Sometimes it can be really hard to not come off as a creep.

As someone who has no problem holding eye contact longer than necessary and a tendency to switch between varying forms of the English accent, this has been one lifelong uphill battle for me.

But hey, as far as people go, I like to think I’m not the worst example of humanity currently living.

If there was a continuum ranging from “normal” to “criminally insane” I like to think I’d fall on the point of “endearingly unhinged” or “harmless, but don’t pick her as a role model” or “I’d feel safe leaving my kids with her, but am not going to because I don’t have time to deal with the questions my children would inevitably come back with after being exposed to this person for more than fifteen minutes”. I’ve got enough quirk to me to make me an interesting character in a Wes Anderson movie but not enough to make me a villain. I’m probably not relatable enough to be a main character, however, I could be the eccentric but likeable sidekick – like Joan Cusack in Runaway Bride or Mindy Kahling in No Strings Attached.

You know? Like, I’m not normal but I wouldn’t say I was abnormal. Odd, but not threatening.

However the problem with being the zany best friend who provides the comic relief is that sometimes you end up doing things that aren’t particularly successful for you, but they get the laughs. These are the people who are funny in movies but they’re never the people Dolly magazine turns into posters. Because as likeable as they are, you’re still going to pick Ashton Kutcher if you have the choice. I mean even if he didn’t have that face, he gave the world the most stunning example of cinematic gold: Dude, Where’s My Car? (there are very few scenarios that cannot be punctuated with a quote from that movie. If I had a dollar for every time an “I know your body” applied to my situation, I could afford to train a dolphin to deliver pizza).

In a movie, telling someone you’re hooking up with that you should put on a swimming cap because your hair keeps getting in the way would go down well with the audience. But for a real life audience of one, not so much (I imagine…).

Anyway, back to the perils of not coming off as a creep.

Facebook is the real driver of this. Because it’s nearly impossible to be introduced to a friend of a friend without already knowing of them anymore. Back in the days when online activity was restricted to email pen pals or that dancing baby sensation from Ally McBeal, people’s lives were relatively private. You only saw photos if someone picked up their prints from the chemist before work. You only knew about engagements from your grandmother’s/hairdresser’s/overly affectionate neighbour’s gossip. The links of friendship were friendship bracelet chain links – not hyperlinks to their username in the comment section of memes.

So when you were introduced to a friend of a friend, the chances were that you had never seen this person before and knew very little about them.

But these days, you know people before you get to know them. Through group photos and tagged posts and check-ins, the friend of a friend is already in your newsfeed and therefore a bleep – however small – on your radar. Whether you want to be or not, you’re already aware that this person exists, and you’ve already got an inkling of who they are.

I’d like to point out now that, thanks to the highly-developed algorithms of social media, you see stuff you don’t intend to see. You don’t seek out the people who are friends with your friends, but you still get this information regardless. The idea, I suppose, is to expand friendship networks. But Facebook generates your newsfeed with a complete disregard for how much of a stalker you’re going to look like for knowing details about these people. I mean if you come across a friend of your friend in real life, you are probably reasonably likely to become acquaintances, if not friends in your own right. But when you translate that idea to the online world, it isn’t so peachy. Because you come across this other person without them necessarily coming across you. You don’t know them, but you’ve bumped into them online so much that you kind of feel like you do.

You have already sussed out via tagged photos whether they’re a top bloke or shitcunt based on their poses and hand gestures (or, hopefully, a lack thereof).

If you’re anything like me, you’ve already subconsciously worked out in your mind whether or not this person is a good friend match for you. Maybe you’ve seen them in a photo with their sunglasses on the back of their neck. Maybe you saw their comment on your friend’s status featuring an obscure yet fitting Billy Madison quote. Perhaps they tagged your friend in a Janoskians video or checked in at a little-known music festival. There are little breadcrumbs they leave online that leak into your newsfeed which are either dropkick red flags or threads from special edition friendship material.

And sometimes this prior knowledge spills out into the public sphere when you eventually do cross physical paths.

Particularly if you’re drunk.

Especially when you’re drunk and they’re not.

And no matter how you frame it, you always sound a little bit like a stalker.

Because instead of just opening with, “hello, nice to meet you” like a sensible person would, you find yourself saying, “yeah, I know who you are” or don’t even wait to be introduced – you just declare, “you’re *INSERT FULL NAME” and then rattle off several facts about them.

The worst part is when they don’t seem to have the same encyclopaedic knowledge of you as you do of them. And they should. Because they use the same social media platforms. They know the same people as you do. Heck, you might have been tagged in the same party photo album as them. But for some reason, they wouldn’t know you from a bar of soap.

Have they no capacity to retain information? Are they blind to facial features? Are they possibly even more self-centred than you?

Maybe people have less spare time than I do. Maybe people are less pathetic than me and spend less time scrolling mindlessly through Facebook. Or maybe people have shitty, shitty memories and don’t recall obscure details about a stranger’s life like I do.

Or maybe I really am just a little bit of a creep. But I promise I’m not a fulltime stalker – I lack the amount of energy and commitment.