Don’t read the comments

“Where did u see it?” I texted back.

The exchange went dormant for a few minutes. Finally, my friend responded: “Wil send u the link but promise me that you won’t read the comments below the article.”

Uh oh, I thought. My friend eventually sent me the link, but not without reiterating: “Not kidding. DO NOT read the comments. Most r V mean.”

So I clicked over to the article, which was about a project I’m involved with — with a lot of other talented people, I’d like to add — and the fact that we had just managed to land a wonderful and talented and brilliantly funny lead. My name was spelled correctly, and I hadn’t been quoted saying anything stupid, which isn’t always the case. As far as I was concerned, that was that. There was no need to scroll down and read the comments.

But how could I not read the comments? It’s flattering, and baffling, that there are people in the world with that much energy and time to spare that they’ve actually got ready-made opinions about me and that within a couple of minutes of the story’s being posted, they’re up there commenting away.

The comments, as it turned out, were mostly about how old I am.

Let me summarize, for convenience: “Rob,” the commenters seemed to agree, “please die already.”

They said it more nicely — well, some of them did — but the gist was: Him again?

Actually, that wasn’t the gist. One comment was, literally, “Him again?”

Honesty compels me to admit that the cascade of insults directed at me in the comments section of that article was not solely focused on my advanced age. Many seemed to think I was notably untalented. A few mentioned how I’m “annoying.” Dotted in between those topics were one or two folks who didn’t much like my politics or my recent appearances on Fox News.

Most commenters were anonymous, but there were a few who identified themselves, and every single one of these was positive. And that’s pretty much all you need to know about human beings in 2021. We’re polite and generous, by attribution. Behind a pseudonym, we let it fly.

The result of my reading the comments was a fleeting moment of hurt feelings that was quickly smothered by a thunderous roar of retaliation. In my mind, I constructed a litany of insults and counterarguments and snappy comebacks and spun little daydreams of revenge. For five full minutes, I indulged in the worst kind of mental exercise: When this show is on the air and a big hit, they’ll all feel stupid and small! Or: Hey, losers! Where’s your TV show, huh?

None of that was attractive behavior, and all of it seemed to lend credibility to my detractors. If people say you’re a jerk and then you behave like a jerk, who’s the one with the problem?

Look, I’ve been in the media business long enough to have developed a thick skin. The ironclad rule of the entertainment industry is, never read what people write about you. Followed by this rule: But if you do, don’t scroll through the comments.

But that rule is followed by an even more important one: If you yield to the temptation to read what people write about you and you scroll through the comments despite the warning bells and klaxons firing away in your mind, you’ve got nobody to blame but yourself. People you have never met will say mean things about you in a public forum, and while that’s an unpleasant reality of our broadband, always-connected social media landscape, if you let it get to you, it will really ruin your day.

I scrolled to the very bottom of the comments section, just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. The final comment I read was posted by the friend who had sent me the link in the first place. It said, simply, “Rob, I told you not to read these. You should know better.”

That was the most stinging comment of all — because it was true.

Rob Long is a television writer and producer and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.