The voyeuristic side of Facebook

The voyeuristic side of Facebook

Anthropologists who spend years studying human behaviour are wasting their time.

A couple of hours on Facebook would do the trick.

We're addicted to the gossip on that damn newsfeed.

In essence, Facebook reminds me of my mother gossiping with her friends - minus their occasional complaints about haemorrhoids. Having said that, I've just checked and there is an actual haemorrhoids Facebook page and it has 220 likes.

Who the hell likes a haemorrhoids page?

Now I'm not questioning the community value of a haemorrhoids Facebook page.

Actually, I am. It's a risky business to seek online treatments without professional advice.

I hope no one walks into a doctor's surgery room with flames shooting from their backside, saying: "Well Doc, there is this homemade treatment on the haemorrhoids Facebook page. All I used is some moisturiser, a splash of petrol and a box of matches. Now, do you have a bucket of water?"

When we visit the doctor, we do not prance around his waiting room and give all the patients a thumbs-up because he gave us an anti-itch cream.

But 220 people did on Facebook. They gave a tick of recommendation to a page on haemorrhoids. That's Facebook at its finest and weirdest.

Our best and worst traits are revealed by our postings and replies - especially those infuriatingly cryptic status updates.

You know what I'm talking about. Those titbits of juicy information, those little morsels of gossip dangled in front of us like a worm on a fishing hook.

These people can't share the full story on Facebook. Oh no. They must tease us first.

Earlier this week, I spotted one on my newsfeed.

The post simply said: "I've had the worst day EVER!"

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