.