I’ve been evaluating my Facebook market development strategy, and I have to admit I’m confused.

I understand how analog networking works. I meet people, find shared interests, exchange ideas, and occasionally meet someone who might buy a book, attend my film screening, or help promote a project.

Everyone’s a mark.

Then there’s Facebook and social media.

Every day, Facebook suggests that I connect with people I may know. Some suggestions come with hundreds of mutual friends. Others come with none.

Zero.

Not one person in common. No obvious connection. No digital breadcrumb trail. Me and a complete stranger whom Facebook apparently believes belongs in my social circle.

If we have so many people in common, why haven’t we met? If we have nobody in common, why should I bother?

Could be that we both like documentaries. Maybe we share an interest in baseball cards. Maybe we once stood in the same checkout line at King Soopers, although I don’t remember exchanging business cards with anyone buying Popsicles or Meow Mix.

Facebook may have confused me with the other Alan O’Hashi. Coincidentally, there are two of us. The other is an architect in San Francisco.

I can imagine the conversation.

“Alan, you know 347 people I know.”

“That’s wonderful. Which one of them are you?”

“I’m the guy Facebook says you should know.”

“Oh. What do you do?”

“I don’t know. Facebook hasn’t calculated that yet.”

Networking Without Leaving the House

Facebook has turned networking into a spectator sport. I can sit in my comfortable chair, drink coffee, and watch the algorithm deliver a parade of people whose names mean absolutely nothing to me.

Some might be potential readers. Others might be filmmakers, writers, artists, or event organizers. A few might even be genuinely interesting human beings.

How am I supposed to know?

Facebook doesn’t provide a little note saying, “You should meet this person because you both have complained about the same city council meeting.”

Instead, it offers a button.

Add Friend.

Two words that carry a surprising amount of social baggage. Will I make a friend? Build a professional network? Increase my marketing reach? Help Facebook fill another row in its enormous spreadsheet of human relationships?

What happens if I approve the suggested friend? Do I get a customer? A collaborator? Somebody who invites me to invest in cryptocurrency?

The possibilities and confusions are endless.

My Market Research Department

I need a more systematic approach.

My market research department currently consists of me, a computer, and a suspicious attitude toward artificial intelligence.

I could accept every suggestion. That would increase my numbers. I might end up with 10,000 Facebook friends, most of whom I couldn’t identify in a police lineup.

I could reject everyone with zero mutual friends. That could eliminate some perfectly good connections, along with a few people Facebook has located through its mysterious electronic matchmaking service.

I could accept people with at least 100 mutual friends. Then I’d have to explain why I ignored someone with 99.

How about a scoring system?

• One point for every mutual friend.
• Five points for being a writer.
• Ten points for working in film.
• Twenty points for owning a bookstore.
• Fifty points for being willing to buy one of my books.

I can hear Facebook objecting to the last category.

Zuck would prefer I buy some ads.

The platform prefers that I build relationships rather than openly acknowledge that I’m trying to sell my work.

Fair enough. I prefer relationships, too, but I also publish books, make documentaries, and organize creative projects. All this connecting should lead to potential customers.

Who Is Developing Whom?

Maybe I’m looking at the problem backward.

Facebook is developing me and my network as a market.

Every connection creates another opportunity to see vacation photos from Vietnam, political opinions about the Wyoming election, family reunions, inspirational quotes, and ads for products I didn’t know existed, like an iPhone tripod the size of a credit card.

Meanwhile, I scroll, searching for the people who might be interested in what I’m doing. I’ve either met or corresponded with most of my Facebook contacts. Some I’ve never met other than online. Occasionally, I’ll come across a high school classmate or a former work colleague.

I make a point of daily wishing my contacts a happy birthday. This gives me a chance to cull the list. There are some who haven’t been active for a year or more. Others have died.

I make a point of wishing my contacts a happy birthday daily. This gives me a chance to cull the list. There are some who haven’t been active for a year or more. Others have died.

Robin Dunbar is a sociologist who estimated that 150 is the number of stable social relationships a person can maintain. I went through my contacts and picked 150 people closest to me. I see posts from them more often than others.

Book publishers want to know the size of my social media base. That’s not a useful metric, considering any given user interacts with a few contacts. In my case, it’s 150.

Facebook has the data. It knows who talks to whom, who clicks on what, and who shares an interest in everything from gardening to Japanese American history. Surely it could offer a little more guidance.

“Alan, here’s a potential beta reader.”

“Here’s a filmmaker who wants to organize a film series.”

“Here’s a book influencer who might pitch your work.”

Instead, I get a suggestion to connect with someone who has 213 friends in common with me, but that’s it.

I could click Add Friend.

What do I have to lose?

A little time, a little privacy, and the illusion that I understand how social media works.

If the stranger turns out to be my next best business partner, I’ll owe Facebook an apology.

In fact, I’ve made money through social networking. That’s why I’m on Facebook in the first place. I’m trying to figure out how to do more of it.

So far, Facebook has suggested hundreds of people I might know. Some have hundreds of friends in common with me. Others have none.

Maybe one of them will become my next best business partner. Maybe I’ll sell a few books. Maybe I’ll get another invitation to invest in cryptocurrency.

If I figure out the secret, I’ll write a blog post about it.

Facebook can suggest potential readers.