I hereby dare to say that TtW2012 met and surpassed the precedent set by TtW2011 (though both were fantastic). One of the unique features of the TtW conferences are their integration of academic, professional, and artistic expressions of the human/technology relationship. One such example was the lunchtime screening of Kelsey Brannan’s film: Over&Out. In particular, I was struck by the connection between Brannan’s piece and the academic presentations in the Logging off and Disconnection panel. Here, I try to tease out this connection.

I begin with a short synopsis of Over&Out taken from the film’s website:

Taylor Larkin (25) is an eclectic tech chick that recently got a job as a door to door technology collector at Santa Barbara Tech Recycle. On the job she picks up old technologies from various people in the neighborhood, but no one has much to give. Laura Ramirez (27) is the high tech-gadget drama queen of the decade. Laura’s girlfriend, Annie, fed-up with Laura’s tech obsession, throws all of Laura’s tech out the window- leaving her alone and techless. Laura decides to donate her gizmos to Santa Barbara Tech Recycle. When Taylor picks up Laura’s technology, Laura is charmed by Taylor’s old fashioned demeanor. As Laura learns how to navigate her world using alternative modes of technology, Taylor inadvertently discovers that her job doesn’t recycle most of the collected technology. In this queer romantic comedy, the two girls learn that repurposing technology builds lasting friendship.

Brannan talks about the fim here with Cyborgologist Dave Paul Strohecker.

As a viewer, I found Brannon’s film enjoyable, relatable, and accessibly theoretical. On this last point, I was impressed by the simple way in which the film expressed the more complex theoretical ideas that panelists spoke about in the Logging off and Disconnection session (LO&D from here on out).

The LO&D session began with my paper on technological ambivalence. Here, I described and diagnosed our tenuous relationship with technology, locating it in the tense space between utopic hopes and dystopic fears–accentuated by the difficulty of “opting out.” This was followed by Jessica Roberts’ (@jessyrob) study of college students who were asked to “log off” for 24 hours. Here, participants expressed distress but also relief in de-digitizing, with one participant discovering legs as a “wireless” technology with which to visit and connect with friends. Next, Laura PortwoodStacer (@lportwoodstacer)talked about social media refusals, and the privileging of older versus newer technologies, embedded in a discourse of authenticty and agency. Finally, Jessica Vitak (@ jvitak) talked about the strategies by and through which social media users limit their accessibility online, attempting to manage privacy and intimacy in light of context collapse and constant connection.

We can characterize the behavior of Laura Ramirez  (the film’s protagonist) using PortwoodStacer’s language of refusal. Ramirez makes an explicit decision to “log off,” but does so in order to “connect.” She expresses dissatisfaction with a mediated life, and works to negotiate an analog existence in a digital world. Although she does so with utopic hopes, and admittedly, has an experience that slides towards the utopic, Ramirez must also contend with social expectations and embedded infrastructures which frustrate her efforts to unplug. When trying to cancel her internet service, for example, a computer-solitaire-playing employee informs Ramirez that she can only close out her account by going online.  In the end, however, Ramirez’s disconnection leads to a real connection with co-star Taylor Larkin.

This end, I think, leaves us with a discussion about the importance of networks.  Ramirez and Larkin were able to seamlessly connect because BOTH preferenced older technologies over new ones. This contrasts with the schizm between Ramirez and her digitally-connected roommate, who at the end of the film shows frustration as he tries unsuccessfully to reach Ramirez through a home-made cup-and-string telephone. In light of this, the experiences of the refusers in Portwood’s study, the ambivalents in Roberts’ and my study, and the negotiators in Vitak’s study must be understood in terms of the social networks within which they operate. In short, it is easier to refuse when one’s network also refuses, and more difficult to opt-out when one’s network (and sociality) remain rooted in digitally mediated spaces. Roberts talks about this when she discusses the anxiety participants felt at not meeting expectations of availability. Just as Robert’s respondents anounced via status updates their forthcoming absence from mediated spaces, Ramirez sent letters to the significant others in her life, explaining her withdrawal from the digital. Perhaps the next step then, is to look at how social networks matter in the ability to “log off,” and the extent to which “logging off” leads to connection versus disconnection.

You can find a livestream of the panel here: http://new.livestream.com/ttw12/roomc

Follow Jenny Davis on Twitter: @Jup83

On February 26, 2012 Trayvon Martin, a Black, 17 a year old, unarmed, high school student, was shot and killed by George Zimmerman, a White Hispanic man acting in the self-appointed position of neighborhood watch captain (click here for more details).

The case has become a symbolic battle ground for two important issues: gun laws and racism. Although both of these issues are inextricably entwined, for purposes of simplicity, I will focus here only on the issue of race.

As Jessie Daniels importantly points out on Racism Review, battles over racism have shifted into the realm of social media, where digital and physical race relations persist in an augmented relationship. We see this in both the progressive anti-racist discourses, and the racial smear campaigns surrounding the Martin/Zimmerman case.

Although it is important to expose the overtly racist tactics utilized by some of Zimmerman’s defenders—of which there are plenty—I want to talk here about a more subtle, and so perhaps more problematic form of racial discourse. Specifically, I will talk about how a prominent strategy of protest—coming out of the liberal left—may inadvertently perpetuate, rather than challenge, racial hierarchies in their most dehumanizing form.

The tactic of which I speak is one that has made the rounds on my own Facebook Newsfeed, and one in which I—prior to more critical thought—actively participated. I am talking about the images and texts that couple Black bodies with prestigious social positions, and ask viewers/readers to problematize the racialized assumptions that often lead to faulty first impressions—which in turn lead to physical danger for the racialized subject. This tactic comes in two forms: political memes and case examples.

The memes, such as the one pictured below, are direct and general. They argue that Black bodies are assumed dangerous unless proven otherwise. In the case of this specific meme, they warn us that we might, in our assumptive haste, treat a doctor as a criminal purely based on the color of hir skin.

The case examples, such as the one pictured below, are more in depth, but accomplish a similar task. They picture a clean-cut, male, Black, body. They list his credentials, and then tell the tragic tale of his physical abuse at the hands of scared, racist, white, figures of authority.

Activists who use these memes and case examples strategically link them to Trayvon Martin’s story, highlighting his clean record and child-like face. This protest tactic honors Martin (and other Black boys and men who have been hurt because of a racist culture). It also spotlights the problematic racialized lens with which Americans largely operate. Further, and let me be clear, both forms of this protest tactic tell an empirically accurate story. The messages of the memes and case examples are not incorrect. Martin’s death, just like Jordan Trent Miles beating, is absolutely linked to race. The presence of Martin’s Black male body in a public space was enough to elicit Zimmerman’s suspicion, which resulted in a child’s death.

Simultaneously, however, the memes and case examples are gross oversimplifications with insidious consequences. As they are presented, these oversimplified protest tools perpetuate oppressive hierarches that lie at the intersection race and class. Specifically, they work to differentiate the “good” from the “bad” kind of racial minority—and imply that the life of the former is somehow more valuable than the life of the latter.

As in the case of Jordan Trent Miles, we are warned that our racial assumptions may lead to the wrongful and tragic harm of a “good” racial minority—reinforcing the devaluation of poor, under-educated, ghetto-dwelling, over-policed and under-protected, people of color. Indeed, as the left vehemently fights against accusations that Trayvon Martin sold drugs, we forget to ask: “SO WHAT IF HE DID!?” Would he somehow be less human? Would his murder be less atrocious? Would his family feel less pain? As the left justifiably decries the invasive and accusative investigations into Trayvon’s life, their (our) protest tactics effectively present the opposite side of the same coin.

The empirical reality of Blackness in America is that it often intersects with poverty, which in turn, intersects with crime. A poor Black man with a criminal record is an artifact of a deeply embedded racial system. The memes and case examples discussed above perpetuate the devaluation of the Poor Black subject, marginalizing him against those who are upwardly mobile. In utilizing this protest tactic we remain on the surface, failing to penetrate the grittier realities of race in America that led George Zimmerman to perceive an anonymous, unarmed, Black boy as a threat. As a result, we not only ignore these realities, but become silently, dangerously, and naively complicit in their reproduction.

By now, we have all heard the warning: potential employers will look at your Facebook page. We have been sufficiently terrified by the cautionary tale about the keg-stand profile pic (why is it always a keg stand?) that kept some otherwise capable candidate from getting hired. Indeed, we have taken note, with increased utilization of privacy settings and a collective awareness by job candidates about the visibility of social network sites.

Now, with the quickly spreading news of Justin Bassett, the warnings (and inevitable cautionary tales) become more epic. Bassett is a statistician out of New York, who, while on a job interview, was asked to log in to his social network profile. Bassett not only refused, but shared his story widely, sparking debates about privacy, employee rights, and the blurring line between personal and professional.  

Stemming from Bassett’s story, we are now hearing about the increasing regularity with which employers ask for access to applicants’ social media profiles. As applicants become more conscientious about their social media presence, and more diligent in their use of privacy settings, employers are responding by seeking deeper access. This manifests in requests for applicants’ login info, asking applicants to become “Friends” with an HR representative, and/or prompting candidates to log in to their accounts during an interview.

Unsurprisingly, people are mad. Moreover, people are confused. Is this legal? Should it be? Again, we must contend with murky legal code in light of new technologies and savvy users within established arenas. Law makers in Maryland and Illinois are currently debating legislation on this issue[i].

The two sides of the argument are relatively straightforward: On the one hand, detractors of the practice view it as an explicit privacy breach. Orin Kerr, a GWU law professor, compares it to an employer asking for keys to your house. And indeed, Facebook profiles are likely to contain information about which employers are not legally allowed to ask (e.g. marital status, age, children, sexual orientation etc.).  Supporters of the practice, however, argue that employers have the right to gather information on applicants. Since much of the applicant’s life takes place on and through social media, this is the logical and legal place to look. Moreover—and here is the backbone of their argument—they claim that participation on the part of the applicant is voluntary. This notion of voluntary participation is the key to legality, as it grants employers a ‘way around’ occupational legal codes that prohibit direct inquires about the personal lives of perspective employees. It is this claim to voluntary participation that I will focus on for the remainder of the post.

One might argue that participation is voluntary in 2 main ways: first, through direct refusal, and second, by limiting/eliminating one’s social media presence, giving employers little or nothing to access.

Most directly, these hiring practices can be considered voluntary in the sense that the applicant has the right to refuse. Indeed, Justin Bassett did just this, withdrawing his application and openly denigrating the policy. He did not want to share his social media profile, and so he did not. He opted out.  In doing so, however, he necessarily gave up access to that job and its accompanying resources. He acknowledges that his privileged position enabled him to reject work, and that others may not have the same luxury.

Participation is voluntary then, only for those (very very few) who do not depend upon the work for which they apply. Indeed, unequal power-dependence relations preclude voluntary action. In most cases, a refusal on the part of the applicant to comply with employer requests holds very serious consequences—up to and including the loss of a means of income and survival. Compliance and choice are very different things, and as described in Steven Lukes’ three-dimensional view of power, coercion and compliance often go invisibly hand-in-hand.

But what if the applicant elects to forego social media? One might argue that if s/he does not want to grant employers access to hir personal life, the applicant has the choice to relinquish a digital presence.

If we look closely, however, we see that this too is not a ‘real’ choice. First, as I wrote about a few weeks ago, there are serious social consequences to social media abstention. The abstainer is not only outside of the social-news loop, but disconnected and marginalized in a cumulative way. Second, as written about by Mark Andrejevic, and seen empirically in the case of Noah Kravitz, a social media presence is in many cases an important part of the employee’s capital. Hir social media presence is sold along with, and as part of, hir labor. For many jobs, a social media absence lowers the market value of the applicant, bringing us back to the power-laden relationship between choice, compliance, and dependence.

In short, participation is not voluntary. If law makers and employers want to maintain social media access as a legal hiring practice, they must make their arguments in the context of requirement rather than request.

[i] I discuss this practice in terms of ‘regular’ jobs (i.e. jobs that do not require federal security clearance). Government jobs that require security clearance (e.g. working for the CIA or FBI) have a wholly different set of rules and procedures.

Follow Jenny Davis on Twitter: @Jup83

SodaHead, an opinion gathering website, recently asked its users about “Internet Addiction.” From user responses (N=602), they produced the infographic below.  In the present post, I am not going to discuss this infographic in its own right. Instead, I am going to discuss “Internet Addiction” (from here on referred to as IA) as a condition—one that is slated for inclusion in the upcoming DSM-V. Specifically, I will argue that its existence rests on faulty assumptions, and that it is a problematic diagnostic category.

To deconstruct IA as a diagnostic category, I must begin with a brief discussion on the philosophy of science—specifically addressing the mutually constitutive relationship between research design and social reality. Simply put, no research is objective. The very questions that we ask are bound by the logics of culture, politics, and language—as are the measures we use to answer these questions. Moreover, new studies are rooted in existing research, further limiting the lens with which reality is viewed and understood. In turn, research findings influence how we think about our physical and social world, the language that we use, and the logics with which we understand ourselves and that which surrounds us. IA, as a diagnostic category, a social problem, and a potential identity, must be understood within this context.

 So what is IA, and how do you know if you have it? According to Kimberly Young and the Center for Internet Addiction, a person who suffers from IA would answer “Yes” to at least 5 of the following questions:

The first thing to notice about these diagnostic criteria is the simple substitution of “Internet” for “drugs.” Just like drug addiction, the criteria for IA includes tolerance, withdrawal, loss  of control, negative consequences, neglect of other activities, over-expenditure of energy, and a desire to cut down.  Here, we see the ways in which new knowledge is deeply rooted in established knowledge. The notion of addiction itself as a medically treatable condition, the criteria by which IA  is diagnosed, the treatment prescribed for the Internet Addict (cognitive behavioral therapy), and the definition of the “patient” as someone with a problematic identity, is reified with the official inclusion of IA in the upcoming DSM-V.

This reifying diagnosis, I argue, is problematic in its assumptions. First, it is problematic to treat internet use and mind-altering substances as interchangeable. Drugs change a person’s physiology, tying the person to the substance in a physical way—to the point that stopping can cause serious illness or even death. Though one might argue that engagement with the internet re-shapes synaptic structures and elicits particular emotions and the concomitant release of brain chemicals, stopping internet use “cold turkey” will not cause vomiting or the shakes. The more problematic assumption, however, rests in the incorrect notion of “The Internet” is separate from “real” social life. IA as a diagnostic category assumes that The Internet is a realm of fantasy, an escape, a distraction. In this light, overuse of The Internet disrupts real life and requires rehabilitative treatment.

If we understand the internet as an integral part of social life, however, then a diagnosis of IA makes little sense. If we understand the internet as a means of sociality, a venue for business communications, an outlet for creativity, a source of news gathering and a space of recreation, then indeed, an addiction to internet technologies would be an addiction everyday life. Just as a thought experiment, let us substitute the phrase “communication” for the word “Internet” in the above listed IA criteria:

 Here, we see that some criteria become nonsensical (e.g. criteria 2), and others come to describe healthy social skills rather than practices of the mentally ill (e.g. criteria 8).

The point is twofold: First, if we unproblematically build new knowledge upon existing knowledge, our knowledge structures become narrow, unstable, and difficult to support. Second (and relatedly), Internet Addiction is an unsupportable addition to our knowledge structure. And yet, it is very much a part of our knowledge structure. This is epitomized by inclusion in the DSM, and exemplified in users’ willingness to respond in the SodaHead survey pictured above (along with the unproblematic spread of the results in places like the United Academics blog). IA has indeed infiltrated our social logic. It is a legitimate category with which to define oneself (or define oneself against);  it is a legitimate way to make sense of experience; it is a widely shared frame with which to understand uses of technology; AND it will shape how we understand human/technology relationships in the future.

 This is not to say that internet and digital technologies (or any technologies) necessarily have a positive relationship with social life and/or mental health. Internet technologies can lead to exploitation and privacy invasion. Internet users might ignore their physical surroundings (including interaction partners) in preference of a glowing screen. Indeed, people can potentially become addicted to digitally mediated pornography, online gaming, or online gambling. But these are not problems caused by the internet. Rather, they are the digital forms of extant social ills. They are the digital manifestations of greed, narcissism, depression, and loneliness. The diagnostic category of Internet Addiction makes the internet a scapegoat for human social problems, and in doing so, it falsely de-couples virtual and actual; it reifies knowledge structures that fail to fit with empirical reality and lived experience; and it promotes treatment protocols aimed at personal troubles without addressing public issues.

In an earlier post, I wrote about the intersections of gender, technology, and economy using Apple’s “personal assistant” Siri as an example. With the recent release of the Japanese version of Siri, I thought I would provide an update on the available languages and their use of a default masculine or feminine voice.

Every Saturday morning I set up cages and tables at a retail outlet where a local animal rescue agency holds adoptions. On a recent Saturday morning, I was talking with an employee who had to cancel her internet service due to financial constraints. The hardest thing about this, she said, was her absence from Facebook. Not only was she outside of the social communication loop, but talked about a weekend trip with friends where she found herself socially marginalized. She wound up in the kitchen making fruit salad as people popped in to grab strawberries before returning to conversations from which she was excluded.

Technically, Social media is optional. No laws or formal rules require that we participate. As seen in the example above, however, there is a strong social cost to abstention. As an integral aspect of everyday life, social media is increasingly difficult to opt out of. P.J. Rey points this out in his recent discussion of Facebook exploitation. Here, I want to explore why and how this is the case.

Contemporary social interaction takes place in both physical and digital spaces. The social media abstainer therefore necessarily “misses out” on some of this interaction. From the example above, we see that abstainers miss more than just the latest gossip. Indeed, they seem to “miss out” on full social integration. This latter kind of missing out threatens a deeply ingrained human need for sociality, making the costs of social media abstention quite steep. To abstain from social media is to largely and (sometimes) voluntarily dis-integrate the self from the social collective.

This high cost of social media abstention can be partially explained using Randal Collins theory of Interaction Ritual Chains (IRC).

Merging and building upon the works of Emile Durkheim, George Herbert Mead, and Erving Goffman, Collin’s IRC theory argues that we are moved by emotional energy. Successful interaction rituals produce emotional energy, while unsuccessful rituals drain emotional energy. Social actors flow from situation to situation, bringing emotional energy (or lack thereof) with them. In successful interaction ritual chains, emotional energy accumulates through positive collective rituals, which impregnate future interactions with the emotional energy produced in the present.

Importantly, Collins theorizes that physical co-presence is a necessary component for the production of emotional energy and its concomitant solidarity-inducing result. As Sarah Wanenchak noted in the first part of a two-part post, Collins explicitly rejects digital technology as a platform for energizing rituals. By using Collin’s theory to describe how lack of digital engagement threatens solidarity and promotes isolation I not only argue against his technology thesis, but turn it on its head (this argument is complimented by the second part of Sarah’s post referenced above).

Looking at social media abstention and its related social cost, we can examine the ways in which digital disengagement breaks the chains of the interaction ritual. I argue that these chains are broken in 3 interrelated ways: 1) Periodic exit;2) Decreased salience;and 3) Discordant cognitive planes.

Periodic Exit

Goffman argues that interaction is fragile. The situation, the relationship, and the selves that we present are subject to collapse in each interaction situation. At the same time, this vulnerability presents an opportunity to display respect, care, and establish and build meaningful social bonds. One way in which we manage the fragility of social interaction is through repair work. Each ritual damage must be met with ritual repair. One common form of repair work takes place through greeting and farewell rituals. Goffman argues that each interaction exit necessarily does damage to the relationship. The vigor of the farewell repairs the damage of leaving, and the excitement of the greeting repairs the damage of time spent away. Today, the exit from an interaction is not as clean. Interaction partners often continue physical conversations in digital spaces—recapitulating events, adding new conversation content, and making plans for future meetings. The ritual does not so much start and stop as it merely changes form. The abstainer, however, must engage in these in-and-out rituals of damage and redemption. Not only does s/he then exclude hirself from part of the ongoing interaction, but does so in a way that feels choppy in comparison to the smooth flow of augmented sociality. Emotional energy is built, lost, and regained for the abstainer, while it is steadily accumulated for the social media participants.

Decreased Salience

A second place in which the IR chain is broken is through decreased salience in the present situation—as it happens and as it is remembered in digital spaces. Specifically, this is rooted in an inability to tag and be tagged. The abstainer is not able to publicly document the event, nor be publicly documented. Digital content produced in relation to the event therefore leaves out the abstainer, reducing hir role in the situation, and erasing hir presence in public memory. This likely has consequences for future interactions.  Emotional energy is cumulative, and a diminished role at the original ritual, as well as an absence from the remembered ritual, sets the stage for marginalization and dis-integration in future rituals.

Different Cognitive Plane

Finally, I argue that the IR chain is broken as the abstainer literally experiences social interaction on a different cognitive plane than hir interaction partner(s). Emotional energy is produced collectively, and rests on shared experience. The pervasiveness of social media permeates not only what we do in the world, but also how we experience the world. For the contemporary social-media-infused cyborg, funny moments are potential status updates, special gatherings are potential profile pictures, and night clubs are potential check-in spots. This is not the case for the abstainer who cannot update, check-in, tag, or post.  The social media abstainer does not, as Jurgenson would say, share in the Facebook eye of hir social collaborators.

In contrast to Collin’s arguments about the (lack of a) relationship between emotional energy and digital interaction, I show here how his theory can help us tease apart and penetrate the mechanisms by which social media abstention results in serious social costs. These mechanisms and their consequences should be kept in mind when thinking about social media participation as a voluntary activity. If we take seriously the high costs of abstention, we also must take seriously user concerns about platform architectures, privacy policies, and corporate profit earnings. In turn, the advice to “just quit if you don’t like it” loses significant steam.   

Follow Jenny Davis on Twitter @Jup83

The tech world and consumers at large have been buzzing amid recent reports/leaks which indicate that Google will, in the next year, come out with smartphone-esque glasses. Apparently, these devices, often dubbed “Terminator” glasses after the cyborg technology portrayed in the 1980s classic film by the same name, will overlay the physical world with digital data—augmenting our practices of looking.

The technology differs little from existing smartphone apps that overlay images of the physical world with bits of information. The difference, and it is a big one, is the embodied integration of this particular device. Controlled by movements of the head and face, the Google glasses are designed to fit seamlessly into movements of the organic body. To look with this device is to see an augmented world. The eye takes in not only the reflections of light that make up the image, but also the data which strategically and purposively contextualize it.

This increased integration of physical bodies and digital technologies similarly integrates physical spaces and digital information. No longer will brick and mortar be the counter to web-based locations. Rather, brick and mortar will act as the base upon which digital data is written, and digital data will become part and parcel of the architecture of the physical space—an architecture that can be updated in real time.

Although Google reps do not, at this point, expect people to wear the glasses continuously, we can quite easily imagine a near future with full digital augmentation of organic seeing (i.e. Google type glasses worn all or most of the time). What implications might this have for commerce, privacy, meaning making, and mental processing?

As Langdon Winner aptly points out, artifacts have politics. They have politics built into them, are used with political intention, and interpreted through political lenses. Often times, however, the politics of an artifact are hidden from view, disguised, or misleading.  As per thecloverbeautyclinic.com ,people often deconstruct the political meanings and implications of different kinds of artifacts. Today, I want to deconstruct two artifacts that operate with the potential for, and under the guise of, technologically facilitated feminist liberation. Specifically, I look at the Fuck Skinny Bitches internet memes, and the now vastly present and prevalent female-coded masturbation devices (i.e. vibrators and dildos)[i]. I argue that these artifacts, rather than dissolving hierarchical gendered boundaries of bodily control and sexual pleasure, surreptitiously trace over these boundaries with invisible ink, only to be revealed under the light of critical sociological analysis.

Recently, we have seen in influx of internet memes that attempt to provide a feminist rejection of hegemonic standards of the beautiful body. These memes contrast images of curvaceous women to very slender women and include text that preferences the larger body/bodies. These are portrayed as the feminist answer to the unrealistic body sizes showcased and revered on runways, red carpets, and the annually released  Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. I call these Fuck Skinny Bitches memes. A couple of examples are pictured below.

Although these memes successfully call into question the valuing and concomitant degradation of two specific body types (i.e. very thin and curvaceous respectively) they in no way move women’s bodies outside of the male gaze. As Heather Cromarty posted over at Sociological images, these memes pit women against each other in antagonistic comparison, and reinforce male approval as the pinnacle of female success. Rather than escape the male gaze, these attempts at feminist liberation work only to reformulate the desirable ends towards which women control their bodies. In short, the female body continues to be an apparatus of (heterosexual)male pleasure.

Like Fuck Skinny Bitches memes, we also might begin with feminist liberatory assumptions surrounding the vast availability of female-coded masturbation technologies. These devices—of all varieties— are openly made, sold, and discussed, as “sex toy parties” have become as acceptable and common in middle class circles as Tupperware, MaryKay, or Scentsy demonstrations.  Moreover, masturbation technologies are made and marketed disproportionately for and towards women (as opposed to men). A quick Google search of “sex toys” produces a plethora of vibrators—marketed for women—with only the occasional synthetic mouth, vagina, or full RealDoll marketed towards (heterosexual) men. In apparent contradiction to the patriarchal subjugation of female desire, we see here a prevalence of devices that not only acknowledge, but grant women control over their own sexual pleasure—no man (or partner) required.

I argue however, that these technologies, as historically and contemporarily used and marketed, may not be as empowering as they at first seem. Specifically, I argue that they reinforce the polemic dichotomy between male and female sexual desire—the former seen as natural, it’s satisfaction the responsibility of the Other, the latter seen as unnatural, it’s satisfaction the responsibility of the self.

Male sexual desire is assumed. It is natural and organic. He needs no electronic device, only his fantasies, the touch of the skilled female pleasure giver, or an inanimate female form to receive him. The satisfaction of male sexual desire falls upon female objects—real or fantasied— who display and arrange themselves for his visual and physical pleasures. Female desire, however, is inorganic and marginal. It is her own concern, to be achieved not at the hands of a lover, nor even by her own hands, but outsourced to a foreign mechanical object: The Vibrator.

As delineated in Rachel Maines’ historical sketch of the electromechanical vibrator, the device was created in the 1880s as a non-sexual medical tool used to treat women with “hysteria.” Doctor’s prescribed and sometimes administered stimulation to orgasm for this illness of an unstable mind. This, of course, was no more than the medicalization of female sexual suppression/oppression. Foucault goes as far as to contend that “hysteria” was one of the “four great strategic unities… which formed specific mechanisms of knowledge and power centering on sex” (p. 103).  It reinforced the status of women as mentally weak and the status of her sexual pleasure as an irrelevant concern for her (presumably hetero-male) sexual partner.

 Though we no longer diagnose women with hysteria, we continue to perpetuate her sexual desire as somehow inorganic, of concern only to herself. With the disproportionate availability of female-coded self-stimulation devices, female sexual fulfillment takes the form of a task to be completed outside of coupled relations or an event co-opted for male pleasure—as seen in the prominent genre of female performative masturbation pornography.

 Just as the Fuck Skinny Bitches memes mask continued patriarchal control over female bodies, the vast marketing of female-coded masturbation technologies disguise continued patriarchal control over female sexual pleasure. The image of the contemporary orgasming woman is alone and invisible, quietly armed with the technologies of sexual self-reliance, or she is hot, wet, and screaming out her pleasure for the man who stands above her.

This is not to say that the feminist movements have made no progress. Open attempts to challenge the male gaze are laudable feats in themselves. Open acknowledgment of female sexual desire and pleasure are a far cry from diagnoses of hysteria. Moreover, both memes and masturbation technologies have strong liberatory potential—some of which has been realized. Indeed some feminist internet memes problematize hegemonic body standards without falling prey to the problems of the widely circulated Fuck Skinny Bitches memes; and  masturbation  devices can and are used to enhance the experience of female (and male and queer) pleasure, often in ways un-depicted in mainstream pornography or marketing.  This analysis suggests, however, that the path ahead is longer and rockier than it seems at first glance, and that the layers of liberatory technologies must be pulled apart to reveal the complexity of their political contents.

What is an identity worth? According to PhoneDog, a ‘personality-driven’ tech-review site, Noah Kravitz’s identity is valued at $42,500 per month. A former employee of PhoneDog, Kravitz successfully acquired a large following on the microblogging site Twitter—17,000 at the time of his leaving. In an attention economy, each follower becomes a valuable and tangible asset. The legal dispute between Kravitz and PhoneDog is over ownership of these 17,000 assets.

When Kravitz left the company, he changed his Twitter handle from @PhoneDog_noah to @noahkravitz and took his growing list of followers with him (I became his 24,390^th follower/asset today). Complicating the issue further, he now writes  for TechnoBuffalo, a competing tech news site which presumably benefits from Kravitz’s vast following. Last week, a federal judge granted permission for the case to move forward. The existence of such a case, as well as its outcome (which remains yet unseen) both demonstrates and further constructs the shifting relationship between identity, labor, private rights, and worker obligations.

PhoneDog argues that Kravitz’s extensive network was built on the company’s foundation—and on the company’s dime. The notoriety of the site and the legitimacy of the name (i.e. the attachment of PhoneDog to his Twitter handle) facilitated the growth of Noah’s online persona. Moreover, they invested in a sizeable PR campaign to grow PhoneDog’s social media presence, and promoted Noah as the representative. Not only did this help raise Noah to micro-celebrity status, but made him an influencer—or someone who has enough influence to sell ad space. In short, PhoneDog argues that Kravitz gained his followers under the PhoneDog name and under the PhoneDog payroll, making these followers the property of the company. They estimate that each of his followers is worth $2.50 per month, and they seek reparations. In a message to readers dated January 3^rd 2012, PhoneDog describes Noah’s rise to fame as follows:

 Noah joined the PhoneDog team in April 2006.  During that period, PhoneDog.com was in the very early stages of becoming the personality-driven mobile tech review site it is today.  We found Noah to be a very talented and charismatic editor/video blogger and an excellent addition to represent PhoneDog.  Over the next four years, we invested in Noah and the site by sending him to trade shows and conferences from San Francisco, Vegas, New York, Barcelona and many places in between.  We hired PR agencies to increase PhoneDog’s exposure and Noah was frequently featured on CNBC, FOX Business, and other national and local media outlets.  During this time, we also expanded our efforts into many forms of social media, starting with our YouTube channel, then to Twitter and facebook respectively; each with the very specific intent to grow PhoneDog’s social media following and its loyal audience.  From all of our efforts, the site’s popularity continued to grow and Noah essentially became a micro-celebrity of sorts.  What started out as a small part-time freelance opportunity grew into a very well paid career for Noah.

Kravitz, of course, tells a different story. In a recent interview with CNN, Kravitz claims that his contract allows him to keep his Twitter account and all of its followers. His talents made him an influencer, and brought both notoriety and monetary gain for the PhoneDog company. He argues that it is contractually permissible for him to bring his talents and assets (i.e. followers) with him into new business ventures. Moreover, he argues that it is ridiculous to put a monetary value on individual Twitter followers, and that if one did attempt to do so, PhoneDog’s calculations would likely be inaccurate. To this latter point, he says in a post on TechnoBuffalo:

The suit attempts, amongst other things, to place a monetary value on the worth of an individual follower of a social media account. Human being or spambot, you’re all worth two bucks and fifty cents. Per month. Just for fun, multiply $2.50 by @ladygaga and her 17,355,730 Little Monsters. I’ll do it for you: $43,389,325.00 USD. That’s 43 million dollars per month, rounded down. I wonder how many countries on Earth, let alone private corporations, generate that kind of monthly revenue?

 What does it all mean?

This case is heralded by many as a ‘landmark’ case in social media. With increasingly blurry lines separating personal and professional, private and public, rules about content and identity ownership are yet underdeveloped, and cases such as this help construct legal boundaries.

More generally, a case such as this speaks to a seemingly polemic tension between increasing creativity and agency of the contemporary worker, and increasing surveillance and alienation. The precedent set by this case will go a long way in tipping the scales towards one end or the other.

As social media becomes an embedded and necessary component of commercial enterprises, employees are asked to engage with customers—established and potential—through these platforms, and in the style of these platforms. This style is largely informal and personality-driven. Employees who represent a company via social media are only as valuable as they are charismatic. But to who does this charisma—and the assets which it acquires– belong?

PhoneDog argues that they belong to the company under which the charismatic worker is/was employed. Kravitz argues that they belong to the worker, who is free to keep and/or sell both charisma and charismatically gained assets.

If the courts side with PhoneDog, then the scales tilt towards increased surveillance and alienation of the contemporary worker. With this model, the worker has only hir personality to sell. S/he literally gives part of hir self to the enterprise, who shapes, regulates, exploits, and bounds that self for commercial and financial ends. The worker is decoupled from the capital that s/he creates, while hir very identity becomes entwined with those on whom s/he financially depends. In describing this dismal potential, Communication scholar Mark Andrejevic says:

…if digital technology makes it possible to work outside the office, recent innovations enable the workplace to exploit the productivity of our social lives outside the workplace…By capturing and channeling user-generated activity for marketing purposes, emerging forms of online commerce subsume the potential diversity of social life to narrower commercial interests (pg. 83).

If the courts side with Kravitz, however, it predicts greater agency for the contemporary worker.  The worker’s charismatic labor, though bound by the confines of the enterprise for whom s/he currently represents, can also increase personal, transferable capital—capital that makes the worker, not just the enterprise, a valuable commodity. The worker can more creatively construct hir online persona, and if successful, can benefit from the fruits of hir labor. With this model, the worker has followers—and so chips—with which to bargain. As s/he builds a brand for the company, s/he simultaneously builds a brand of hirself. With this model, the blurring of personal and professional liberates and empowers the worker.

It is this latter scenario that, in my (admittedly biased) opinion, should prevail. Kravitz was hired due to his ability to maintain a fan base. As an employee of PhoneDog, he did this job well. To sue him for taking his skills—and the assets obtained with these skills—to another venue would be the same as suing a print journalist for taking readers with hir to a new newspaper. Moreover, if he was not able to bring his network with him, nor tweet under his own name, Kravitz would literally have nothing to sell on the market, binding him in a relation of vastly unequal dependence to his employer. Finally, no company has the ability to control customer choice. Readers in this case developed loyalty to a particular journalist.  It is up to PhoneDog to create strong enough content to lure them back and/or keep them reading.

Follow me on Twitter:  @Jup83

Not long after the release of Google’s widely discussed and hotly contested privacy policy, which shares user data across its websites, the company is now offering to compensate customers for the data that they provide. Closely resembling the television tracking techniques used by  Nielsen, Google offers users who participate in the screenwise program up to $25 in Amazon gift cards for allowing Google to monitor their online activities. Users can even opt to be more extensively surveilled and earn up to $100.  While some (in particular, those in the comments section of the article linked above) view this as a cheap payoff for strong privacy violations, others are happy to receive monetary compensation for engaging in everyday leisure activities. This latter group is evidenced by a temporary hold on signups for the new program due to overwhelming interest.

Debates will likely ensue over the cost of privacy, the blurry line between labor and leisure, and the degree to which surveillance can—or should—be resisted.

[Editor’s comment: while this is only a small test, might we envision a model where users are paid for their data? Would it work? What are the implications? ~nathan]