Seven years ago, lots of my pals were on Facebook. They'd Facebook what they were having for breakfast, what movie they just watched, whether their cappuccino had enough foam. There was something mildly horrifying to me about announcing to the Internet the minutiae of your everyday life.
My girlfriend at the time, Jay, demanded that I join the modern age.
"You are a writer. You simply have to be on Facebook!"
"First we need your Facebook name."
That only name I'd used since high school was Rossi. In my anything but gay-friendly high school, with my homophobic parents, realizing I wasn't heterosexual needed a little UMPH. Anointing myself "Rossi" was my battle cry.
But it always came with a problem, "What is your last name?"
I didn't have one, didn't want one. There was Cher, (later on Madonna) and Rossi. But businesses wanted two names. My gym memberships had me as The Rossi. My problem was solved the moment I started cooking professionally decades ago. Chef Rossi.
Within minutes of Jay helping me to sign up, my Chef Rossi message box was full. Friend requests came pouring in from people I knew and a lot of people who I had only met once if at all.
"Do I have to say 'yes' to everyone? Will I hurt their feelings if I say 'no'?"
I took to Facebook gingerly. Rarely posted. Rarely read other people's posts.
A few years ago, a pal of mine called to let me know how hurt he was that I did not call him when his father died.
"How would I know your dad died?" I asked.
"I posted it on Facebook!"
I realized that while I was hesitant to get sucked into the Facebook vortex, most of my friends were not. Birthdays, births, deaths, new jobs, new loves. They posted it all on Facebook.
I began to check in more often.
It reminded me of when I was a teenager and decided to smoke just a few cigarettes a day.
Two puffs later, and I was on Twitter and Instagram, but satisfying as the "Likes" next to my food photographs on Instagram and the "faves" next to my two liners on Twitter were, nothing felt as nourishing as the comments on Facebook. It was addictive to say the least.
I discovered that with one tap of a button I could share my blog posts on Facebook.
"Awesome!"
"Hilarious!"
Their comments made me want to write all the more.
My friend list grew each day.
The cousin of a friend of my ex-girlfriend? Why not be friends?
When my memoir was finally getting published, I shouted it on Facebook.
I went away for the weekend with my girlfriend of five years, Lydia. (Don't worry; Jay and I stayed friends. After all, she'd given me a lot; she gave me Facebook.)
When I got home, I decided to crawl up with my laptop and see what my Facebook gang had to say.
I tried to log in but instead got this eerie message.
"Hi,
It looks like the name on your Facebook account may not be your authentic name. We ask everyone to use the name they go by in real life so friends know who they're connecting with.
If the name on your account is already the name you use in everyday life, we would like to work with you to verify that this name best represents your identity."
Facebook was demanding that I prove that Chef Rossi was my name?!
I looked at the long list of items they said might prove this, driver's license, passport?
Who has Chef Rossi on their passport?
The second list included utility bills and bank statements. It was then that I grew worried that this was all some sort of scary hack.
So I wrote to Facebook and asked them if I'd been phished or if this was for real.
The next morning, I got the message.
"Hi,
We need to verify your identity before we can assist with your request."
It was not a hack.
Until I could prove Chef Rossi was my authentic name I was locked out of Facebook, and if I didn't prove it soon, I was going to be locked out forever.
I tore apart my apartment for documents I scanned and sent to them. Thirty years of press clippings, utility bills, my book cover, legal documents, copies of my check book, all saying the same thing: I am Rossi, aka Chef Rossi.
The next morning, I woke with my heart beating in my throat and grabbed the laptop, praying my Facebook nightmare was over and instead got this message.
"Hi,
Thanks for contacting us. At this time, we can't verify your name."
Over the next 72 hours I sent them an arsenal of documentation.
I still got the notices from friends about all the great things they were up to on Facebook in my email, but when I tried to click on them, I was locked out.
I remember the way I felt after my first great love and I broke up. Those first mornings I would open my eyes ready to take on the world and then it would hit me like a punch in the stomach; she was gone. It was like re-learning how to start my day.
Strange as it is to say, the lock out from Facebook felt eerily similar. Each morning I would awaken hours earlier than usual with a knot in my stomach. There was a whole world of buzzing activities happening with my pals that I was no longer a part of.
How would my FB friends even know when my book launch was happening? Would they miss me?
My Facebook joy button was gone.
"It's happening to a lot of people in the transgender community who don't use their born name," one pal told me.
"It's been like an attack on drag queens!" another pal told me.
"You may have to join using your born name," my best gal pal told me.
"I'd rather never sign on to Facebook again!" I announced.
It wasn't like I had a terrible birth name. It even sounded like the name a movie star might have. But it was a name given to a little girl who was sent for psychological evaluation for gender confusion. It was the name of a tween who was spit on because she was different. It was a name given to a teenager who was shipped off to live with Chasidic Jews because she was a lesbian.
Rossi has cheered from atop floats in the Gay Pride parade. Rossi has marched screaming, "We're here, we're queer! Get used to it!"
Rossi is nobody's victim.
Chef Rossi is New York City's wildest caterer, author, writer, blogger, radio host and outspoken kvetching yenta from hell!
No one ever asked me to prove I was Chef Rossi. Who else could this loud mouth, rabble-rouser be, but me?!
My girlfriend was so worried about my sanity that she signed on to Facebook to let me dictate a post announcing to our mutual pals what had happened.
A writer pal gave me the password for her own Facebook account. "Maybe this will help get you thru this," she said.
I sent Facebook another arsenal of ME.
"Hi,
Until we receive an accepted form of ID that matches the information listed on the account we won't be able to respond to this case or assist you further. This decision is final."
A pal of mine suggested I write to them.
"Don't give up without a fight!"
I had nothing left to send unless they wanted a vial of my blood. I was perfectly willing to send that too.
"Dear Facebook
I do believe from my experience using my AUTHENTIC name of Chef Rossi for 35 years that this is a clear case of "LGBT Discrimination."
My born name comes with a history of anti-gay abuse and involuntary conversion therapy.
Many LGBT people suffer from this Facebook policy.
As we are about to enter Gay Pride in NYC, is this really the message Facebook wants to send out?
I feel I am living in a Facebook nightmare.
Please resolve this!"
With that, I walked away from Facebook.
Gay Pride was coming.
I would let my pals know what I had written the old-fashioned way, with phone calls emails, and yeah, on Twitter, too.
In the midst of ordering five hundred pounds of ice for a wedding I was catering, a pal emailed, "Rossi you are back up!"
There it was like a gift from the heavens.
"Hi Chef,
Thanks for verifying your identity. We've unlocked your account, and you should now be able to log back in. We're sorry for the inconvenience."
Just like that I was back on.
I got a congratulatory text from my publisher letting me know that not only had I won my Facebook name war, but marriage equality had won its war with America.
I raced to the Joy Button.
"I can't believe I am back on Facebook just in time to celebrate Gay Pride and marriage equality with you here today!! HAPPY Gay Pride NYC! Happy Gay Pride USA!! We have come a long way baby!"
I do not think Facebook meant their authentic name hunt to be anti-gay. I think the motive was to protect against hackers and impersonators.
Often good intentions leave unintended victims.
But it was time to celebrate.
Marriage equality became legal in all of the United States and a vivacious tomboy named Chef Rossi got to keep her name on Facebook.
Not a bad end to the week.