Unfriending My Ex: And Other Things I'll Never Do

“Reading Kim Stolz’s riveting, haunting
Unfriending My Ex
, I found myself wondering, why did it take until 2014—this many years into the technological revolution—for someone to write a book like this?”

—
Michael Cunningham, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of
The Hours
and
The Snow Queen

“In this reader-friendly and cogently argued book, Kim Stolz shares another story—of her digital addiction and how it enslaved her, fraying friendships, and attention spans, and making her and members of her generation less, not more, connected.
Unfriending My Ex
is a punch in the nose, meant not to knock out technology, but to jolt us to seek more balance in our lives. Because it is so personally honest, it will rivet your attention.”

—
Ken Auletta, author of
Googled

“Kim Stolz has written an exciting book about love and life in the era of the iPhone. Whether you’re addicted to technology or totally anti social media, she captures the reality of living a sexy, busy, buzzy life today. She’s the ultimate cool chick, an authentic artist, and a natural-born writer.”

—
Alyssa Shelasky, author of
Apron Anxiety

“Stolz explores a topic so current and impactful that I only checked my Twitter and Instagram twice while reading it!”

—
Caprice Crane, international best-selling author of
Stupid and Contagious
and
Confessions of a Hater

“I remain hopeful that despite current trends, self-awareness and genuine human connection are achievable among the ‘me’ generation. Kim Stolz’s
Unfriending My Ex
serves as an entertaining and much-needed reminder that we can live without our phones (temporarily) and that being able to laugh at yourself and learn from your mistakes is crucial if you plan to thrive in this digitally connected, fast-paced society.”

—
Nev Schulman, host of MTV’s
Catfish
and author of
In Real Life

“As a self-confessed Web-aholic I am well aware that social networks have preyed upon humanity’s innate need to connect, and the result is nothing short of a planetary epidemic of info addiction. We are not only content to live in the Matrix but are increasingly driven to be a cognitive cog in its functionality. Kim Stolz has the mind of a scientist in the body of a millennial. Her experiences on reality television and MTV have made her something of a Jane Goodall of digital culture: she lives among them, ever observant, to catalog and understand their behavior patterns while attempting to determine the landscape of Mankind’s future.”

—
Chris Hardwick, host of Comedy Central’s
@midnight
and author of
The Nerdist Way

“In
Unfriending My Ex
, Kim Stolz gives us a clear-eyed, exceptionally intelligent look at a phenomenon at once mystifying and unavoidable. The thrall in which social media holds us feels so enchanting, we may be losing control of the most valuable parts of our lives to it. The author while respectful of both progress and of her generation, seeks to restore that control. If our times may be defined by a smartphone, we should be grateful that
Unfriending My Ex
is a hell of a lot smarter.”

—
Roger Rosenblatt, author of
Rules for Aging: A Wry and Witty Guide to Life

“It’s hard to believe the 1980s once got slapped with the tag the ‘Me Decade.’ What seemed like a materially indulgent era more than twenty years ago had nothing on the narcissism of the past ten years, the ‘iDecade,’ if you will, and those who made it so, the ‘iGeneration.’ That group of look-at-me, listen-to-me, here’s-what-I’m-doing-right-now, poke-you, don’t-delete-me, I-ought-to-be-famous-just-cuz young people are the subject of Kim Stolz’s book. And if anyone ought to know the topic, it’s Kim.”

—
John Norris, MTV News correspondent

Author’s Note

1 The Experiment

2 Generation, Interrupted

3 Facebook Is Ruining My Life

4 We’re “Friends”

5 

6 I Didn’t Mean to Do That

7 Unfriending My Ex

8 Does This Filter Make Me Look Famous?

9 Baby Steps

Acknowledgments

About Kim Stolz

Notes

To my iPhone, without which (whom?) this never would have been possible.

You’re probably going to notice that the names of many individuals in this book are the names of
Beverly Hills, 90210
characters. The characters on these pages reflect people I know and experiences that I have had, but naturally, I made the decision to change names and identifying characteristics. Whether you are now named Brenda, Luke, Donna, Brandon, Kelly, or any other name, no doubt all of you exes, acquaintances, and lifelong pals will think you recognize yourselves (or parts of yourselves), and if you’re mad at me and want to hold it against me forever, you are well within your rights to do so. I’ll understand if you unfriend me.

W
hen I told my colleagues and loved ones about my idea for this book, that I’d be reflecting on social media and technology and how it has changed us for better or for worse, most of them laughed in my face. Obviously not the reaction you dream of when you set out to write your first book. I bet no one laughed when George Orwell set out to write
Animal Farm
. Apparently the concept of young pigs planning a rebellion is more realistic than my reflecting on the impact of our generation’s obsession with social media.

I admit (the first step is admitting) I don’t have a lot of “distance” from the issue. I may be one of the most digitally obsessed and addicted people of my generation. I also acknowledge that my former career as an on-air host for MTV as well as my notoriety as “the gay one” from
America’s Next Top Model
were enabled and heightened by the reality
television craze, the blogosphere, and outlets like Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, and even Myspace and Friendster (RIP). I also am aware that I unabashedly used these tools to promote the restaurant I owned, the Dalloway (singles’ night, girls’ night, “Rosie from
Real Housewives
is coming!,” etc.). I have been kept in the public eye thanks to these electronic avenues, and much of my success has been a by-product of technological preoccupations.

So, sure, I get why they laughed (are still laughing). But I’m an intrepid author, and I live to serve, so I decided to undertake an experiment for the public good. It was an experiment to prove to them (and maybe to myself too) why this book had to be written.

The parameters of the experiment were as follows: no iPhone or use of any other smart phone, no Internet (which meant no Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or any other social media), no AIM, no Gchat or e-mail, and no DVR (I allowed myself television, but no reality shows). I gave my precious iPhone to my roommate, Kelly, who locked it up, so I knew I wouldn’t crumble from temptation—especially after a couple glasses of wine.

I prepared for my experiment assiduously, planning as if I were being transported to 1854 to live the rest of my days at Walden Pond with only my deliberations to keep me company. It wasn’t going to be the rest of my life; it was only going to be a week. But it was going to be a pure week, a week of healthy detox, and I was ready.

Of course, the day before the experiment, full panic set in. I started to have paranoid fantasies about being abandoned
by everyone I knew. To alleviate my panic, I spent a hundred dollars on a landline, which was only fair and realistic, considering every household had one before the Internet took over the world. I scribbled down about forty people’s numbers that I might need over the course of the week—my friends, my mom and dad, my own landline number (so that I could tell everyone so they would call me), my boss, the MTV hair and makeup department, and the number for the nearest AT&T store (in case I went into full breakdown mode and had to buy a quick iPhone replacement—I knew this would be cheating, but I was terrified). The idea of having a landline proved strangely thrilling. I felt like Carrie Bradshaw when I checked my messages each evening after coming home. In fact, it turned out that checking messages was so exhilarating that after my experiment, I decided to keep the landline. I still have it today. I have yet to receive a single message on my answering machine that isn’t from a telemarketer, but I maintain hope.

I was working at the Times Square offices of MTV at the time and would go in for a few hours a day to shoot my segments, but since the terms of the experiment precluded me from using any computers or going on e-mail, I had to ask a production assistant to print out all of the scripts for me. I’m sure my experiment ruined someone’s week.

After work, I’d sit on the couch restlessly flipping through a book or magazine and could swear I kept seeing a bright light on the cushion beside me, the clear and exhilarating pop-up light of an iPhone message notification.
I would reach for it over and over, even though I knew it was locked away. Sometimes I’d be watching television and would silently and mindlessly pat the couch, feeling around for my phone. My iPhone was a phantom limb. Every minute or so, my eyes would dart across the room and my hands would search unconsciously for the precious machine, my lifeline. I missed it so much.

I spent the first couple of days in a fugue state:
I wonder what people are doing. I’ll just check my—oh no, I can’t. Is everyone hanging out right now? Maybe I’m missing something at work. Do I still have friends? I wonder if they’ve posted about me. What if it’s a terrible photo? What if it’s a great photo and I can’t #regram it? I wonder if something fun is going on that I don’t know about
. Who am I? What a mess.

Five, six, or seven hours a day would go by when I wouldn’t hear from
anyone
. My coworkers and friends usually sent me hundreds of e-mails each day, and I was used to texting nonstop with twenty or thirty people at a time. But all of a sudden, there was nothing. Nothing except me and my thoughts and my landline.

Sure, I missed the actual people, but truth be told, the anxiety about disconnecting from the chatter was worse. At first I concluded that my phone had been filling a void, but then I realized that was the whole problem: These devices
never
filled a void because
there had never been a void
. They just came in and pushed other, real stuff out. Before smartphones and social media came into all our lives, nothing had been missing. There were books and thoughts and movies and people and places. Now there was just checking
your phone every five (two) minutes. There was the twitching and the compulsion, and it really didn’t matter who the human being on the other side of the exchange or post or “like” was, just that they were doing it, feeding the beast of self-regard.

It was a moment of clarity.

And then it was over. And I missed my iPhone again.

And so the week went on. Just like with any recovery from addiction, there is an epiphany and there is backsliding. I’m not proud, but I had my addict lows. At one point in the first couple of days, I couldn’t help myself and went into Kelly’s room to try to find my phone. I just really wanted to text
someone
,
anyone
—I just wanted my phone with me again. I thought,
I can cheat one time. Nobody will know
, which was totally ridiculous, because if I texted a friend, they would obviously know! Like a crazy person, I looked through all of Kelly’s stuff and tried to find my precious phone, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even text her photos of the amazingly embarrassing things I was finding in her room! Later, I admitted all of this to her, and without registering surprise, she told me she had taken it to work with her. “I know you,” she said. “There was no way I was leaving that phone in my room for you to find.”