Remember Myspace? Well, in case you forgot, it was the awesome precursor to Facebook. In fact, if they ever have a wing for internet history at the Smithsonian Institute, it is sure to have rightful representation. Because unfortunately, this originator of social media is now obsolete like phone booths, travel agencies, and the group that made the song I’m Too Sexy for My Shirt.

It’s kinda like a giant digital meteor exploded into the Great Global Server in 2008, blanketing the fiber optic world with toxic pixels, causing the extinction of this dominion of personal expression. But unlike the doomed dinosaur, future archaeologists will not be unearthing bones as clues that tell the mysterious existence of a prehistoric land ruled by lurking lizards. What they would discover is a fascinating culture of ancient humans whose dwellings were accentuated with filigreed wallpaper, a list of top ten pretend friends, and a cool tune.

Myspace was way doper than Mombook has ever been–one convenient little online brochure that showcased your personal tastes. But sadly, it is now the social media equivalent to Zima.

That was the original White Claw.

Fuckin bummer.

And potentially the best thing about Myspace was the acknowledgment of gratitude when your friend request was accepted. You would often be purposefully obliged for the add, as if it were a form of currency; that you were so benevolent to entrust them as an inductee into your realm. There was a level of validation that felt new. 

It was more personal. 

But now the friend count is just a numbers game. The individual being a necessary evil to the accumulation of total followers.

And they’re not real friends anyway.

Until you hotbox together.

In a phone booth.