In the world of Harry Potter, drinking the blood of a unicorn will keep anyone alive, “even if you are an inch from death.” But survival comes at a terrible price: “You will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips,” the centaur Firenze explains to Harry.
Facebook is unicorn blood, and it has touched the metaphorical lips of billions of relationships. Of late, the social network has been attempting to absorb every facet of existence formerly untouched by its grasping fingers: dating, commerce, etc. But its central feature remains what it has always been—a digital Rolodex of everyone you know and everything those people have ever shared on their page. Your “friends.” Some of these people are actually your friends, of course. And some of them are old Little League teammates, or people you took one class with in college, or fourth cousins you’ve never met but found on Ancestry.com.
These relationships are the ones that suffer most from Facebook’s shimmering unicorn-blood curse. They live an extended half-life far beyond their natural life span, hobbling on, an inch from death, in the form of likes and invitations to multilevel-marketing groups and news-feed photos of children you’ve never met and don’t care about. Facebook itself has built in ways of reminding you of the connections it has cataloged: For certain friendships chosen by the algorithm, the site sends notifications and shows you a video slideshow on your "friendiversary"—the date one of you clicked Confirm on a friend request.