The 7 Stages of Facebook "Likes" Addiction

Likes.

Aren't they what Facebook is all about?

I mean, really. It's not like we have this burning desire to broadcast to the world today's to-do list, a photo of Aunt Mebel's rump roast, or the fact that little Susie possesses the innate talent to snort a Cheerio through her nose.

Okay, some people are overtaken by a burning desire to broadcast such information.

But for the vast majority of folks, it's not these things that matter, per se: It's the validation and attention we receive for posting them.

And that can be addictive.

Which, when you think about it, is silly and scary at the same time.

Here are The 7 Stages of Facebook "Likes" Addiction:

1. Occurrence

Alright. First things first: Whether you just took some cookies out of the oven or you just hopped aboard a hayride, before something can be elevated to Facebook post status, it has to happen in the first place. 

2. Inspiration 

Because we now live in a time where we post even the most mundane occurrence the mili-second after it's happened, this stage often happens before we consciously recognize it. In the case of the freshly-baked chocolate cookies, we might get the urge to post a picture of them before the aroma even filters to the living room.

3. Expectation 

This stage actually commences before we hit the post button: It is the little voice inside our head -- the expectation -- that whatever it is that we post will not only garner the attention of our friends and followers, but that they will also care enough about it to "like" it.

4. Postation

No, it's not a real word. And, yes, I totally made it up. Postation is the act of posting our words or comments onto our Facebook page. This stage has been known to be accompanied by a bevy of emotions, ranging from pride to euphoria.

5. Anticipation

After something has inspired you to post -- and you've done so -- the only thing left to do is wait for "likes" to come rolling in. Or hope they do.

6. Denial

This stage can go one of two ways and can basically be summarized by the following sentiments:

What?!? I can't believe it. Ten "likes" in TWO minutes? Damn, this post is killin' it!! 

You feel amazing. 

Or...

What?!? I can't believe it. Only one "like"? It's been FIVE WHOLE MINUTES. 

You feel like sh*t.

A few minutes later, the aforementioned thought is followed closely by...

Only ONE more "like"??? Even the pic Dan posted of his dead parrot got seven!

7. Dénouement

Like the definition of the word itself, the dénouement stage is the final resolution. The outcome. The end of the road for this particular post. And like #6, this phase is also like A Tale of Two Cities because it can either be fantastic or f*cked up, which, of course, is determined by the number of likes. If your post has attracted a ton, then, hooray for you, you're probably busy counting them like faux Monopoly money. Or, if your post is really overachieving, you're replying to comments.

But if you're still throwing shade over the fact that you've been trumped by Dan's dead parrot, you might feel like kicking your cat. And if you don't have a cat, you may be depressed enough to consider trolling someone else's Facebook page. But we all know that's nuts.

Regardless, in a matter of minutes, you'll cut your losses and look forward to something else happening, which will set the vicious cycle into motion all over again.

The time I chased Kid Rock's girlfriend

When people see auto show models, they see the designer outfits, the shiny cars, and the admiring car buffs and think it's a cushy gig.

And, for the most part, it is. 

But there is a downside.

Like, say, when it's 9:47 p.m. on a Tuesday and the convention center is about to close, the crowd is sparse at best, and you're about to die of boredom. 

And that is where this story begins. 

I'm standing behind the information desk of the Jaguar display at the North American International Auto Show in January of 2007. 

I look up and see Kid Rock and his then-girlfriend Tamara Mellon perusing the Volvos across the aisle.

I thought I was seeing things. I know Kid Rock is from Detroit. But he's at the auto show? 

On a Tuesday night?

Nah.

It can't be him.

I squint. I look closer.

It is him.

And Tamara Mellon is hanging on his arm. And on is every word.

Do you know who she is?

At the time, she was the Chief Creative Officer and co-founder of Jimmy Choo, which are arguably the best designer shoes in the game.

And therein lies my fascination with her.

The thought of being this close to the shoe maven nearly makes me weak in the knees. (Kid Rock who?)

I honestly didn't give a flying rip about Kid.

So I did what any loyal Jimmy Choo fan would do: I chased after her.

My feet hurt like hell after standing on them in pointy toe stilettos for eight hours straight, but, to my complete and utter surprise, I run up on her in a New York minute.

"Um...Tamara?"

She turns around and smiles at me like I'm a lost puppy. Not in a condescending way. But in a oh-my-goodness-it-looks-like-this-girl-is-gonna-cry kind of way.

Looking back, I'm ashamed to say that I did probably look like I was going to cry.

"Yes?" she says in her British accent.

"I'm Jimmy Choo's biggest fan. I LOVE your shoes."

Kid looks from me to her and back to me again in disbelief. He's obviously flabbergasted that I could give a hoot about him. Although his mouth is wide open, he says nothing.

I want to memorialize this moment. But a photo is out of the question: my cell phone is tucked inside my purse...which is in the trunk of the XJR sadan that is spinning on the turntable.

Plan B: "Can I have your autograph?" I hand over to Tamara the only thing I can -- my clipboard which contains a stack of questionnaires.

Tamara lights up. "Sure."

I thank her, turn on my heel, and make my way back to the Jaguar display.

And that was that.

Here's Tamara's John Hancock:

And just to show that I wasn't lying about it being on the back of a Jaguar questionnaire:

I swear, I used to keep this piece of paper in a red ceramic frame adorned with Swarovski crystals.

Then I had my son.

And I put his photo in it instead.

Because, you know, priorities.

I still love me some Jimmy Choo, though.

And so does my son. I left my shoes by the door one afternoon, and, come to find, he had had used them as a slide for his Little People:

I told my son that I will always love him to the moon and back, but, so help me God, if I find that he uses my Jimmy Choos as a makeshift slide again, his Little People will be sleeping with the fishes.