The internet is often seen as a way for one to connect with acquaintances around the world, through virtual communication. With this in mind, the average distance between two connected people is now further than ever. How is one supposed to reintroduce authenticity to the digitized correspondences of the modern era? Here, the notion of a live connection, a digitized interaction that responds in real time, becomes highly appealing. The prospect of observing and communicating with a live human being has an air of authenticity and validity to it, despite being as digitized as ever. The creation of an experiential partner which reacts quickly to a wide array of inputs, maintaining conversations “just like the real thing” has become an obsession of computer scientists and psychologists alike.
What exactly is a “Fantasmatic” scene, anyway? Gleaned from the readings, this scene is one that exists outside of our comfort zones, promoting the kind of dialogue we didn’t know as necessary or desirable. Such scenes are comparable to that of a train wreck – a powerful display of revulsion and tragedy, a twisted spectacle that nevertheless draws our curiosity: one can’t help but look at it. Despite our initial aversion, we can’t help but be drawn into this spectacle, to observe it fully and satisfy our curiosity regarding its origins. In doing so, this scene which is supposedly diametrically opposed to our principles becomes a part of them; an “other” through which we define ourselves. Even if such images serve no other purpose than providing a low barrier which we can easily and triumphantly rise above, they are nevertheless an important part of our identity.
Across many of the social networking sites and Web 2.0 landmarks, one can observe the existence of the impersonation – a once-normal internet user who now dons the persona of an undeniably famous entity. The purpose of inhabiting this visage is not necessarily to escape into such roles, but to call critical attention to them. The impersonation does not reaffirm the persona, but rather challenges it – taking certain characteristics to the extreme (or extremely mundane) as a means of exposing the persona’s absurdity. The impersonation is not so much a character as a caricature.
In massively multiplayer environments such as Second Life or World of Warcraft, role-playing becomes a common form of escapism. Naturally, there is also a backlash to such escapism, a reaction to the inauthentic nature of fake identities and staged experiences. There is the sense that the true self can only be realized once the staged identity falls apart: once one sheds their contextual trappings, information about the true self can emerge. All of the pretenses and false meaning are ultimately petty and insignificant compared to the study of what lies beneath. Only when the self has nothing left to show does it become truly deserving of observation. There are no identifiable characteristics with which one can easily dismiss an anonymous user’s motives: only the motive itself remains.
Second Life remains a popular topic with new media artists and social scientists alike: powerful editing tools allow users the freedom to craft a vast array of virtual identities. By enabling participants to craft an avatar to their exact specifications, this program creates opportunities for insightful studies into how self-representation manifests in the virtual world as well as how these electronic projections of ourselves affect our physical lives. For the purpose of this project, I decided to create an object which would distribute copies of my “identity”. Whereas most Second Life players choose to adorn themselves with elaborate wings or anthropomorphic dog costumes, I display myself as a large, red LEGO brick. Is the simplicity and brightness of my avatar a representation of my reaction to the brooding ornate mindset of other Second Life players? Many investigations into the nature of avatars attempt to answer such questions, but I found an intriguing aspect of this project was the self-medialization of my image through other users.
To me, the most profound part of this project was my desire to have my own image disseminated across the virtual landscape. Within the physical world, we want our identities to be unique – those who attempt to imitate our “style” annoy us, despite those who insist that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.In Second Life, I valued my identity and at the same time I wanted that identity to be shared amongst many other users. It almost seemed as if others adopting my image would give my avatar some sense of value or legitimacy. In her writing on media narcissism, Ursula Frohne comments on the growing preparedness of society to “actively participate offensively in the appropriation and production of reality…even if they can’t direct it completely, they can at very least actively influence the reality content” (Frohne 258). In creating the image which would represent me I appropriated a corporations product; in seeking to spread it across Second Life I would advertise that product. Ultimately, my avatar was not an expression of my own creativity rather than an admiration of someone else’s creativity. Motivated only by my own experience and desires I had come to promote a company which I had little stake in and whose profits would not directly affect me. Should we fear the encroachment of mass media into our identities turning us into walking commercials? Or do we now have the opportunity to wrest control of intellectual properties from industry, turning their products into aspects of our lives?
Chatroulette’s ostensible purpose is the use of webcams and the internet to bring users face to face with other internet users – the kind of people one might pass by everyday. When operated “as intended”, it becomes a system which necessitates confrontation between strangers, bringing forth a camaraderie from the usual fleeting and nebulous interactions that define the internet. To Marc Lafia, aspects “about crossing borders, making connections, being moved beyond your comfort zone, taking risk, reaching out” to others becomes an important aspect of this system.
For the sake of this project, I was asked to confront and engage with ten Chatroulette users for at least one minute each – a task I found surprisingly difficult. Despite my own efforts to initiate conversation, a vast majority of encounters were short lived and few lasted beyond the 1 minute mark. Undoubtedly, there is at least some small desire to be seen amongst the multitude of Chatroulette users, but the desire to see others also has some significant impact. The average user of this system cycles through chat partners as one might flip through television channels, searching a vast media network and only pausing for a few moments when an interesting image appears. It seemed curious to me, that despite expanding the ability of the userbase to display itself, the desire to sit back and observe remained a driving force.
Perhaps the act of displaying oneself is then not the primary focus for a majority of Chatroulette users, but more of a compromise a user makes in order to observe others. As Cheryl Sourkes puts it, these self displays “participate in economies of the discard. They’re virtual garbage traveling as placeholders”. Perhaps the behavior of those on Chatroulette mimics that of internet behavior as a whole? Seldom does an internet user recall the various pieces of data he or she has tossed onto the world wide web; images and indexes attributable to us are voluntarily given in order to participate in the greater discourse of the internet and the services within. In the case of Chatroulette, the possibility of finding a raw spectacle free from mediation and editing necessitates that one display themselves to other users, if only for a brief moment in time. Ultimately the act of passing by a stranger, an individual whose mannerisms and appearance are commonplace to the user, is not defeated but digitized by the Chatroulette system: our search for excitement remains constant.
