#021 Changing Faces
spooky season, virtual worlds and the perks of permission
Thumbnail is a segment from This Outfit Does Not Exist. As a complement to my subscriber-only deep dives, thumbnails are a shorter, more personalised, set of musings on the future of fashion and tech. If this sounds exciting please:
This week’s thumbnail is written from London, where I’m on my way to a halloween party wearing SCRY Labs Predator shoes and Chipped Social x Samuel ‘Knife Blade’ nails
The thumbnail
Before there was This Outfit Does Not Exist there was ‘The Queen of Halloween’.
An admittedly hackneyed and prosaic title, issued in every social group to one marginally more eccentric individual, for years this has been my crown. And for obvious reasons.
Working in the traditional tech space, October 31st was my excuse to step outside the bounds of my corporate persona and embrace the wildest looks I could think of.
When I started This Outfit Does Not Exist, and wearing outlandish fits became a core part of my job, I assumed this obsession would wane. However as this year has shown (with more money spent, more makeup caked, and more mad looks than ever) this is clearly not the case. Sitting in an Uber, slathered in face paint, I thought hard about why Halloween is still so dear to me and came to conclude it’s all about permission.
Though some of my more conservative friends might think I’m pretty out there, the reality is that I’m more of a conformist than people think. I like the idea of ‘winning’ (as it pertains to excelling within a codified set of standards) just as much as I like breaking boundaries. So while the ways I express might seem outlandish, in reality they skirt specific subcultural barriers that validate them (e.g. avant garde fashion) rather than existing in freefall.
With this in mind, my obsession with Halloween starts to make sense. The permission to adopt certain behaviours within the bounds of ‘spooky season’ is integral to why I find the holiday so exciting. On the days around October 31st I’m allowed to excel at outlandishness and be celebrated rather than chastised for it.
When musing on this dynamic I was brought back to online spaces. Across virtual worlds, this same idea of permission that drives my love of Halloween is what attracts people to interact online en masse.
So in true Halloween style, today’s thumbnail will focus on the tricks and treats that the online world provides by giving us the permission to change faces.
The double click
Although the internet is one of the most important globalising forces, I see online spaces as akin to nation states.
By the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition a nation state is an independent country, thought of as consisting of a single large group of people all sharing the same language, traditions, and history.
Look to Fortnite, Roblox, Twitter or Reddit and digital manifestations of the same three elements that define a nation state can be observed. In each platform there exists a unique set of:
Laws – seen in the hardcoded modes of interaction
Cultural norms – seen in encouraged or prohibited behaviours
Languages – seen in the differing modes of expression that are both socially and algorithmically defined
When united these elements dictate the hard and soft permissions each online space holds. To double click:
On governing laws:
Where IRL laws refer to government mandated codes of conduct, in online spaces these take the form of developer instated restrictions.
At the most extreme end of the spectrum there are the laws of movement, somewhat akin to our own laws of physics. Take the MMPORG Adventure Land as one example. In the experimental indie game player mobility is restricted to either moving to the right, or moving down. Just as humans cannot defy gravity, try as they might, once in Adventure Land a player cannot move backwards.
On the less extreme end of the spectrum we have the laws of commerce, which manifest almost identically to our own laws of trade. Just as developers determine how players can move, they also determine how they interact economically. So whilst social simulation Roblox allows players to create and sell items peer-to-peer through a dedicated marketplace, competitor Fortnite does not.
Just as in the real world these hard-coded laws permeate every part of society, and whilst in some cases their adherence is unavoidable, in others there are ways to circumvent. In a manner that mirrors our physical lives it is generally impossible to defy a games’ hard-coded laws of motion. Laws of commerce, however, can be transgressed. Look to Fortnite where skin selling is prohibited and you see off-platform black markets pop up to fulfil the demands of desperate users— a clear parallel to how illicit goods circulate IRL when government mandated supply fails to satisfy demand.
On cultural norms:
A few months ago, I deep dove into one of the original virtual worlds, exploring how Neopets is Digital Fashion’s Roman Empire. Upon examining the OG social sim, I learnt that the games’ creators worked hard to make aesthetics a core part of the culture. Whilst they were not hard-coded into gameplay aka. looking good did not give you any explicit on-platform advantage, efforts to promote fashion focused activities —ranging from purchasing fashion-specific items to participating in contests run by mods— made aesthetics an integral part of Neopian clout.
Just as in the physical world culture does not just arise from the top down. It has to be embraced from the bottom up. Nowhere is this more present than Fortnite where one of the most fascinating examples of aesthetic permeation exists in ‘default culture’. ‘Default culture’ refers to the tradition of actively chastising those wearing basic fits. As in the case of Neopets rocking a funky skin does not level up your gameplay. Yet it signals cultural adherence to such as extent that those who don’t adhere to the fit checks are actively targeted by other players.
On language:
A melding of governing laws (the ways you are allowed to communicate on platform) and cultural norms (the behaviours celebrated by both creators and the community) each online space has birthed its own ways of communicating.
Take X as an example. At time of founding, the site only permitted posts under 170 characters. This drove the platform to hinge on abbreviations. ‘HT’ (hat tip), ‘CX’ (correction), ‘CT/RT/MT’ (cut tweet/ re-tweet/modified tweet) and even ‘DM’ are thought to have originated on the platform which, true to form, was originally named ‘Twttr’.
One of the most influential ideas in philosophy is that language changes how you think. Studies have shown that those with differing vocabularies perceive social interactions, and even visual stimuli, in different ways. Similarly, when considering online spaces the language you can use significantly shapes the purpose of the space itself.
Going back to Twitter a shift in the platform’s dynamics took hold with Elon Musk’s takeover in 2022. Much like when a change of government occurs in an IRL nation, Musk's leadership disrupted not only the platforms ‘laws’— in terms of the ways interactions were hard coded— but the language/culture surrounding its use.
As the original character limits make clear, the OG laws and cultural norms on Twitter centred on brevity, and the carefreeness that comes with it. With its 140 character limit, on OG Twitter you didn’t have to be capable of writing an epic to share your thoughts, or spend hours meticulously checking your outputs. Instead, as a shared messaging forum, Twitter was a place to throw ideas out with abandon.
On Twitter today, this approach is near unrecognisable. In a post-Musk world the platform features tiered access levels, with an upgraded limit of 4,000 characters for those prepared to pay $8 per month, along with an algorithm that panders to those who can afford preferential treatment.
Where Twitter implied endless chatter (much like the lovable yet irritating birds that wake me up at 5am), X is sleek and ruthlessly corporate (alot like my ex). What was once a raw shortform SMS site has become a place for commerce and self-promotion. Where slews of Silicon Valley ghost writers tap out tailored tweets for a audience of prospects. In this new paradigm the abbreviations that once characterised the platform serve no function. When they’re used it’s as a performance, or to be ironic, rather than due to genuine need.
On identity:
At the point where law, language and culture converge lies identity.
While both physical and digital spaces meld these same three elements, the most you can do to escape who you are IRL is to get a really good plastic surgeon and move to Mexico. In the digital world however the possibilities of re-formation are endless.
Since its invention in 1980, the internet has centred on the dynamics of being seen and being unseeable simultaneously. Online spaces are compelling because they not only allow us to elect which of these two camps we fall into, but to embody both at once.
Fun, financially driven, and (occasional) fraudulent the NFT space is one of the best exemplifiers of how this duality holds true. The PFP (picture for profile) craze that began in 2021 led a host of unusual characters to spring up, who leveraged both anonymity and notoriety to build empires like never before.
Though online influencers are nothing new (even faceless forums like Reddit see power users accrue disproportionate clout within niche message boards) never has faceless influence spilled so far off-screen as in crypto. Take Seedphrase and gmoney as prime examples. Both characterised by images of their Crypto Punks (a highly valuable, historically laden, NFT project) the two have used pseudo-anonymous Twitter personalities to build lucrative careers. These span brand deals with the likes of Prada, Adidas and Dolce & Gabbana, DJ gigs, and even their own multi-million dollar brands. All with PFPs as identifiers.
This is not to say that all those who venture onto the internet do so to create their dream selves. Some present curated versions of their real lives in the hope of achieving stardom (trad influencers), while others seek out the freedom only facelessness can bring. On the ni-uncensorable message boards of Four Chan, or the comments section of the Daily Mail, anonymous users engage with abandon. They feel liberated sharing their views unencumbered from judgement. By disconnecting their lived realities from their unadulterated thoughts, users can speak their truth, or simply opt to be a dick for the giggles.
The Zoom Out
From online trolls to incel forums, the permission to change faces undoubtedly accounts for some of the darkest pockets of the internet. Absolved from accountability, with the laws of social acceptance rewritten, wickedness is left to fester. However just as potent as they are a force to evil these permissions can serve as a colossal force for good.
Take Soul as an example. In recent months the Chinese social media site piqued my interest for employing avatars to solve China’s ‘friendship recession’. Under the slogan ‘making loneliness go away for all’ it’s been built on the principle that permitting users to act entirely as avatars will make them feel more comfortable candidly connecting.
Confirming Soul's assumptions, studies have shown that internet anonymity allows users to more readily connect with others and embrace elements they would be scared to IRL. From sexual orientation and gender, to political affiliations and deep set insecurities, the layer of separation facelessness brings allows people to truly open up.
As the internet has shown the ability to elect new systems of value, abstract yourself from external (and sometimes internal) forces of judgement, and experiment with different personas can lead to close and unexpected connections. But it can also help to connect with oneself too. Changing faces can provide you with a deeper sense of agency as you are able to better understand which views you hold as your own, and which are a byproduct of social conditioning. At least that’s what it brings to me.
— Dani 👽