Saturday morning I went in and tried out “Second Life” just to see what it was like. I chose my name and basic avatar. Then landed in an antiseptic welcome area, some other “guy” birthing into Second Life beside me at about the same time. I took this as a sign there would be plenty of opportunity to find conversation and didn’t attempt to strike up a chat. Instead I “walked” down the clinical corridor, following arrows, and read instructions on how to change your avatar’s appearance and clothing. I was rather anxious to do something about my clothing as for some reason I had no shirt on. Pants, but no shirt. This was embarrassing for me, even though I was an avatar. But no matter what I did, the program wouldn’t adorn me with a shirt. Other newbies were periodically entering and reading the same instructions and trying to edit their appearance and here I was without a shirt and worried about venturing out without a shirt because I didn’t want anyone to think I was purposefully going without a shirt. This was absurd and I got over it fairly quickly.
When a character is trying to edit their appearance, “editing appearance” text appears above their avatar and they look much like they were caught in a period of suspended animation sans closet, Narcissus struggling with his pond and attempting to mold the ripples into the image he believes should be gazing back at him. Most everywhere in Second Life, people are editing their appearance. Much later on, I took the risk of sounding nerdily uninitiated and mentioned to someone that it was kind of weird to stand by and watch people editing their appearance like that, but received no answer. And by then I didn’t care.
One would expect Second Life to be a very sociable place but I had no success societating. Avatars standing in little clusters, not talking to anyone, gazing about, look confused and forlorn and not anxious to be bothered, but then perhaps they were IMing furiously. How an avatar can look confused and forlorn, I don’t know. At first I thought this had to do with the furtive movements made, the aimless step to the left then forward then back again as the person on the far end tries to figure out what to do next. Then I decided it was more to do with the blank, inexpressive faces that seem popular with avatars.
I gave my avatar a slight semblance of a smile, hoping to make an impression of receptive, if bemused, agreeability.
I began by going to some popular place, I don’t recollect where, and then not much impressed with the money-driven gaudiness of it I set out walking down a road, just looking at imagination at work, the various environments people were choosing to build. Many places I couldn’t enter, just as with someone’s regular house. Wearying of a sameness to much of everything and ever present sexy model posters I decided to start seeking out environments via the search function and teleporting to them.
Nowhere I went had much conversation going on, and the chats I did see didn’t incline me to talk with anyone.
I felt like I was in a big Wal Mart with dancers. A weird Wal Mart with lots of astroturf but a Wal Mart nonetheless.
With dancers.
People are dancing everywhere in Second Life. People are paid to dance, or “camp”, to be in a place. You can get linden dollars for just standing around and dancing, even standing in line, or resting on a bench. These pay-to-dance and pay-to-camp places are given as the most popular areas in Second Life, but then I wasn’t checking out the sex palaces.
And even where you’re not paid to dance, there are dancers. Most of them very tanned female avatars in high high heels wearing nothing or a tuft of skirt that resembles a tutu. Rather than converse, people stand around and dance. Eventually, in an environment that felt like a monstrous, sprawling Wal Mart, dancing for Second Life dollars made more sense to me than dancing for nothing.
It struck me that here the gaming world had an opportunity to create a paradise of sorts and had instead paved it over with the Second Life version of a parking lot.
Outside a Second Life mall, I witnessed a male avatar striking up a conversation with a very tanned buxom avatar. He asked what she was up to and she replied she guessed she was going to go shop (shopping seems to be one of the more popular activities). He seemed new and said he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Then he asked if she would like some company and she said sure but that she thought most men thought shopping was boring. He said yes he thought shopping was boring except when in the company of attractive females. She laughed and off they went.
I was reminded of Rock Hudson in “Seconds”. Most inhabitants of Second Life have likely never heard of “Seconds”, in which Rock Hudson, tried of his old existence and wearying body, goes through a process which provides him with a new face, physique and life. The devil’s agreement is that one must eschew their old life completely and never mention it. Rock Hudson believes he has been replanted in a real world but it turns out he is surrounded by other Seconds. Unable to trust the reality of the relationships formed. he is ultimately unable to cope, falls apart and is euthanized.
In Second Life you can either imagine you are being someone else, or attempt to make a vague representation of a real life you. I gave myself gray hair, puffy eyes, a hint of jowls and flattened my butt. I found a pair of sunglasses and jeans and a black shirt. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get my avatar to ever put on a pair of shoes. I was so bored with the overwhelming number of tanned Barbie and Ken avatars that the occasional Furry animal style avatar was a welcome relief. I struck up a game with one. I mimicked its movements. It responded. We did this for a couple minutes and then it tried to give me a version of itself to use as a body but I wasn’t interested in becoming a fox, I just wanted to communicate. I attempted to strike up a conversation, saying I was new to Second Life. “Oh,” it said, and was polite but moved along after informing me that it was great in Second Life and to keep in mind that everything in Second Life was made by its denizens.
When avatars are nice and want me to appreciate something I want to appreciate it as well. It wasn’t my intention to flop down in Second Life and be critical. I wanted to like it. I do recognize just how much work has been invested by a number of ambitious individuals.
The most common decoration seemed to be wall-to-wall posters of individuals in some type of modeling pose, showing off shoes and jewelry or just skin advertising a Second Life club or lounge. One poster won’t do. A building has to be plastered with a number of them. There are walls and walls of marketing posters and marketing booths and marketing booths for rent. Much of Second Life is ugly and looks like the inhabitants are mostly familiar with architecture and decoration via malls and strip malls.
Muscles are big. Boobs are big. Butts are conspicuous. Digital diamonds flash gaily on wrists and ankles. Shoes are made for pole dancing.
I searched for places to do with art and books, just to see what was there. I was always the only avatar present but, again, I didn’t think I would be very inclined to speak to anyone else, considering the few bits of conversation I’d witnessed. I sought out another orientation island and found a greeter who wasn’t very conversant but was friendly enough to direct me to what was said to be the pride of Second Life, environments showcasing endangered trees and a coral reef. Again, no one was there. A lot of work evidently went into the environments but they still looked like jpg pixels pieced together off a Wal Mart shelf and felt hollow, sub par animation and very little information availed with what would have been a prime opportunity for education. I checked out several Zen Buddhist environments just to see what was there. No other avatars and though I could read the table of contents of a book I wasn’t permitted to view it. I checked out a Methodist church, no one there. I checked out the Robert Anton Wilson memorial. No other avatars and was so uninteresting I didn’t stick around long enough to see what information might have been available, if any. I visited an environment in which one picked up scrolls to read about the classic path of the hero and all its stages. I left when I ran into a wall of bats threatening to suck my blood if I didn’t offer the correct response to a question.
Knowing I was taking quite a risk, and hoping for no conversation, I visited an environment that promised something to do with philosophy. There were two other avatars there. They were wrapped up in their laptops. We didn’t speak. They were probably IMing each other or others. They looked too cool for me anyway.
I returned several times to orientation places hoping to find a bit of conversation. A lot of avatars were sitting and standing around. Again, a monosyllabic tidbit was about all that could be elicited and a promise that meeting people and making friends was all the fun.
A wolf avatar approached me. Despite the fact I was obviously a newbie, all it would say was it was looking for its pack, where was its pack. I gamely went along but as all it would say was where was its pack, I didn’t have much to reply. Finally it said it was a full moon and it had to fly. I said bye. That was the longest and most complex conversation I had.
With every conversation that I attempted to strike up, that garnered only a couple syllables in response, I wondered if I’d have had more luck if I had chosen one of the sexy avatars. The only vaguely prologued conversations I had (several sentences) were with furry creatures, the fox and the wolf. What did that mean? The only bit of fun I had was playing mimic with the fox. I considered that dispensing with a human avatar and going furry might be the way to go. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about clothes.
I continued searching. Nearly every destination I chose was empty of avatars. . The novelty of moving my avatar through worlds created by Second Lifers had long since worn off, most of those worlds looking very much the same. I entertained myself by flying up and down and walking through oceans and landing on roof tops. I sat on a gorilla’s shoulder. I made a chair of a robot’s arm. I tried some free coffee but my avatar kept holding the cup up to its cheek to drink. I did a couple of those pay-you-to-dance platforms in order to earn four linden dollars for twenty minutes worth of dancing. Afterwards, I passed by some gumballs that cost ten dollars. Things felt emptier and emptier. I began avoiding the few other avatars I was coming across, sticking to flying around.
Now, I can envision great potential for something like Second Life as an information, marketing, communication and educational tool. I can easily see myself shopping for books in Second Life (I mainly purchase books), liking the immersive experience of being able to pick things up and look at them, and would enjoy browsing and sharing with other avatars present thoughts on an item. I like the idea of, say, attending lectures and talks in Second Life (which is problematic as I read the processors can only handle 70 avatars in an area at once, I believe). But it’s no wonder that real life stores and organizations have shuttered their Second Life representations. I read at Wired that 85 percent of avatars created are abandoned and that the big draws are the free money places and “kinky sex”, so what I experienced at Second Life my first day there seems par for the course.
On a random day in June, the most popular location was Money Island (where Linden dollars, the official currency, are given away gratis), with a score of 136,000. Sexy Beach, one of several regions that offer virtual sex shops, dancing, and no-strings hookups, came in at 133,000. The Sears store on IBM’s Innovation Island had a traffic score of 281; Coke’s Virtual Thirst pavilion, a mere 27. And even when corporate destinations actually draw people, the PR can be less than ideal.
Sitting on the arm of the gorilla holding Fay Wray was my last adventure at Second Life, after visiting a place with numerous tutorials on how to build your own objects and trying it out. I could see how it would be fun to build your own store or an art installation or experimental environment but I’m just not prepared to invest the kind of time it would require, or the money to buy land when I know that all the action is at Money Island and Sexy Beach.
Feeling rather depressed by all the tanned avatars and glitter, the sameness of so much of it, the lack of interaction, all the dancers and big busts, the muscles, the sexy model posters, the breasts, the butts, the butterfly wings, the busts, the brawn, the sexy hair, the busts, I exited for my last time that day. Then the next morning I removed Second Life from my computer.
Leave a Reply