A (NY) city girl living in a virtual world
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I can make it from Grand Central Station to Battery Park in a downpour
without getting wet, but after three weeks in the virtual world Second Life
I've barely mastered the ability to teleport and fly, much less to build
objects, dwellings or a business. After completely editing my appearance,
learning how to buy clothes and make "friends," I've accidentally wandered
into bedrooms, inadvertently pumped corporate executives for too much
information and touched pose balls that left my digitally enhanced bod
bucking and rocking. I thought my first foray into Second Life would be my
last. I imagined a realm full of Dungeons and Dragons diehards, convening in
a new forum like old patchouli-scented Deadheads in tie-dye smoking up at a
Phish show. Wrong! After three weeks, I'm hooked on my adventure as an
investigative reporter in Second Life, and here's why:
Walking away from a living situation in real life is hard enough...but why did I find myself standing on a virtual beach under a virtual moon, staring at a string of colored lights along the perimeter of my virtual beach hut (a rental, no less!) lamenting the fact that it was time to move on?
I didn't expect to have such a bittersweet reaction to my first major transition in Second Life, but the blow was softened by Jessica, an avatar who works for a major corporation in real life and who offered me free housing on her island, which is occupied mainly, it seems so far, by exotic, scantily clad females firmly in possession of subtle, nuanced intellects. Standing together in my spacious, wide-windowed new home, the new avatars in my life (including one who refers to herself as an "angelic slut") offered to set up interviews with some of Second Life's most sophisticated movers and shakers, including the doyenne of the most popular sex club.
All I could think was: Suddenly my rose-colored corset and miniskirt look ultra-conservative! And: How am I supposed to get furniture? I have no idea how to create anything in Second Life, and when I buy clothes I can barely get them out of the box. A chaise lounge seemed as unattainable as flying once did. And why does it matter if the place is completely empty? Do avatars need to sit? The answer is yes, for the same reason that an avatar will offer you a martini even though there is no you and there is no martini.
Imagine my surprise when Jessica and I were interrupted in my empty new home around midnight on a Friday night by Willow, who does PR for Jessica's real life employer. She wanted to lay down the ground rules about the content of our interviews. In real life, every investigative reporter runs the risk of being sucked headfirst into a compelling story but can make a distinction between "home" and "work." In Second Life, the subjects are the landlords, the entrepreneurs and the avatars next door. In a world where identities are anonymous and anyone can teleport at any time, the concept of privacy is tenuous. I could understand Willow's well-articulated reservations, especially since Jessica has a tendency to prance around with glorious abandon in a transparent mesh top and high-top sneakers and I have a tendency to ask any questions that cross my mind.
How can a company possibly do business the same way in SL as in real-life? And yet...how can they afford not to?
I have been asked many times about the biggest surprises I've faced since becoming a "resident" of Second Life. Until Willow teleported in, I might have said that the widespread willingness to engage in virtual bondage and discipline had caught me off guard, but the fact is, I worked at America Online in 1996 and I've seen much more shocking internet practices--and not just among avatars.
By far, Willow's nearly telepathic entry into our conversation has been the biggest surprise and the greatest proof of evolution I've seen in the notion of a "free press" since the inception of blogging, which can be done at any time by any one, including people who have no information aside from the content of their own opinions. In Second Life, I suddenly found myself in the midst of a provocative and intelligent conversation about how to best proceed. Nobody got defensive about it, but nobody minced words. We didn't rule out the possibility of crossing any lines together, but we agreed to craft a blueprint of new ground rules, for navigating this wild (and potentially dangerous, for all it's unreality) territory.
Days earlier, I had chatted with Philip Linden, the avatar of Second Life's founder and CEO Philip Rosedale (featured in the "genius" issue of Esquire this month), who told me that many Second Life residents get beyond the materialistic aspects of the parallel world to delve into the deeper opportunities for liberation and transformation. Standing there with Willow and Jessica, I did feel as if I'd stepped into some kind of bizarre fever dream, except that Willow and I are meeting in real life this week to take our plans to the next level, and in the meantime, I'm living, in Second Life, on an island full of brainy bombshells and true pioneers.
Read Week 1
Read Week 2