Samantha Mumba got stung a while back too after she, like most people her age do of a Monday morning, posted a few tipsy pictures of herself and her mates clubbing.

Unlike most people her age, they ended up in the tabloids. Rosanna Davidson and her posse regularly document their nights out in Leeson Street via Bebo, providing the Sunday Independent magazine with 95% of their cover stories.

Mystery and intrigue are over.

You're nobody unless everyone knows everything about you.

The real generation gap, in a society where those in their late 30s and early 40s participate in the same social activities as those in their 20s (thank you Electric Picnic), is all about the value of privacy. For Generation 2.0, privacy is no longer sacred.

A decade or so of the erosion of privacy in various facets of pop culture brought us to this point.

The trend of extreme confessional writing in the autobiographies of the 1990s (along with Martin Bashir's interview with Diana) seeped into 2001's Big Brother. Then came confessional blogging, and before long we were all 'sharing' online.

Most people have now transferred a lot, if not some element, of their life online, from blogging about their social life, to uploading holiday snaps on Flickr. Those who vowed never to get involved in the world of social networking seem to be reneging on a threat that echoes the 1990s "I'll never own a mobile phone" stand. They've ended up on Facebook sharing virtual cocktails with their friends and secretly stalking exboyfriends.

The 'virtual' element of life online is a big fat lie. It's as real as anything.

Unfortunately, a lot forget this and play with Bebo as if it's some private members club and not a network with one million accounts in Ireland.

Facebook, with its 'how do you know this person' question when you add a friend, has a couple of interesting options like "we dated" and "we hooked up". Basically, it's like gathering your Facebook network . . . friends, colleagues, family and randomers . . . in a room and screaming, "Ok, everyone, just to make this clear: these are the following people I have ever slept with. Is that clear? Right, now who wants a Zombie Hug? And by the way that bloke my friends thought I wasn't in contact with is sending me virtual roses. Got that? Great."

There is a price to pay for the end of privacy. If you can deal with your life being public forever, this won't bother you. But just hope prospective employers are cool about those photos from that beer bonging competition in Wildwood, New Jersey when they Google you pre-interview. And make sure your family won't be shocked that your hobbies include 'poker, strip clubs, pills' when they eventually stumble across your profile. And make sure you've thought it through before creating Facebook group called "my job sucks and makes me want to smoke crack lol", in case someone in your job is on the network too. Which they probably are.

The substitution of privacy with eternal connectivity also means never losing contact with anyone, for better or for worse. There are those dodgy friend request alerts that leave you wondering whether you really want to be friends with someone you last saw in fifth class? It means everyone who ever enters your life will stay there.

There's no more, 'Oh, we just fell out of touch.' What do you mean you fell out of touch? Why not leave a message on her Bebo, aren't you friends on Facebook, doesn't she read your blog? Now, an acquaintance is for life.

The gradual breakdown of the immediate and extended family as a person gets older was generally substituted by the "urban family" (and before those not living in cities get up in arms, everywhere in Ireland is urban, close to urban, or at least has an urban ethos by now), centred around friends, flatmates, colleagues and acquaintances. That has, in turn, been replaced by the "online family".

Most of all, now that we're all public, the biggest element of connecting online is virtual oneupmanship. The only photos ever uploaded spell things like "Look at me and my mates. We. Are. Mad.

And. So. Much. Fun." A night out with friends now necessitates an essay of a post: "OMG, I'm so wrecked my head is practically falling off. Last night was SO mental. Remember that guy in the gorilla costume? I stole your lighter! Sorry! Lol, " accompanied with a variety of photos featuring tables full of cocktails and someone hugging a drag queen. This is generally followed by one from your flatmate, "Why is there a traffic cone in the shower?" Which is all very well until your boss sees it and realises your "I ate some dodgy sushi" phone call a couple of minutes ago was not exactly from Truthy McHonest. The idea of Big Brother watching was always a bit quaint. What's really scary is that now, everyone is.