Call it a new type of performance art: A vanguard of Facebook users has taken to virtually impersonating world-renowned visual artists. Today, there are more people pretending to be Francis Bacon online than there are men dressed as Joan Crawford on Halloween night in downtown Manhattan. But these Facebook “identity thefts” do not only insinuate that personality is a performance: They suggest that one can perform with just a point and a click. In order to learn more about the hottest trend of celebrated artists showing up on the Internet, I decided to make some new “friends.”

Using Facebook, you can “friend” Francis Bacon (1561–1626), the Renaissance philosopher who developed the scientific method — but I prefer to digitally pal around with Francis Bacon (1909–1992), the Irish painter. Laconically but maybe tellingly, Bacon (the artist) gives as his relationship status: “It’s complicated.” Does that mean he’s unavailable? Of course he’s been dead for years, but he still manages to update his Facebook profile quite regularly. Bacon’s online impersonator, a great admirer of the painter, tells me he was surprised no one else had created “FB’s FB character.” FB’s 22 friends include Brecht, Burroughs, and Derrida — all of whom we can imagine would have a field day theorizing about online identities.

FB is also friends with Lucian Freud, our only mutual friend. If you missed “Lucian Freud: The Painter’s Etchings,” which just closed at MoMA, you can still become the artist’s digital friend. Based on his profile, Freud is a little more gregarious than Bacon. He’s not above exchanging some virtual “jagerbombs” or Cubas libres. So far, though, Freud hasn’t sent me any online alcoholic beverages. I only worry that virtual inebriation will inform his foul but rather tender painting style. Then again, maybe it will tempt him to paint a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II’s internet profile. 

Although Bacon and Freud are clearly imposters, I’m strongly inclined to believe that my Facebook comrade Jeff Koons is the real deal. I’ve been keeping tabs on his page for a couple of weeks now, and it seems that he never uses any of the site’s features. He simply allows people to become his friend—and at least five people seem to “friend” him every day. The ego required to create Koons’s multimillion-dollar art industry seems like one that would also want to amass as many virtual friends as possible for no particular reason. As in today’s art market, where Koons is the highest-selling living artist, he is also Mr. Popular online. He has 219 friends — and they seem to like his work: One wrote on his “wall,” “I live for that god damn magenta dog.” Of course, there’s something about this profile, not unlike Koons’s work itself, that makes you wonder if there’s a Jeff Koons at all — online or off.

Likewise, if I am digitally friends with the “real” Matthew Barney, then is Barney impersonating himself? Either way, his virtual avatar attests to his real-life popularity: Barney has 407 friends.

Though not as well-established as Koons or Barney, Trenton Doyle Hancock promises to upend the contemporary art market with a trait not in vogue nowadays: sincerity. His madness would seem dangerous if he weren’t also adorable: Hancock is obsessed with collecting all of the toys he had as a child. He restructures his childhood fantasies into tasty paintings and installations he calls “Mounds.” Hancock’s internet profile seems to personify the characteristics that inform his work: It is wild but controlled, unaffectedly innocent, sophisticated but not pretentious. And I am pleased by Hancock’s list of favorite TV shows — including Fawlty Towers, Arrested Development, The Benny Hill Show, and Ren and Stimpy — which not only demonstrates good taste but also makes a refreshing anti-intellectual gesture. I must not be the only Facebook user who finds Hancock’s attitude so reassuring: He has 53 other friends. And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder: Can you ever truly know anyone, even someone as seemingly guileless as Hancock, through an online persona?

But whatever you think of defining oneself through a laundry list of commodities and pop-culture references, Hancock is a lot more accessible than some art-world superstars (or their imposters). Zaha Hadid, for instance, has not accepted my friend request, which I submitted weeks ago. Maybe she would be more receptive if I changed my profile picture? Or maybe it’s because I passed on all that nasty gossip about how she behaved while installing her show at the Guggenheim last year? Well, if you happen to be virtual friends with her, please put in a good word for me.

Yoko Ono also hasn’t allowed me to be her friend, either, but then there seem to be dozens of people claiming to be Yoko — maybe I didn’t approach the right one? Like the rest of these electronic personalities, the many impersonations of Yoko point up the fragility of identity, online or otherwise. Trying to befriend art-world celebrities feels like playing the impossible game of “Who Is the Real Phony?”