Over the last few days, Ruby Karp has been getting a lot of traction with her post “I’m 13 and none of my friends use Facebook.” Here are four reasons why the post has been catching fire:

1. It’s concise and well-written.
2. Any time a site posts anything about Facebook, especially anything negative, traffic goes through the roof. (Why do you think I’m writing this, and you’re reading it?)
3. American adults love being told, ideally by 13-year-olds, that they’re uncool.
4. Facebook was bound to become the victim of its success, and everyone has been waiting for that shoe to drop.

It’s hard to overstate Facebook’s success. For many, Facebook has become synonymous with “social media” or even “the Internet.” It was the engine of the social-media revolution, demonstrating the power of personal connections to draw attention and drive traffic online—during a time when the Internet went from being something accessed by sitting down and “logging in” to something that you almost breathe.

Though it fueled its rise with gossipy exclusivity, Facebook today is an indispensable tool. If you’re living even a quasi-adult, quasi-mainstream life in America today, you’re likely checking Facebook at least once a day—probably more. (Even teens, much as they might find Facebook distasteful, are still far more likely to use the site than any other social network.) Prospective employers might be trying to contact you via Facebook, and your current employer might require you to use Facebook for discussion groups or page administration. You’ll miss a lot of birthday parties if you never check your event invites.

Increasingly, though, the social-sharing aspects of Facebook are being dominated by the Crazies. You might know them as “my high school friends” or “my distant cousins” or “people I used to work with”: people you’re distantly acquainted with and through whose friendship you’ve become acquainted with the pulsing, panting, lunatic fringe that’s slowly but surely filling Facebook with batshit crazy.

Facebook’s Web interface does a fairly good job filtering your feed to prioritize the friends with whom you most often interact, but check the mobile app or a third-party app like Flipboard, and you’re opening a window into the abyss. There’s your third cousin who became a priest, posting non sequitur verse about his obsession with Jesus. There’s your pro-gun high school friend, ranting about all the attention the media are giving to this one unlucky kid in Florida. There’s your former baby-sitter, posting a three-paragraph status about her cat’s diarrhea.

Of course “batshit crazy” is subjective, and it’s likely that these people find my ironic selfies and lefty blog posts just as nuts as I find the stuff they choose to share. From all sides, Facebook just doesn’t feel safe any more. It doesn’t feel like the place your pals hang out, it feels like Grand Central Station: full of harried businesspeople, meandering tourists, and aggressive merchants.

If the likes of Vine, Instagram, and Twitter feel like relative havens, in part that’s because there’s a modest technical bar that excludes some of the less techno-savvy, but it’s also because of the clean and simple follow/unfollow structure all three are built on. If you use those apps, you likely follow a combination of trusted friends and cool people you wish were your friends. Their simple content streams make you feel more in control of what you’re sharing, and understanding who’s seeing it feels more transparent. (To some extent that’s an illusion, since most people set their accounts to public and hence can be anonymously peeped upon by anyone, any time.) Snapchat takes that simplicity and exclusivity to the next level, allowing you to send pics to only designated friends—and to tell if your shot’s been screencapped.

Facebook doubtless wants to remain relevant—famously, they held off monetizing until the site was already iconic—but they’ve already won their heat, and now they’re enjoying a victory lap, cashing in on lucrative ad buys from companies with the kind of money that you can’t get by smashing a piggy bank. Let’s leave them to enjoy it, tiptoeing quietly away while Bonobos tries to sell trousers to digital tourists.

– Jay Gabler