Image source: pusheen.com

Yesterday, I came across this article in New York Magazine. The article summarizes a study, published in Personality and Individual Differences, which found that posting more selfies online is significantly correlated with psychopathy and narcissism, while time spent online is correlated with measures of self-objectification and narcissism in men. I'm not sure why the study focused specifically on men instead of both genders, but I'm sure the findings would be similar across genders (at least in my lay experience). However, what interested me more was the concept of self-objectification, a concept that I had not come across before. Self-objectification, in my review of the literature since, well, yesterday, is the internalization of an external observer's perspective as the primary view of one's self. In other words, physical appearance is prioritized as a signal of self-worth, since outward appearances are the most easily observed by outsiders. Past research has found that this is linked to depression, sexual dysfunction, and eating disorders in women (unsurprisingly). Little research has looked at whether self-objectification is present in men and the effects that self-objectification may have on male members of society. It seems likely that self-objectification could affect men as well as women, though perhaps to a lesser extent (or to an equal or greater extent in certain sub-populations). Thus, this new study is contributing to objectification theory by showing a real-life behavior that is correlated with self-objectification (time spent on social-networking sites). Still, it seems like it would be just as interesting to study the behavior of women online as well and to see if there were gender differences in personality traits correlated with the number of selfies and time spent online (rather than focusing on one gender and leaving us to guess as to whether these findings would be similar or different for females).

It seems to me that self-objectification would be a problem in any society that values external appearance. But why then are some people more susceptible to it than others? And how do people respond to self-objectification? If selfies are a signal of self-objectification, how do others treat people who post more (versus less) selfies (a sort of meta-self-objectification if you will)? I'm clearly not a big fan of the heavily curated nature of social networking sites, but at the same time, I can't help but feel sadness for those who have started self-objectifying. Ultimately, there will come a time when no number of filters or photo-manipulation will make those selfies acceptable, and what happens then? What happens after years of cultivating an external appearance at the cost of other pursuits whose benefits are not displayed outwardly? 

Image source: Good Day Goldfish

Recently, Facebook had to apologize to its users for its "Year in Review" product, which reminded many users of tragic, sad, or otherwise upsetting events in the past year that would be better left forgotten (or at least not blasted in a newsfeed couched in exclamation points). One journalist commented on the fact that Facebook's default is positivity: Facebook cultivates and encourages positive events only. For example, comments with the word "congratulations" in them get pushed to the top of newsfeeds based on Facebook's algorithm, and you can only "Like" posts, you can't "Dislike" them or easily offer condolences or commiseration. This led me to think about the potential harm Facebook causes by forcing a default of positivity on its users. We all know that our lives are not filled with purely joyful events and that these are not the only types of milestones we want to share either. Often, people seek out support and empathy for negative events and need this support more than they do for positive events (of course, this can be taken too far as well). And because of the ecosystem Facebook has created, people often feel that they have to cover their posts in a thick lacquer of happiness and success, which is not only partially or completely false, but also makes people feel ashamed of anything less than perfectly positive (emphasis on the perfect part). 

Years of research have shown that negative emotions are productive and make us better people. Denying the existence of negative emotions can also hinder our ability to feel and appreciate positive emotions (for an incredibly interesting and engaging discussion of this, see here). If we think about Facebook in this larger context, it would suggest that the social media site is doing more harm than good by trying to make us focus on only the positive aspects of our life and denying or hiding the less than perfect parts. In reality, this is probably driving a wedge between people, rather than bringing them together, which is, ostensibly, the goal of the website. Evidence to suggest this comes from a recent study on the positive emotional benefits of listening to sad music, which found that sad music can provide consolation and help people regulate their negative emotions. It's possible that more realistic Facebook posts could do the same, offering benefits to both the people reading the post, and the poster him/herself. Facebook users have been asking for a "Dislike" button for years, but the site has never complied. So, why, if negative emotions are good for connection, emotion regulation, and overall well-being, would Facebook distance itself from any form of negativity or negative emotional sharing? It obviously believes that negativity would do more harm than good -- this could be both in a strictly monetary sense (ad revenues) or in terms of the overall distrust it has in its users' ability to engage in "disliking" in a sensible and respectful way. I do think that a lot of good could come from Facebook embracing a more "complete" emotional profile of its users, or at least not forcing them to be positive even if it won't provide an explicit outlet for them to be negative.

Image source: Shel Silverstein via Asher Days blog

When I first started my dissertation, I came across an old Association for Consumer Research (ACR) address by Ivan Ross about the different types of risks that consumers face. One risk in particular -- opportunity lost risk -- caught my attention. This risk has received little attention in the literature, but I consistently find myself thinking about it and its prevalence in a society that has become overwhelmed by new product opportunities and constant technological upgrades. Social media has even led to the coinage of the term "FOMO" (Fear of Missing Out), which is anxiety caused by the fear of missing out on social interactions, potential experiences, or other such events. Opportunity lost risk is related but different - FOMO is socially defined, while opportunity lost risk is about the fear of missing out on a better opportunity by taking (or not taking) a certain action (that is at least how I think about it - it has not been well-defined in my review of the existing research). 

I started thinking about opportunity lost risk again after reading a recent article in Entertainment Weekly about the making of Gone with the Wind. In the article, they discuss the producer, David Selznick's, perseverance in the face of many obstacles and repeated failures while making the film. In the article, the writer, Chris Nashawaty, says about Selznick, "But like all gamblers, he lived in a constant state of fear that someone else might rake in a pot that he felt rightfully belonged to him." This is an interesting perspective on gambling as most of the research on financial risk-taking has found that people are extremely risk averse because they fear losing or the regret associated with taking a gamble and subsequently losing. But opportunity lost risk suggests that some people may focus on not winning a prize that they could win by taking the gamble - a sort of inverse loss aversion (the loss of a gain looms larger than potential losses). So when do people focus on the gains they might miss out on versus the losses they may incur by not taking a risk? My suspicion is that it may be a combination of individual factors and contextual cues. Whatever the cause, it is likely becoming more and more important in our increasingly entrepreneurial economy and our highly turbulent product marketplace.

Image source: Lovelyish

I'm a big fan of "things you learn in your [insert age-decade here]" lists. There's something very comforting about someone -- even someone you don't know or who has little expertise on the subject other than having lived through it -- telling you that all the things you worry about and all the things you dislike about yourself will become meaningless as you get older. This particular article in the NYTimes was enjoyable because it's prospective (for me at least), rather than retrospective. In other words, perhaps I can take these lessons to heart now rather than reading the list and checking off all the items I did indeed learn when I was 20. But then again, maybe you can't learn certain lessons until you reach the appropriate age -- there are surely things I wish I knew when I was in my 20s, but I don't think my 20-year-old self would have listened to a single thing future-Liz had to tell her. 

A sub-list of my favorite lessons from the article:

• "There are no soul mates. Not in the traditional sense, at least. In my 20s someone told me that each person has not one but 30 soul mates walking the earth. ('Yes,' said a colleague, when I informed him of this, 'and I’m trying to sleep with all of them.') In fact, 'soul mate' isn’t a pre-existing condition. It’s an earned title. They’re made over time."
• "You will miss out on some near soul mates. This goes for friendships, too. There will be unforgettable people with whom you have shared an excellent evening or a few days. Now they live in Hong Kong, and you will never see them again. That’s just how life is."
• "Just say 'no.' Never suggest lunch with people you don’t want to have lunch with. They will be much less disappointed than you think."