I have been thinking a lot about technology and emotion. Most likely, this is because the past month has been an emotional rollercoaster—in the best possible way—and I’ve found myself directing a lot of that emotion at my phone.

Although I officially graduated in December, my partner (also a sociologist) and I both decided to do the whole ceremonial graduation thing at the end of the Spring semester. At the beginning of May, members from both of our families came down to Texas to celebrate. They traveled from Virginia, North Carolina, New Jersey, and New York. This was wonderful. I love my family—immediate and in-laws alike. Like, gooey, gushy, here-take-half-my-sandwich, capital “L” Love these people!!  But I may or may not have thrown my phone angrily onto the bed and refused to look at it for a full 30 minutes after an onslaught of text messages and phone calls in which everyone was confused/upset/annoyed about logistical arrangements (okay, I did do this). I also laughed with my brother when we both rolled our eyes and tightened our shoulders upon the simultaneous beeping from both of our phones as family members, who again, we both love very much, contacted us to tell us about a change of plans. Over the course of the  weekend, I fake strangled my phone, threw it (see above), twitched my eyes in response to its beckon, and smiled sadly into it after everyone left and the text message beep brought news that we were missed, loved, and the source of pride.

Then, this past weekend, we went house hunting. I recently accepted a job at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA. In all of the excitement of obtaining gainful employment, however, I apparently pushed matters like living arrangements to the back burner.  As Whitney Erin Boesel (@Phenatypical) detailed in an earlier post, finding a place to live can be something of a challenge.  This challenge was sharpened by our recent acquisition of a third dog. For my partner and I, it was far more surprising than it should have been that nobody wants to rent to people with three dogs. Long story short, we decided to buy. This entailed a plane ride, two road trips, and numerous back and forth emails, phone calls, and text messages between us, our Realtor, several sellers, and of course, our family members—all of whom maintained insights on how the process should go. Through all of this, I throttled my phone as it froze while giving us directions to the Real Estate office; I tightly gripped my phone and stared nervously and intently as we looked up properties comparable to the ones in which we were interested; I jumped to answer my phone, almost dropping it in excitement, as I waited to hear if we got The House (we did—pending inspection).

In thinking of my recent technologically mediated emotive responses, I am reminded of an earlier life, one infused with chat rooms, AOL instant messenger, and if I’m being totally honest, illegal downloads of  N’Sync songs (don’t worry, I also had some Nirvana, Beatles, and Smashing Pumpkins). In this earlier life, I remember the many feelings that the AOL instant message *bing* would illicit.  Sometimes a twinge of excitement as that boy I was crushing on popped textually onto my screen. Sometimes a comfortable giggliness as a girlfriend referenced an inside joke. Sometimes an intense anger as fighting words assaulted the text box in a stream of hostile, overlapping, dings.

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 Technology did not, and does not, cause these emotions. Rather, technology mediates between the environment, the context, and a bodied emotive response. And the response is, indeed, very much bodied. The bing of an instant message, flicker of a glitching screen, and familiarity of a ringtone rhythm can bring about widened eyes, a quickened pulse, gastrointestinal knots or alternatively, a small swarm of jubilant butterflies. One might tighten hir shoulders, clench hir jaw, hasten hir step, jump up, or alternatively, sink down. In the examples above, I responded in a seemingly automatic way to technological stimuli, much like Pavlov’s dog. Unlike Pavlov’s Dog, however, my responses to the same stimuli were always variable, shifting with situational meanings. The very same text message tune could bring me to hopefully dash for the vibrating object or close my eyes in frustration, determined not to feel obliged towards the message initiator on the other end.

Rather,  my mediated emotive interactions with technology more closely reflect  Clifford Geertz’ notion that humans very humanness is characterized not by the ability to incorporate culture and complex symbol systems, but, due to lack of instinct, the evolutionary necessity of complex cultural schemas. The human brain does not simply tell the body to act, it pauses, interprets, processes, and only then, brings about response.  Similarly, as noted by George Herbert Mead, adult humans act and react, but do so only through interpretation, through the incorporation of myriad clues, cues, and ingrained personal and shared histories. Technologies have always played a role in this, as language is the key symbol system through which cultures and selves are constituted. Technology is intertwined with shared symbol systems, as a mediator, conduit, and representation.

Technologies are part and parcel of our humanness, and humans are emotive. Technologies then, are part and parcel of our emotive selves.

Jenny tweets emotively @Jup83

The Cyborg project, as articulated by Haraway, is at its core, a utopic project. It is the melding of mechanical and organic, digital and physical, human, machine, and animal in such a way that categorizations cease to hold meaning, and in turn, cyborg bodies break through repressive boundaries.

And yet here we are, at the pinnacle of a cyborg era, inundated with high tech, engaged simultaneously in digital and physical spaces, maintaining relationships with organic and mechanical beings, constituted with and through language, medicines—and increasingly—machines, and we STILL have to deal with bullshit like this (click below to view): 

Let us break down the problems. This is a classic play on the Car Show Girls who act as ornamental adornments for capitalist goods. These women (described problematically as girls) are literal objects. This objectification is laid bare by the replacement of sexy “girls” with sexy bots. “Respect the Tech,” the commercial instructs, implicitly including both the bots and the car. Further, with a terrible attempt to portray feminine strength, the bots physically dominate a male admirer who handles the product inappropriately (again, the product here extends to the female bodies represented by the bots). This #FeministFail portrays female strength as ironic and unexpected, exciting in its performative enactment by sexualized bodies, and activated in response to threats not against themselves, but against the capitalist good through which they are constituted.

This speaks to the social, cultural, and structural embededness of technology and technological representations.  Technology is made and used by humans. Technologies have culture written into them. When culture is sexist, racist, and homophobic, or progressive, sex-positive, and accepting, so too will be the technological default. Perhaps the cyborg project is a utopic one, but our culture is not. Technological objects and their portrayals are rooted in raced, classed, sexed, and gendered environments. They are used for varied ends, disproportionately so by those with greater financial and social resources.  Far from de-categorization, the portrayal of technology here hyper-categorizes. The Car Show Girl has always represented a patriarchal view of the ideal woman—silent, pretty, fun, subordinate — and yet she has always been limited in her perfection by the quarrelsome nature of her human body with its leakiness, sweat, smells, moods, emotions, needs.  The bot brings this ideal woman to full fruition, replacing these objectified female bodies with fully sanitized objects in an ideal female form.

So is the utopic cyborg project for naught? Can we expect only hyper-categorization, solidified forms of racism, sexism, classism, digital dualism etc.? For my money (which to be fair, isn’t much), I say no. These built-in “isms” of technologies may be the default, but they are not the inevitable ends. The purposive architect and/or user can certainly create, construct, or utilize technological means for radically equalizing purposes. To do so, of course, one has to take note of a problematic default, and explicitly guide technologies down an alternative route.  This KIA commercial is an egregious example of how the cyborg project, when left to default standards, can go awry. And yet through my words in this post, facilitated by myriad technologies—a keyboard, a blogging platform, YouTube— I’ve taken this object of popular culture and used it for my own ends. The object now exists, easily spread, shared, commented upon, as not only a sales tool, but a blaring specimen of deeply embedded social inequalities.  I—and we—can co-opt the object, reformulate it.

Put away your fluffy utopic visions, my fellow cyborgs. Instead, bring out your sharp eyes, employee your analytic skills, utilize available tools. The cyborg project is not a naïve journey, nor is it a lost cause.

Jenny Davis is a regular contributor for Cyborgology. Follow Jenny on Twitter @Jup83

*Special thanks to Jill Detwiler and Matt Gasner for bringing this KIA ad to my attention

MOOCs: Massive Open Online Courses.  These generally free, multi-thousand student, online college courses, come in a variety of forms (typically differentiated as xMOOCs and cMOOCs), and have become the fertile ground for debates about the future of higher education. Such debates exploded last week when the San Jose State University (SJSU) Philosophy Department published an open letter to Dr. Michael Sandel, explaining to the the Harvard University Professor why they refused to enter into a contract that requires them to incorporate his MOOC on Justice into their curriculum.

The letter from SJSU and the formal and informal responses to it, highlight key tensions expressed by the academic community with regard to MOOCs. The letter itself captures many larger concerns, as professors worry about prioritization of the ‘bottom line,’ lack of interactivity, loss of professorial autonomy, and the perpetuation of class/power/resource hierarchies as students at a few select schools engage in a rich classroom environment, while everyone else views educational videos that were made for someone else, do not account for their needs, and do not incorporate their voices or experiences. The following is an excerpt from the original letter:

 …[W]e fear that two classes of universities will be created: one, well- funded colleges and universities in which privileged students get their own real professor; the other,financially stressed private and public universities in which students watch a bunch of video-taped lectures and interact, if indeed any interaction is available on their home campuses, with a professor that this model of education has turned into a glorified teaching assistant.

At the same time, scholars and educators can’t deny that the bottom line *does* matter, as funding cuts threaten to make access to higher education increasingly less attainable. Moreover, universities fear obsolescence.  Once a technology exists, there is no going back. MOOCs are here, and schools want to avoid the embarrassment of  dusty educational formats. Nobody wants to get stuck holding a floppy disk in a cloud computing era. As stated by a commenter on an article discussing the SJSU case: “The 21st century is the era of digital collaboration. Get out of the way if you can’t lend a hand.”

This tension I’ve just described, between access and innovation on one hand, and richness and depth on the other, is well worn. Concerns are rooted fully in the interests of students, learning, and the larger social good. I argue further, however, that there is a second tension. One less often (if ever) articulated. Another source of worry and discomfort as MOOCs make their way more emphatically onto the educational landscape. Namely, it is the tension between accessible education for all, and a loss of identity, coupled with a shifting path in the life course, one which potentially does away with that liminal time-out space currently occupied by 4-5 undergraduate years. This is a discomfort born out of the decentralization and disbursement of knowledge in ways that no longer necessarily require physical co-presence or tightly woven institutions.

Perhaps this first point is particularly sharp for me, as I attend a school (Texas A&M) in which school pride and Aggie identification is about as loud and proud as it gets. However, one need only look at the language with which students from all colleges and universities describe themselves. One may be a “Virginia Tech Hokie,” an “Oregon Duck,” or a “Florida Gator.” Where one went to school sits at the top of the CV or resume. Students, alumni, and their families purchase clothing, bumper stickers, and other displayable identity markers with the university name and logo. Colleges and universities are not simply a means to an end (i.e. the route to knowledge and a degree), but part of who a person is, personally and professionally. If that same degree can be obtained without singular institutional affiliation, if the institution itself ceases to matter, what of the identities of those who did, do, or in the future might, attend?

In addition to identity, the MOOC threatens the liminal space currently held by colleges and universities within the life course. College is not just somewhere people go to learn, it is where they go to find themselves. They join clubs. They drink too much. They make terrible decisions that later make for great stories. (Traditional) students are kind of on their own, but with a net. This has become a strong part of the American Life Course Narrative. It is a moment of experimentation and growth before settling in for the long haul of adulthood. If one need not attend a physical university, what happens to this life course moment?

These are, of course, discomforts rooted deeply in privilege, as access for all threatens not just the status of a degree, but the identity meanings and life narratives specifically of upper-middle class Americans. These are their privileges to lose. For many, a life course time-out and university identification were never possible. For them, there is nothing to mourn. However, it is rarely (if ever) the voices of those with nothing to lose that pervade public discourse.

Importantly, these tensions apply uniquely to MOOCs that operate, in some way, as credentializers—either through certificates, or, as is the case at SJSU and several other universities, as part and parcel of an accredited university curriculum. Many MOOCs are simply educational gifts, if you will, provided for the intellectually curious, as means of knowledge sharing in the purest sense.  The waters get murkier—and more anxiety producing—however, when these MOOCs become legitimate means of bestowing credentials. In this latter circumstance, the structure and boundaries of higher education are breached, shaking the foundation and laying bare myriad paths to intellectual accomplishment.

Jenny has signed up for several, but never actually completed a MOOC. She’s probably too busy posting weekly for Cyborgology and Tweeting @Jup83.

Pic Creds in order:

http://www.obhe.ac.uk/newsletters/borderless_report_january_2013/trajectory_the_moocs_juggernaut

http://www.ehow.com/facts_7719231_floppy-disk-imaging-software.html

Last week, Hailey Morris-Cafiero, a photographer and college professor, wrote an article for Salon.com about an ongoing project, five years in the making.  Morris-Cafiero’s project is to document those who mock her because of her body size. She selects a public venue, sets up a camera in full view, and has her assistant snap photos as Morris-Cafiero engages in the world under the derisional gaze of fatphobic publics. One image shows a teenage girl slapping her own belly while intently staring at Morris-Cafiero eating gelato on a sidewalk in Barcelona; another shows two police officers laughing, as one stands behind her holding his hat above her head; a third shows her sitting on bleachers in Times Square, a man a few rows back openly laughing at her as his picture is taken.  The project is called “Wait Watchers.”

What Morris-Cafiero does here is interesting artistically, but more than that, it is incredibly brave on a human and sociological level. She recognizes the disciplinary Foucaultian gaze and not only refuses to be contained by it, but openly defies its logic, staring back and imploding the seeing-being-seen dyad. Her images speak, angrily, and say “I know you are watching me, but your stares are powerless. In fact, I am watching you, punishing you. I see you. And you are rude. You are judgmental. You are weak. You are trapped by an arbitrary standard of ‘normal’ which you had no part in creating, no hope of living up to.”

The Salon article went viral on my Facebook News Feed (both on my personal page and the researcher page I maintain). Posters and commenters applauded the author, decried narrow images of beauty, and shouted “Right on Sister!!” in their loudest and proudest keyboard strokes. And I was right there with them. Sharing, Liking, posting related links while slapping proverbial high-fives with this crew of progressive body-freedom fighters.  And yet, these cheers of support sat uncomfortably within my Feed. Not because they were problematic in their own right, but because of what they sat alongside. Namely, what I call mockdates.

Although each status update may be unique, there are clear “types” of status updates. Food pictures, relationship gushings, job complaints, conversation quotes etc. And then there is what I like to call mockdates. The mockdate is a type of status update that uses humor to publicly condemn all forms of “improper” bodies. Large bodies.  Low SES bodies. Uneducated bodies. Poorly dressed bodies. Inarticulate bodies. Unattractive bodies. Odorous bodies. Bodies with poor taste. These are the personalized versions of those terrible People of Walmart memes.  They come in the form of covertly snapped pictures, overheard conversations, and descriptions so detailed I’m certain the author penned them as a creative writing exercise. The object is unaware of hir inclusion in the mockdate.

The same News Feed then, which heralds Morris-Cafiero’s brave work, and indeed, many of the same people who Share Morris-Cafiero’s art, simultaneously enact the harsh disciplinary gaze that the artist works to subvert.

It is not hard to see what mockdates provide, social-psychologically, for those who post, comment, and laugh at this type of content. It is a protective measure in a harsh environment. It defines who “we” are, and who “we” are not. It garners high yields, for a cheap fare, in a crowded attention economy. It does exactly the kinds of things that bullying, gossiping, and general snarkiness do for a person. And it doesn’t feel *too* mean, because the object of public derision isn’t anyone the mockdater knows, and doesn’t seem like anyone with whom s/he might be friends. The object is abstract, remote, anonymous. S/he plays a role, becomes a prop with which the mockdater performs hir moral identity. “I am not that.” The mockdater proclaims. “I know the social rules.” “I have discerning tastes.” “I am witty.” “I am funny.” And simultaneously, the mockdater, like the bully, begs “don’t judge me.” “Include me.” “Please let me matter.”

Mockdates are a survival technique in a surveillance culture, an historical space of documentation and sharing, where identities are always on display, their value quantifiable, and judgments upon them always still out. Mocking subjects laugh defensively, publicly, lest they become mocked objects. And yet, this micro-strategy of survival—its malice cloaked by humor, widespread participation with implicit endorsement, and abstracted targets—perpetuates the very system which creates the need for such a strategy.

Whitney Erin Boesel (@phenatypical) recently reminded us that the way we use technologies shapes the roles that these technologies play. If one hopes to subvert the surveillance system (or in this case, the coveillance system), s/he would do well to strike mockdates from hir repertoire, and abstain from Liking, commenting on, or publicly laughing at this type of status update from others. If you can’t think of anything smart to say, stick with pictures of your dinner. As a rule, it’s better to be mundane than a jerk. And let’s be honest, we all appreciate a little foodporn now and then.

Jenny Davis is a Sociologist and a weekly contributor for Cyborgology.  Follow Jenny on Twitter @Jup83

All images used with permission from Haley Morris-Cafiero: http://haleymorriscafiero.com/

In this post I attempt to tackle a complex but increasingly important question: Should writers cite blog posts in formal academic writing (i.e. journal articles and books)? Unfortunately, rather than actually tackle this question, I find myself running sporadically around it. At best, I bump into the question a few times, but never come close to pinning down an answer.

To begin with full disclosure: I cite blog posts in my own formal academic writing. But not just any blog posts. I am highly discriminate in what I cite, but my discriminations are not of the cleanly methodical type which can be written, shared, and handed out as even a suggested guide.  Mostly, I cite Cyborgology and a select few blogs that I know really really well. I have done so in my last three formally published works (two of which are Encyclopedia entries), and successfully suggested blog posts to others via peer-review. When pressed for a rationale (as I have been in conversations with colleagues), I less-than-confidently ramble something like Well I mean, I know these bloggers to be good theorists, and I find their work useful for my own. Some of their work is published only in blog form, and I need those ideas to build my argument. I also don’t want to ignore something good that I know is out there. But I mean, I know there are other good things out there that I don’t know about, or don’t know enough to trust. And I know I’ve written bad ideas on Cyborgology, or ideas that I further developed later, so I guess quality is not a sure thing, but reviewers and editors have accepted it so…[insert sheepish grin].  

With this poorly articulated rationale in mind, I present first, some pros and cons to citing blogs within formal academic writing. Next, I put forth three main sub-questions that I think will help us—and by “us” I mean myself and the readers who grapple with the ethical and professional questions of rigor in standards of academic sourcing—organize our thoughts. 

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Pros and Cons of Blog Citation

The following pros and cons of blog citation are far from exhaustive. Rather, I highlight some key tensions. Please feel free to address other benefits, complications, or tensions in the comments section.

 Pros

There are several benefits to citing blogs. Importantly, as I list these benefits—largely through juxtaposition to traditional publication venues— I by no means eschew the benefits of traditional venues. Rather, I explore the possibility of a broader citation base.

First, peer-reviewed journals are slow, jargon ridden, and often financially pay-walled (amiright David Banks, PJ Rey!?). Blogs are fast, self-published, and usually free. That is, the content of a blog becomes available far faster than that of a journal article, and is accessible to a wider audience. Including blogs within formal academic writing allows authors to utilize ideas that may not yet be available through traditional channels, and provides source materials for those without access to content hidden behind publishers’ blockades.

Second, blogs can be written by anyone. Peer-reviewed journal articles and books are almost always authored by academics. This academic bias, like pay-walls and jargon, limits discursive participants, whereas blogs can potentially open discursive boundaries.

Third, traditional journals rely on existing experts to decide what can/should be published. If an idea or methodology does not fit within an existing framework, its chances of acceptance diminish. Blogs are less susceptible this type of censorship, providing a wider breadth of theoretical building blocks and facilitating new theoretical directions.

Cons

The most obvious problem with citing blogs is that they are not peer-reviewed. They sit outside the agreed upon standard of academia, taking away the insurance policy (however flimsy that policy may be) of the peer-review process. Anyone with minimal computer literacy and access to a computer can publish a blog. Although this opens the discursive boundaries, it also means the discourse is far more crowded, and an academic writer must navigate the crowds with no clear rubric to discern rigor.

Second, bloggers tend to write in piecemeal fashion. On Cyborgology, for instance, theories of Digital Dualism and Augmented Reality continue to develop over time. Early posts do not necessarily reflect current thinking, and current posts may have significant problems yet revealed. To cite a blog is therefore to run the risk of citing an incomplete idea, or an idea out of context.

Third, blog posts are impermanent. Individual posts can be deleted, entire sites can be deleted, and texts can be edited with or without notification to the reader. This transience means that what one cites may not always exist, or may exist in a form that completely alters the meaning. On Cyborgology, we make an effort to notify readers of textual changes, but this is our editorial policy, not an across-the-board standard.

With these benefits and deterrents in mind, we can further explore what blog citation might look like, and how we can make decisions about its usefulness. In this spirit, I present some key orienting questions.

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Three Orienting Questions

 When is it okay to cite blogs in a formal academic paper?    

Or, in other words, how can academic writers use blogs effectively in their writing?

Thankfully, the use of blog posts in academic writing is not always ambiguous. Few would debate the use of blog posts as data sources within a discourse analysis. For example, if I wanted to analyze discourses on body size, food, and health, it would make sense to cite content from Health At Every Size,  HungryGirl, and food scholar Marion Nestle’s blog Food Politics.

More ambiguous, of course, is the question of using content from these blogs, in their own right, as building blocks or even a foundation for, theoretical arguments.

The journal publishing process tends to be frustratingly slow, and the contents of journals are often hidden behind financially prohibitive pay-walls. Blogs are a fast and usually free way to disseminate information. If the ideas are there, available to all, it seems like we can and should use them. I may need some idea to build a theoretical argument, and it may not be available to me for months, years, or ever if I rely solely on peer-reviewed publications. Moreover, as Whitney Erin Boesel (@phenatypical)  points out, it is important to give credit where credit is due, and if I find a blog post useful for building a theoretical argument, I should cite that blog post, giving credit to the author(s).

At the same time, blogs are not peer-reviewed—if they were, they would be open access online journals and decisions about citation would be far less contentious. In the “information age,” one of the biggest challenges is sorting through an abundance of content. The peer-review process is an important tool here. It becomes a boundary within which the reader can feel relatively comfortable with the methodological soundness and theoretical rigor of a piece (although certainly not completely comfortable). To give the “ok” to cite blog posts opens the proverbial information floodgates, and unbounds the corpus of citable literature. What would such an anything-goes literature review look like?

To be clear, I do not think anyone (or at least very few people) would argue for the anything-goes model. Even those who strongly believe that blog posts are legitimately citable material would likely agree that some blogs are better (read: more sophisticated, more rigorous) than others. This leads to the next question:

Which blogs are okay to cite, and how do we know?  

Not all blogs are created equal. As mentioned in the opening paragraph, I cite some blogs (e.g. Cyborgology, Racism Review) but not all blogs. Going back to the food/health/body example from above, I would be pretty comfortable citing Marion Nestle’s blog but would balk at the idea of citing HungryGirl’s Lisa Lillien.  Basically, I cite the blogs that have writers I know and like. These writers are usually academics. I do not cite blogs with writers who I do not know, and who are not academics.

The requirement that citable blogs be written by academics makes intuitive sense, but is highly problematic. First, it assumes that academics are always rigorous in their writings.  As we know from the high rejection rates of peer-reviewed journals, this is certainly not the case. In turn, it discounts those who are not affiliated with the academy. This is not only elitist, but reinforces institutional power hierarchies within knowledge production.

However, one can counter the former point by noting the poor quality of some published articles, problematizing the false-security that comes along with a legitimizing label of “peer-reviewed.” One can then counter the latter point by noting that sole reliance on peer-reviewed materials necessarily creates an exclusionary power-knowledge relationship, one even more firmly cemented than author-credential based decisions.

My imperfect solution is therefore to make subjective decisions on a case-by-case basis. Reviewers and readers are free to check my sources and make judgments of their own.

 Who can cite blogs?

Okay, now here comes the real hypocrisy. Although I cite blogs within academic writing, I explicitly forbid my undergraduate students from doing so. Their papers must include only peer-reviewed work unless I specifically approve of a non-peer-reviewed source.

Oh, hi Privilege, nice to see you again. The key difference between my students and me (besides, of course, our taste in music and repertoire of Seinfeld quotes), is that I have a Ph.D. and they are working on Bachelor’s degrees. That is, we are differentiated by levels of education, and having a higher level of education gives me the privilege and power to determine the value of piece of writing, and denies this power and privilege to those with less formal education. To say it out loud feels like the academic equivalent of “Because I Said So.”

At the same time, I have been trained in a particular field for several years. I have read the jargon-ridden journal articles, trudged through the 5-chapters-too-long books, and even contributed a few pieces of my own. Moreover, I have been a peer-reviewer, charged with making formal decisions about what is, and is not, a publishable piece of research. And so I take this training and I use it, again imperfectly, as a privilege, allowing myself to discern quality while urging others to wait until they have enough knowledge and practice to make such discernments. What “enough” is, however, remains quite nebulous. Perhaps as a brand new Ph.D. I grant myself too much license. Again, I leave it to my peer-reviewers to determine.

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And the Final Answer Is:

Hey, I said at the beginning I was not going to provide a definitive answer. I think the ambiguity is indicative of a changing professional landscape. Decisions we make about citation—and ultimately, the legitimacy of different forms of work—will shape how intellectualism develops. The real question then, is how do we want the intellectual landscape to look?

Follow Jenny on Twitter: @Jup83

Are human genes patentable? At the beginning of this week, the Supreme Court (SCOTUS) heard arguments to answer just that question. Specifically, the biotechnology company Myriad Genetics, Inc. wants to defend their patent on the isolation of BRAC1 and BRAC2—two genes related to hereditary breast and ovarian cancers. Such a patent grants the company 20 years of monopoly control over the genes for research, diagnostic, and treatment purposes. A group of medical professionals, scientists, and patients are challenging the patent.

The criteria for a medical patent are such that while tools, medications, laboratory produced chemicals etc. can be patented, “Nature” cannot be patented. That which is patented must therefore be created, not merely discovered (regardless of how costly or effortful the discovery). Opponents of the BRAC patent often evoke Jonas Salk, who famously said in response to the potential patent of his Polio Vaccine: “There is no patent. Could you patent the sun?”

Those who oppose the patent argue that the genes, as part of the human body, are disqualified from patentability. Myriad Genetics, in turn, argues that the laborious process of pinpointing these genes as indicators of hereditary breast and ovarian cancers and isolating them out is a process of denaturalization, and that the isolated genes are something separate from the natural body, separate enough, in fact, to be patentable.

Debates over the patentability of these two genes therefore boils down to a simple question (with a less simple answer): Can human genes be defined as technology? If so, they are certainly patentable. If not, then sorry Myriad Genetics, no dice!

Technology, in the simplest sense, can be defined as a tool with which humans augment their existence. Humans have always existed not only with, but also through technologies. However, as that which augments and is augmented by, the organic, technology is necessarily separate from the organic. To maintain their Patent, Myriad Genetics should have to prove that BRAC1 and BRAC2 are something other than organic bodily materials.

Such a separation, I argue, is not possible. Human genes do not augment the body, they are the body, present prior to discovery, prior to naming, prior to their relation to genetic illness. The tools of discovery, then, are technologies, the process of naming, diagnosing, and extrapolating is a technological process. And yet, the genes themselves remain organic.

Not to be unsympathetic, I have argued myself that the body can be understood as a technology—or more specifically—as materialized action. That is, we make sense of our bodies through language, experience our bodies in culturally embedded ways, alter our bodies out of social motivation and with communicative effect. In this way, the process of discovering, naming, diagnosing, and treating the genes is very much a technological process. And yet again, the genes themselves are not the technologies.

To argue that BRAC1 and BRAC2 are simultaneously organic and technological is to cross the theoretically thin and porous line from an augmented perspective into a strong augmented perspective. It is to employ the problematic treatment of technological and organic as not just mutually constitutive, but one in the same. Such a perspective fails to recognize that each—while always understood in terms of the other—maintain separate properties. The final ruling then, will rest upon the Court’s ability to discern the delicate distinction between mutual constitution and undifferentiated enmeshment.

The significance of this case, of course, goes far beyond ivory-tower debates about theoretical precision. Rather, by asking “who stands to benefit, and who stands to lose?” we see that, at the very base, this case pits pharmaceutical companies against patients. Those who argue against the patent argue not only that it is illegal, but that it will slow research and development, limit access to testing and treatment, and ultimately, result in the loss of lives. The outcome of the case will therefore determine the extent to which the body can be co-opted for financial gain, and perhaps more importantly, it will set a precedent of priority, establishing a clear hierarchy of interests between institutions of science and medicine and the far less powerful folks who rely on these institutions for their well-being.

Headline Pic. Via: http://forward.com/articles/112419/plaintiffs-in-breast-cancer-gene-suit-hope-to-over/

Follow Jenny on Twitter: @Jup83

Last week the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) heard arguments on landmark civil liberties cases with regards to same-sex marriage. On Tuesday, the courts took on California’s Proposition 8—a ban on same-sex marriage, and on Wednesday they heard arguments on the constitutionality of DOMA, a law that excludes same-sex couples from federal recognition. In light of these cases, I saw two interrelated trends in my Facebook newsfeed: profile pictures in the form of the red Human Rights Campaign (HRC) equality sign (headline photo), and snarky status updates making fun of these HRC profile pictures, accompanied by a note of support for marriage equality[i]. That is, although both groups shared and expressed the same opinion about same-sex marriage, they disagreed about the appropriate methods for showing this support. This disagreement highlights debates about political activism in the face of new technologies and brings us back to the question: Does slacktivism matter? I will argue here, as I have argued before that yes, it does.

The Critique: Profile Picture Change as Slacktivism

Slacktivism is a pejorative term that refers to a purportedly impotent form of political action in which a person engages within a digitally-defined space, and typically in a way that poses very few costs in terms of time, effort, and/or bodily risk. We can think here of signing and posting petitions, sharing news stories, spreading memes, and ranting on Twitter. These forms of political action have been criticized on two counts. First, detractors fear that slacktivism will replace “real” (read: physical/analog) forms of political action such as physical protest, phone calls, and letter writing. Slacktivism here is decried as congratulatory identity work, devoid of any real effect. Second, slacktivism is said to saturate the discursive political field, engulfing thoughtful voices and meaningful actions within a cacophonous din of noise.

Changing one’s profile picture in support of marriage equality is an almost Ideal-Type example of this phenomena called slacktivism. It requires very little time, effort, or bodily risk[ii]. It spreads not directly to political leaders, legislative actors, or mainstream journalists, but to one’s own network, who, as noted in footnote i, probably shares the same viewpoint anyway. Rather, changing one’s profile picture is an empty act, one that soothes the conscience, bolsters the image, and excuses the poster from true political engagement. It is, in the view of detractors, an act worthy of a giant eye-roll, as expressed—ironically—through status updates and memes.  

In Defense: Why I Changed my Profile Picture

My profile picture last week was the simple red HRC equality sign. Let me tell you why I did this. In the course of telling you my reasons, I will defend so-called “slacktivism” more generally.

Solidarity: I have several LGBTQI friends, both within and outside of my Facebook network. As it is, the institution of marriage excludes them, and they therefore experience a dearth of civil liberties. This is not ok. Whether they want to marry or not, I want them to know that I care about their civic exclusion. My profile picture is a simple and efficient way to show this. From the privileged position of heterosexuality, changing my profile picture was a way to show that this is not just a gay/queer rights issue, this is a human rights issue, and we are all in this together.

Identity:  Identity refers to how one sees the self, and how one acts in accordance. Who we are therefore both reflects and affects how we are.  I am the kind of person who cares about human rights, and who is willing to engage in actions in line with such beliefs. My partner and I made the difficult decision several years ago not to get married until the institution of marriage ceased to be discriminatory (my mom is still displeased by this). This action, the decision to remain unmarried, is at the quintessential intersection of personal and political. No, our lack of marriage does not denigrate male-female couplings any more than it gives unmarried same-sex couples across the country legal parental rights over their shared children. It does, however, matter. Had I lived during Jim Crow, I would like to think that I would have boycotted segregated establishments, just as now I boycott exclusionary institutions.

Facebook is one way—among many— in which I represent myself. Social justice advocate is a strong part of my identity. It somehow felt disingenuous, flippant, and dismissive in the historical legal moment to signify myself with the image of my dog shying adorably away as I make kissy faces at him. Taking this a step further (or better yet, deeper), social actors come to know themselves by seeing what they do. One does not engage in political action and then, with a sigh of satisfaction and an audible “phew” wipe hir hands and excuse hirself from participation. This is not how identity works. Rather, s/he sees hirself engage in the act, interacts with others with regards to the act, and in however small  a way, becomes the kind of person who engages in this sort of behavior. In this vein, the act of changing my profile picture, though small, further signified me as a supporter of equality. It not only reflects who I am, but further embeds this identity, which will guide future actions. In this way, I may have pushed myself into other forms of activism—just as all of those who changed their profile pictures, in so doing, showed themselves a little more about who they are.

Collective action and public discourse: I am only one person, and yet, my profile picture became a single drop within a larger sea of red. Within my network and across the country, newsfeeds were filling up with HRC symbols in support of marriage equality. I would be lying if I said I didn’t find it moving to scroll through my newsfeed as it became increasingly redder. In fact, it was this changing tide that first moved me to change my own picture. I realized that this was happening on a large scale, and that if it continued to do so, it would end up on the proverbial 6:00 news. Far from a separate space, dichotomized against mainstream news outlets, social media is both integrated with, and an impetus for, national news stories. Indeed, stories about the influx of HRC profile pictures were run on ABC, MSNBC, Fox, and many, many others. That is, the vast support for marriage equality, expressed via Facebook profile changes, became part of public discourse. Though a profile picture change is a small and quiet act, it was amplified through collective action and the interplay between personal and public media. I have argued before that memes are the myths of augmented society. In this way, small personal acts, connected to a larger movement, shared interpersonally and reported internationally, become part of the story that we tell ourselves, about ourselves. Such acts change, as I have argued before, the public zeitgeist—or feel— of the historical moment. Such a change can have real material implications, as seen most clearly in the examples earlier this year of SOPA and PIPA.

The week is over and my profile picture has returned to an innocuous dog picture. Come June, when SCOTUS renders decisions on the cases they heard this week, I imagine I will go back the HRC symbol (or whichever proliferates at the time). Well aware that my single act—a profile picture change—will be far from the force that legalizes same-sex marriage, it will be a force at a personal, interpersonal, and public level. Bring on the eye-rolls, I am more entranced by the sea of red than its cynical interruptions.

Follow Jenny on Twitter: @Jup83

A distinct feature of academically oriented blogs like Cyborgology is that these are spaces in which theories take shape over time through conversation, contradiction, progression, and stumbles. Rather than a finished product, readers find here a theoretical process, one that is far from linear and often fraught.  It is in this messy and fractured way that theories of digital dualism and augmented reality continue to develop here at Cyborgology and connected sites.  In this spirit of processual-theorizing, I want to further refine my material mapping of digital dualism for yet a third time*. With the ongoing dualism debates, the time is ripe for theoretical rethinking and adjustments.

Before going further, I want to clarify what I mean by “material conditions.” I do not refer here to an inherent or essential component of an artifact, space, or place, or to atoms as opposed to bits. Rather, because technology is always intertwined with human users and creators, the material conditions of which I speak stem from human-infused architectures of both brick and code, usage patterns, public discourses, and personal narratives.

Nathan Jurgenson first typologized digital dualism and augmented reality into increments between Ideal Type poles of strong and mild. He lamented the messy theorizing that slipped, in sometimes indiscriminate ways, along this continuum even within a single argument. In curbing his critique, I argued that such slippery theorizing is largely a product of variation in material conditions, and in particular, variations in the physicality and digitality of particular artifacts, spaces and places (for purposes of clarity: original Jurgenson post, original material mapping post, adjustment to material mapping post, application of material mapping post).

In mapping the material conditions of digitality and physicality, I set up integration and dualism as Ideal Type poles between which objects of study vary. At one pole rested the purely digital or purely physical, at the other the purely enmeshed physical and digital. Each of these poles are empirically unreachable but act as extreme cases against which all else can be compared (i.e. they are Ideal Types). The gist here is that although digital and physical are always intertwined, they do not always hold the same degree of presence. Rather, some things are more integrated, others more separate. This formulation, however, ignores the ways in which seemingly “pure” technologies are, in fact, not so pure. It concedes to discourses of separation in a way that enables the obscuring of digital-physical relations.

In particular, I think the pole of material dualism or separation can more accurately be replaced with juxtaposition. I argue that a formulation of the material conditions of physicality and digitality should be relational rather than oppositional. That is, if we understand the physical and digital to be always co-present, the question is how physical and digital relate to one another within an artifact, space, place etc. I therefore argue that we can understand these relations in terms of integration and juxtaposition.

By integration, I refer to a strong and at times explicit enmeshment of digital with physical. Facebook here is a useful example. Facebook is a digital platform on and through which bodied and named persons perform and negotiate identity, community, and relationships. Facebook’s Terms of Service require users to identify with their “real names”; mobile applications enable Facebook interaction within an array of physical spaces, often in conjunction with Face-to-Face interaction; the architecture of the site promotes biographical sharing through both text and images; and the normative structure surrounding Facebook use maintains a strong ethic of honesty and authenticity. MySpace, on the other hand, though sitting close to the integration pole, is less integrative than Facebook due to the formally and informally accepted use of aliases instead of given names. That is, MySpace, while highly integrative, is more juxtapositional than Facebook.

By juxtaposition I refer to a supposed defining-against, through which digital or physical appear purely such due to their oppositional relation with the other. For example, “the wilderness,” a space without wifi or possibly even cell phone connection, is set up not only as physical, but as explicitly not digital. It is, in short, offline, a location that makes sense only in relation to what it is not (i.e. online). Similarly, MMORPGs, in which players inhabit alien digitized bodies, take on new names and labels disconnected from Face-to-Face identity signifiers, and engage in fantasy play, are defined against, or in juxtaposition to, the physical.

The major poles then in this new schema are juxtaposition and integration, and refer to the relationship between digital and physical, recognizing that both are always co-present. The simple model looks like this:

 I am hesitant here to name categories between these poles, as I think a more open formulation lets us move more fluidly, theoretically speaking, between juxtaposition and integration in thinking about material conditions. I do, however, think that this continuum will be improved through multidimensionality.  In particular, as an object moves between juxtaposition and integration, there may also be movement between an emphasis on digital or physical. For instance, the wilderness is physicality defined against digitality, while MMORPGs are digitality defined against physicality. MySpace is largely integrationist, but arguably slightly more digital than physical. The multidimensional formulation can be depicted as follows:

The key here is to remember that physical and digital are both always around, be it through explicit co-presence or conspicuous absence.

Jenny Davis is a weekly contributor to Cyborgology and continues to fumble through this collective theoretical project. Follow her fumblings on Twitter @Jup83

*This third round of theorizing is largely i indebted  to insightful comments let by Nathan Jurgenson on my second attempt to map the material conditions of digital dualism

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MMORPG pic

So far, I have been a silent observer of the Dualism debates unraveling over the past few weeks both here on Cyborgology and around The Web (as well as in conference lobbies, coffee shops, and university hallways). Super brief recap: Nicholas Carr is cheezed off at Cyborgologists for their insistence on critiquing digital dualism and digital dualists, and argues that supposedly “dualist” experiences should be taken more seriously. Alternately, Tyler Bickford is peeved that the critique of digital dualism is not taken far enough, and that the Augmented Perspective assumes, incorrectly, that there is some base reality from which to augment. Cyborgologists have worked furiously to address these points, arguing about the role of bodies and emotion, correcting misleading characterizations, clarifying linguistic ambiguities, reintroducing the “Other” theorists, and pushing the theoretical program forward.   

All in all, this has been a largely productive endeavor, forcing us to think more carefully about what digital dualism is, what it means, and how we talk about it (like this, for example). Looking at the debates holistically, they also seem quite familiar. In particular, I argue here that technology theorists’ trouble in resolving the dualist/augmentation debate is similar to the trouble faced by gender theorists debating Difference versus Queer perspectives. Quick teaser: Carr’s argument represents the Difference perspective and Cyborgology represents the Queer.

Quick and Dirty Summary of Queer Theory

Queer Theory (e.g. Judith Butler, Donna Haraway) works to blur boundaries, eschew labels, and queer classifications.  The bodily experience here is seen as culturally inscribed, and the ways in which one makes sense of the body are essentialized through classificatory linguistic tools (e.g. “Man” and “Woman”). Categorization here is not just problematic because it is inaccurate, but because categorical difference necessarily carries with it power differentials, essentialized and reinforced through the continued obscuring of their performed nature. The project for the Queer Theorist is twofold:  to uncover the role of culture in what seems to be nature and relatedly, to trouble the classificatory systems representing purportedly natural separations.

Quick and Dirty Summary of Sexual Difference Perspective:

The Sexual Difference Perspective (e.g. Rosi Braidotti, Elizabeth Grosz, Luce Irigaray) insists on recognition of bodily difference, centered largely on reproduction, and the political necessity of defining a clear category of “woman” in juxtaposition to the category of “man.” In opposition to Queer Theory, Sexual Difference Theorists promote categorization and boundaries, rooting them in sexed experience. One cannot, these theorists insist, ignore experiential differences in clitoral vs. penal stimulation, menstruation, ejaculation, child bearing, and hormonal configurations.

While Queer Theorists problematize categorizations in general, and dichotomizations in particular, Difference Theorists refer back to the embodied experiences—experiences that vary in patterned ways with particular kinds of sexed bodies. Of course, these arguments are highly nuanced, and only straw Queer and Difference Theorists propose the complete abolishment of bodily difference or categorical rigidity respectively.

Transexuality and the transsexual subject act as a fertile battle ground for Queer vs. Difference debates.  Each group commandeers the transsexual narrative and experience as an exemplar for their respective arguments. For Queer Theorists, the transsexual highlights performativity, undoing notions of essential sexed embodiment. For Difference Theorists, the transsexual, with hir stated existential need to procure entrance into a binarily categorized body, and the importance of “corrective” surgery in this journey, highlights the significance of bodily difference within lived experience. The problem with Queer Theory, according the Difference Theorists, is that there is no way to make sense of transsexual experiences without dismissing transsexual subjects as dopes of embedded cultural narratives.

I argue that Carr’s critique of the Augmented Perspective is similar to Difference Theorists critique of Queer Theory, and the response from the Cyborgologists echoes the responses crafted by Queer Theorists. Again, only straw theorists within this debate argue for a full separation of digital and physical (i.e. strong digital dualism), or non-differentiation (i.e. strong augmented reality). Like the Queer/Difference debates, the arguments between Cyborgologists and their dissenters is highly nuanced.

Here,  the connected subject—the voluntary or involuntary Cyborg, if you will—is this debate’s version of the transsexual, with each side commandeering the experience of the Cyborg for its own ends. Carr argues that by compulsarily blurring the boundaries between physical and digital, insisting that dichotomies between the two are false and  crucifying the “Digital Dualist,” the Augmented Theorist dismisses experiential realities, bodied discomforts and felt tensions, in favor of privileged and elite presumed theoretical expertise. Carr articulates this critique in the passage below:

Jurgenson’s real mistake is to assume, grumpily, that pretty much everyone who draws a distinction in life between online experience and offline experience is in the grip of a superiority complex or is striking some other kind of pose. That provides him with an easy way to avoid discussing a far more probable and far more interesting interpretation of contemporary behavior and attitudes: that people really do feel a difference and even a conflict between their online experience and their offline experience.. the arrival of a new mode of experience provides us with an opportunity to see more clearly an older mode of experience. To do that, though, requires the drawing of distinctions. If we rush to erase or obscure the distinctions, for ideological or other reasons, we sacrifice that opportunity.

In short, Carr argues there is no way to make sense of dualist experiences without dismissing those who proclaim such experiences as cultural dopes.

Queer Theorists, in response to the charges of Difference Theorists, argue that far from dismissing the body, they work to disentangle bodied experiences from stifling labels that necessarily miss the nuance, idiosyncrasies, and complexities of the corporeal. They argue instead for the open recognition of language as an always imperfect tool, an agreed upon system that, to be useful, must always be in flux, always be playable and pliable. So too do Augmented Theorists resist critiques of elitism and dismissiveness. They recognize that felt tensions in an increasingly connected (though always augmented) world are well founded and even part of their own experiential engagement with this world.  The point, they/we argue is not that digital and physical are the same, nor that concerns over their relative roles in social life are unfounded, but rather, that the ways in which we categorize modes of being are always imperfect, and that characterizations of digital or physical, virtual or material, necessarily obscure the ways in which each constitutes the other.

The Augmented Perspective, like the Queer Perspective, is a project of illumination. It is an argument for linguistic fluidity and playfulness, with a concomitant recognition that rigid classifications are both essentializing and mischaracterizing, while obscuring overlaps, boundary breaches, and co-existence in favor of mutual exclusivity and zero-sum depictions.

*As a final note, I found that I ran into a linguistic difficulty in writing this post. I had clear labels with which to describe the two gender theory camps (i.e. Queer and Difference), but no such labels for the camps within this debate. The reader may note that I chose alternatively “Augmented Theorists” and “Cyborgologist” for the Jurgenson et al. side, but left the Carr et al. theorists unnamed. This is because my natural inclination, as an Augmented Theorist, is to label the dissenters “Dualist.” This is highly value laden and embedded in set of assumptions with which half of the argument—in particular the half I am trying to name—would disagree. Suggestions in the comments section and/or on Twitter will be greatly appreciated. *

Jenny Davis is a regular contributor for #Cyborgology and hopes this conversation will continue  on Twitter: @Jup83 

BREAKING NEWS: PEOPLE ARE DEBATING AUGMENTED REALITY/DIGITAL DUALISM!!!

This post, however, takes a break from The Great Dualism Debates of 2013 and reflects instead on some musings that have been whirring around in my brain since #TtW13 based on discussions surrounding the Quantified Self.

After returning from my favorite professional weekend of the year (AKA the Theorizing the Web annual conference), I sat enjoying a cup of coffee with a good friend. She asked about my presentation, and we got talking about Self Quantification and Identity.  This particular friend is also an occasional running partner and a fellow nutrition enthusiast. We seamlessly moved into her personal tracking habits, and she shared with me that when she uses her calorie tracking app, she ends up omitting a good deal of information, and contextualizing other data. Specifically, she tells me that she “forgets” to track her food while spending weekends with her long-distance boyfriend (during which she tends to eat more), and made a point to write down that it was her birthday to explain why she was so high above her daily allotment one day last month. Interestingly, she does not have any followers on this app, which means her justifications and omissions are purely for own benefit. She is not keeping up appearances for others, but rather, maintaining meanings for herself.

My friend’s experiences resonated with a hovering notion that has lingered with me since the conference, a notion I want to further explore here. Specifically, it seems that self-quantification has a really important, prevalent, and somewhat ironic, qualitative component. This qualitative component is key in mediating between raw numbers and identity meanings. If self-quantifiers are seeking self-knowledge through numbers, then narratives and subjective interpretations are the mechanisms by which data morphs into selves. Self-quantifiers don’t just use data to learn about themselves, but rather, use data to construct the stories that they tell themselves about themselves.

My friend, for example, works to maintain a healthy body, and relatedly, maintains self-views as a healthy and health-conscious person. Caloric over-consumption threatens this view. The story that perceived caloric overconsumption tells her about herself is a troubling one. It disrupts her health-conscious narrative, which, because social actors work to maintain stable identity meanings, is social psychologically distressing. She knows, on an implicit level, that the data cannot speak for itself, and so she gives the data voice—her own voice—and guides the story in identity affirming ways. Of course, if the data strayed too far, if for instance, she went beyond her caloric allotment consistently, she would need to re-construe her story to make sense of the lapse and/or alter her identity meanings to create a new self-story altogether (e.g. from “I’m the kind of person who maintains a healthy body weight” to “I’m the kind of person who chooses not to prioritize body size”).

One example I gave during my presentation really speaks to the qualitative component of self-quantification. At a QS meetup, a woman named Nancy Daugherty talks about tracking her smiles via an EEG sensor with LED lights. She notices that she “lights up” when talking with co-workers in very instrumental ways (you can watch Daugherty’s full talk below). As a sociologist, my first inclination is to make sense of this in terms of gender training. Women are taught to smile during interaction, and so it is unsurprising that a woman would find herself with a smile upon her face without consciousness of it being there—and without a clear feeling of joy ostensibly signified by a smile. However, Daughtery interprets her smiles differently. She “realizes” that her interactions with co-workers are more meaningful than she has been giving them credit for, and reinterprets these relationships accordingly.

Which one of us is more “correct” is a moot point. Rather, the point of interest is that the same raw data can take on multiple meanings with quite different behavioral and perceptual outcomes. With my structurally based attribution, the data may reveal to a woman her own oppression and guide her away from compulsory accommodation and sweetness of demeanor. With Daugherty’s socio-emotional interpretation, the data reveal unrecognized warmth between this woman and her colleagues, and guides her to further appreciate these interactions on a personal level. Far from a precise tool with which the data prosumer reveals scientific Truth, the data act more like a word bank with which the data prosumer pieces together an artistic construction—a poem, a story, an arranged collage of the self.

This theme of self-qualification within self-quantification came up during the discussion portion of the Bodies & Bits panel of which I was a part (along with Christina Dunbar-Hester, Gina Neff & Brittany Fiore-Silfvast, and John Michalczyk). In the video linked here (~3:50:00), we see one audience member ask about the origins of more data as necessarily better. Whitney Erin Boesel (@phenatpyical), Gina Neff (@Ginasue), and I all trouble this question, noting the ways in which within self-quantification, usable data is far more important than large amounts of data.

I think Whitney says it best when she refers to a QS talk entitled “I Have all of This Data, Now What?”  The Now What? requires subjective interpretation and qualitative story telling. The Quantified Self takes shape through qualification.

The qualification of the self is more than just a post-test tool. Self-qualification is present from the beginning, as decisions about what to measure and how to do so are highly subjective, and rest upon subject narratives. Tracking mood, for example, is rooted in a value for particular kinds of moods over others (typically, the preference for happiness over melancholy). Tracking physical activity is rooted in a value of a thin body over a large one. If the goal of a self-quantifier is to construct an improved future-self, one must determine who they want that self to be. What is the story that they hope to tell about themselves?

Self quantification is a process bookended by self qualification. Yes, the numbers are important. Self-quantification is, by definition, self-knowledge through numbers. Those numbers, however, take shape qualitatively. They become the code with which self-quantifiers prosume selves and identities into being. They are the bits with which self-quantifiers make sense of their atoms.

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Jenny Davis is a weekly contributor on Cyborgology. Follow Jenny on Twitter @Jup83