In friendship false, implacable in hate, Resolved to ruin or to rule the state.

-- John Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel (1681)

KYLE:	There's really people out there without a Facebook friend in the world? That's so wrong.
	-- South Park, “You Have 0 Friends” (14.04)

Online social networking has been predicted in science fiction for decades. From Logan’s Run to Ender’s Game, from William Gibson to Robert J. Sawyer, the concept of vast networks of unconnected and disconnected people quite casually connecting through virtual means was once only envisioned in the fevered imaginations of speculative fiction’s most creative minds.

And now, like cell phones, laptop computers, space travel and transporters -- no, wait, not that last one…yet -- those dreams are a ubiquitous reality. And perhaps nowhere on the internet displays this reality more fully than a website like Facebook.

I love Facebook. Sure, it has its quirks, and it has raised my ire on more than one occasion, but in general, I think it has done a lot for me, and for many of us. It has allowed us to track down old companions and to stay in touch with new ones. To send invitations and share photos and discover mutual interests. It’s often how we learn of a new baby, or the end of a relationship, or upcoming travel plans; how we spread word of a good cause or a matter of concern or a new high score in Bejeweled. We use it to chat, to dispense snarky commentary and to let our general acquaintance know how we’re doing at almost any given time. It’s awesome.

But for all that Facebook has increased communication between us all, it has also lessened meaningful communication. I wonder how many of my friends I am neglecting due to Facebook? It’s not on purpose, of course, but I just kind of assume that they’ll see my status updates and photos and comments in their News Feed, just as I see theirs, and we therefore know everything about each others’ lives and have no need to, y’know, talk.

And how many of my Facebook friends are actually my friends? How many are yours?

Look at your Friend List and imagine you’re all at a party. With how many of the people on it would you find yourself making awkward small talk before desperately seeking out your real friends, with whom you have an actual connection and would have actual fun? How many friend requests have you accepted, only to realize later that you’re not really that familiar with the person at all?

This thought first came to me with a friend suggestion. I had gone to school with Janine, and though we had neither seen nor spoken to each other in decades, we eventually reconnected via Facebook, thereby rekindling a happy childhood acquaintance. Through her status updates, I learned of her children and her job; through mine she learned… um, I dunno. That I’m kind of a geek?

The day soon came when Janine suggested that I likewise become friends with one Emily Smith (not her real name) and I had no idea who Emily Smith was. This occasionally happens with girls I once knew -- they’ve very often taken their husbands’ names in the decades since we used to play Barbies or listen to Madonna’s Immaculate Collection together -- but I couldn’t even recall anyone named Emily. I checked our “Mutual Friends”. Yep, school people. But who was this Emily Smith person?

I wrote to Janine:

Rachel Hyland 06 May at 23:46 Hi Janine! So, you've suggested I should be friends with this Emily Smith person. I'm not sure I know her... Did she use to have a different last name? Oh, and how are you? Rachel.

Janine replied:

Janine [Surname] 07 May at 09:52 Hi Rachel, her last name used to be Brown! [Also not real] Do you remember her? If not please ignore my suggestion! All is well here thanks, hope you are too! Take care. Janine.

Of such deep interaction is much Facebook friendliness made.

I still didn't recognize Emily as Brown instead of Smith, so I didn’t avail myself of the suggestion -- I noticed, however, that several old classmates did. Was it possible they were all possessed of much better memories than mine? Or was something else at work here?

Then, a while later, I got a friend request from another unfamiliar source. Mary Black (again, name changed to protect the innocent) declared me as some form of past acquaintance, and our Mutual Friends once more suggested that we’d attended an institute of learning together at one time. However, I had not a clue who Mary Black was… and, I wondered, how many of our so-called mutual friends really knew her, after all? Maybe she was legitimate friends with one of them through some other means entirely, and was now harvesting our class’ names for some nefarious purpose. Or maybe she just figured that if she knew all these people, and I knew all these people, then we must know each other.

And that gave me an idea.

What if I were to make up a fictional Facebook profile for a completely fictional person? Endow them with some hobbies and interests but keep personal information to a minimum, and then start sending out Facebook friend requests. How many connections would this pretend friend have made in, say, a day? Just how many of Facebook’s 500 million users would indiscriminately accept a friend request without even checking if they actually knew the person? How many even cared if they knew the person, as long as it increased their apparent popularity? What percentage of Facebook users joined the social network to connect with their actual friends (and, admittedly, acquaintances), and how many used it to make facsimiles of new ones? How many people would write on someone’s Wall, or send Links, or Page Suggestions, while not knowing them at all? (Since, after all, there was no one there to know.)

I decided to find out.

So I created an identity, one the polar opposite of me -- for a start, I made him a guy. When it came time to name him, I thought of all the coolest guys I know (many of whom work for this magazine), but naturally I couldn’t favor one over the others. Male egos can be so fragile. So instead I thought of the coolest fictional guys I know… Angel. Spike. Dean Winchester, Michael Westen, Malcolm Reynolds... ah, that was it. Michael Reynolds. Mike. Everyone knows a Mike or two.

Now he had a name. But he needed an identity, and again, one that was the absolute antithesis of me… i.e. cool. (Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on the internet? Make yourself sound better?)

Allow me to introduce you to Mike Reynolds.

He listens to Bowie and Clapton and Led Zeppelin. His favorite movie is The Shawshank Redemption and he never misses an episode of Man vs. Wild. He attends music festivals and club openings and Formula 1 races. He goes wakeboarding, skateboarding and snowboarding. He drinks only authentic tequila and imported beer, wears expensively distressed denim and designer sunglasses, and can identify all hundred or so Hugo Boss men’s fragrances by scent alone. He is fluent in chatspeak (lol, ttfn, l8er, etc.) -- which I personally abhor -- and is always in possession of the very latest in iPhone technology.

He doesn’t read.

I found a photo to be his Profile Picture -- a dude bungee jumping into a canyon… that’s just so Mike! -- and created a gmail account for him: michael.t.reynolds.esquire@gmail.com. (The “T” is for Tiberius, and note the Bill and Ted allusion… okay, so he’s not all coolness personified.) I found him a quote:

“I consider skateboarding an art form, a lifestyle and a sport.” -- Tony Hawk.

Then I set up his Facebook profile, and felt like a new man.

But before I could begin to seek out “friends” for my dashing and sociable alter ego, I had first to establish some ground rules for the Great Facebook Friendship Fake.

The Rules

The experiment would run for one day exactly, from 8:00 AM US Eastern Standard time on Sunday, October 10 to 8:00 AM the following morning.

On the day this article came out, I had to ’fess up to the Fakeness by alerting any friends Mike had by then gathered unto himself that they had fallen victim to an experimental hoax.

I could not:
I then set aside several hours in which I had to send out as many friend requests as I could manage to complete strangers, and over the course of the day I would learn how many of them were willing to be Mike’s virtual buddies, sight unseen. I figured I’d start by requesting the friendship of people who Liked the same stuff he Liked, and then, after that initial flurry of friend seeking, I’d merely harvest names from the profiles of people who’d accepted Mike Reynolds into their lives (much as I suspected Mary Black of doing) and then see how many Mutual Friends he could gain among his nearest and dearest pseudo-pals.

And so began my exercise in social networking fraud. I was filled with anticipation for the experiment, yes, but also a kind of foreboding sadness.

‘Cause I had the disheartening feeling that Mike Reynolds was going to end up with more friends than me.

I was wrong... but not by much.