A Successful Social Experiment Where I Made More Real-Life Friends I’ll Never See
I spend way too much time on Facebook talking with people I don’t know in real life. So a few years ago I decided to try to change that? I invited all 5,000 of my Facebook friends to dinner—but only the ones I’d never met in person.
Can the true potential of social media be to lure people off social media?
I guessed that Facebook’s algorithm would only show my invite to 100 people, and maybe 10 would be unhinged enough to attend. I guessed perfectly.
This was the strangest gathering ever to fill the private events room of my local Mimi’s Cafe.
The Guest List
The strangest gathering ever to fill the private events room of my local Mimi’s Cafe was a reality-show casting director’s fever dream of people to throw in a house together.
They included three liberal New York Jews, two of whom were vegans—myself included— and one was a 5-foot man in a shirt that read “gay short bald atheist and VERY HAPPY.” There were also four hardline conservatives, including a Nevada constable who brought handcuffs “just in case things get out of hand.”
There was awkward silence at first, so I filled it in with some drink orders and prescripted jokes. I handed out name tags; made everyone go around the table and introduce themselves; and apologized for missing their birthdays on Facebook because we weren’t friends in real life yet.
I also explained the marital strain this dinner was causing, since my wife already thought I spent too much time on Facebook before I invited the entire group of Facebook users I’ve conversed with to dinner without her.
Forbidden Fruit and Artichoke Dip
By the time the first drinks were consumed, we were discussing Donald Trump, Jesus Christ, and every other topic we could think of that you’re never supposed to bring up during dinner—much less a dinner with total strangers who disagree on their most foundational beliefs.
When I tried sparking the kind of arguments I have online, something strange happened: No one took the bait. It turns out, looking an actual human in the eyes only makes you want to find common ground.
And we found plenty: frustration with Mark Zuckerberg’s algorithm (our posts reaching only 12% of our friends), processed food, and vegans who argue. (The third vegan was a member of a Facebook group actually called “Vegans Who Don’t Argue.”)
What started out as a stunt began to feel incredibly liberating. Coming together in person for a goal—even if that goal is to argue as a social experiment—makes you care about the other humans around you. Not one of us called another person in the group an idiot or blocked them. By the end of dinner, my stranger/friends all added each other as Facebook friends and smiled, arm in arm, for photos together.
That’s me in the “Angry Journalist” T-shirt at the head of the table. Not since my bar mitzvah had so much pressure been placed on me to perform during a meal.
Sexy Secret
If saving the world isn’t enough motivation for you, there’s a more selfish reason to try something like this yourself. Denise, a sexy 6-foot-1-inch ex-Mormon real estate agent, told me I might have had a shot with her in my single days. Her exact reply: “Maybe.”
I am 5 foot, 5 inches tall. Back when I was on Match.com, no woman I was interested in dating listed a height requirement that I failed to meet.
Denise told me that she had just gotten out of a relationship and thought my invite sounded just crazy enough to try. She was looking to meet interesting, creative guys, which she said she doesn’t find on dating apps. I never interacted with her online, or even noticed her. So what was her secret admiration entirely based upon?
“I just think your updates are hysterical,” she explained.
Takeaway: Someone on your friends list is probably digging your mind in a sexual way. If you’re available, why not make it your business to introduce that person to your body? (I tried my damnedest to get my three new single, straight male friends—Pat, Lee and Sean—to strike up a conversation with Denise, but all were too intimidated.)
Meanwhile, if I ever decide to bat for the other team, David (the guy in the gay bald vegan shirt) made it clear his answer would be more than, “Maybe.” I accepted his invitation to try his Grindr app, which revealed one user, “BgDcks,” only 247 feet away from our table. (He never replied to my message.)
Having a ball with my new real-life Facebook friends David and Denise.
Status Check
The next morning, nearly everyone posted about what an amazing time they had, and how hopeful the dinner made them feel about the future. They all wondered when we could do it again. Who knew all that saving the world required was conversation over margaritas and Mimi’s spinach and artichoke dip?
“I love civil, friendly debates with intelligent people,” Gary, the conservative constable who drove about three hours round trip with his wife to come to the gathering, wrote in the comments. “I’ll drive 200 miles to do it again.”
Here’s the thing about that, though: These people no longer qualified for my next Facebook strangers’ dinner, because they all became my new real-life friends.
And I never see my real-life friends.
