One place on social media that still feels human

Earlier this year, I was giving my thumbs through the Facebook market. I clicked on the list in hopes that “fire” would mean “cool” but found something more literal. The pyrotechnic piano spewed flames to let out a flame every time the player tickled the key.

In a brief description that accompanied the post, the California-based seller said, “I told you how he was handcrafting his works until the injury took him out of the store. He was now asking for $2,000 for the piano, but thought it was 90% complete. The fact that the artist was aware of his freaking vision and was thwarted, it surprised me and made me oddly depressing. I spent the rest of the night thinking that he grew up tinkering with the piano, and whether he missed the process of making them. For a while, I even thought of asking him what this amazing piece would look like if he saw it.

Even before Facebook Marketplace debuted in 2016, I have been analyzing other people's products. I often try out flea markets, thrift stores, swap meets in Los Angeles, hiding in high school parking lots, drive-in movie theatres and enigmatic storefronts. Stop by weekend real estate sales to catch something like 1970s chess piece molding kits and miniature cocktail shakers. I am more portrayed in the aura surrounding these objects, and the stories I imagine may tell more than I am the object itself. When I spend the afternoon roaming a real estate sale, it cultivates my curiosity about the items that make life, the things that hold things that are important like time flickering, and the things that people choose to let go as they change around them.

A similar impulse has taken me to the Facebook Marketplace, and even calling it a digital Thrift Shop, I understand how unique and strange the platform is. Facebook is not the best prism to consider someone's presence, but its market applications can help or at least help with sloping algorithms, as well as surprises. It provides me with a story that I can only imagine when I browse the store. The market differs in that these oddities are generally not divorced from context. The seller's description can explain why the toy appears to be Dwin (Rock) Johnson when he buys, for example, because he brought a salt and pepper shaker to 68 pairs of salt and pepper shakers, or because he broke up with an action figure of a man with a random jack).

Ephemera, who lives in the Facebook market, has transformed the corner of his network into a place of adoration. In this way, my habit of scrolling through the Facebook Marketplace doesn't just enhance my face-to-face experience. Gazing at its basic oddity is a form of most time travel, a callback to the whims that defined Web 1.0 ERA. These quirky products are what you would expect from a place like StumbleUpon. This is a bygone site on the Internet with a button that took you to a random website when you clicked it. Items from the Facebook Marketplace are mixed by chance to remind you of the fall of the lawless images that adorn the Geocities pages.

As a millennial who remembers how enjoyable the internet was, it's safe to find something that reminds you of the time. It offers me a strange juxtaposition like a stunning mid-century amber glass “stolen lamp” to quickly follow in a “unique wallet” featuring plazer wrinkles that form a scary face. This disorderly display is like staring at someone's hallway closet plunged into Thotchkes, where they couldn't find another location. That's exactly where human slivers appear.

One listing saw sellers remove chic lamps, sofas, lounge chairs and dining tables amid ongoing divorce. In the caption, he explained that he needs to “sell everything and split the revenue.” “All items have been in great condition and have been cared for,” he continued. “Gentlely, it was tough.” Another list featuring a baseball cap decorated with the words “shit show supervisor” was described as a gift from the seller's son. (To avoid the melancholy meaning, he reassured potential buyers that hats were fun.) Such a list made me think about how to charge items with memories we cherished, even if they were difficult when we were experiencing them. And how to give up on these objects can feel like we lamenting to our own parts that we are forced to dilute or leave.

By staring at this cabinet of confusion, I learned about the strange objects that make up my life. Like a gossip chair, I rolled a rabbit hole in an outdated furniture. But while these dives mostly sit in the reality that we have to give up on cherishing things because of limited money or space or personal disagreements, the importance of those items can at least be communicated to others.

I'm going to buy two items from the Facebook Marketplace. A marble coffee table and a luxurious recliner. However, buying the items there is almost next to the points. I realized I really didn't want to buy a cheeseburger-shaped lamp. But I want to know about the lives of people who at some point could not live without that lamp.