Why’s it so…Quiet in here?
Whenever I see Twitch streams, live gameplays (however seldom I do), and group interactions in general, it tends to get pretty warm and rowdy, both in the physical space and the online one. There’s always a Guy Cursing, someone debating, a few giggles here and there, a stink face, a blank face, a non-face, etc. Yet, when visiting the Saloon Room (how I dub where we group-played), the room was thick with silence, save the kind instructions from Cameron and the introductory twitters happening between the members of the tiny groups we factioned ourselves into. I immediately felt very sensitized to the atmosphere, which felt like a slightly too-sour-to-be-sweet-and-sour sauce drenched over soft rice: a pinch of granulated sugar (a light extroverted push from me in this case) might make everything alright. Whenever I sense nervous energy, I immediately mold myself to shift with that energy, like a softly undulating wave always seeking to tend towards equilibrium. This way, group interactions become more relaxed more quickly, and we can shift into the “Haha, that’s so funny…So, should we complete the assignment now?” portion, a portion I like to call the “banter and doodle.” It’s effective, and I thoroughly enjoy assisting in breaking the ice with my peers, but as of the last couple of years, I’ve found it increasingly difficult to crack that egg, so to speak, especially given the influence of social media, social technology and the increase of parasocial interaction due to Covid.
However, Covid cannot be the only reason, as this is not the first time I’ve felt this, and I often wonder if it is wrong to break that quiet ice. It feels like a taboo, a stigma against loudness and harshness, especially when playing and listening to things like Stardew Valley and lo-fi “beats to study to”, respectively, which are meant to tend towards softness and a kind malleability. Like a cozy game, lo-fi beats have come to represent escapism – the need for detachment from the ills of the modern, globalized world of guns, germs and psychological warfare. Something about the faint ambience of the imagery popularized by the Study Girl and her Cat™, the consistent and non-antagonizing focus she gives her work, and the blend of the “vaguely akin to hip-hop” ambient tunes seems to create a social environment conducive to Quiet Talk, something I define by light discussion and banter during study breaks, goal completions and checkpoint saves. This Quiet Talk is soft, kind, seldom political and communally oriented so as to account for the “everyone matters”-ing of group gameplay. So, what it is about nostalgic hyperpop binaural beats and cozy games that sucks people in and doesn’t chuck them out the way they “used” to be? Are cozy games and lo-fi for the introvertedly-inclined, or is it a cold-open for the expected spiraling of parasocial interaction in a capitalist world?
Para-sociality and Human Behavior: It’s Not an Illusion to Me!
What is parasociality, and what constitutes a parasocial interaction?
It’s a relationship or interaction mediated or carried out on a media form, whether it be television, a social media platform or a MMORG.
What is parasociality in the grand scheme of human behavior?
Since this interaction is carried out and mediated by media and technology, there is a distance from human corporeality, one which fundamentally shifts the way we think about how our relationships should or will evolve. For example, the proliferation of the “internet friend” for Zoomers in the mid-to-late 2010s was a boomtown for parasocial interaction. Dr. Jennifer Barnes delves into this with fiction franchise characters and links it to having “imaginary friends” – characters that evolve in our minds who embody our preferred characteristics. With the Wizarding World, it was Harry Potter, Hermione and Ron. Now, Instagram and Twitter means fan accounts for different types of media, which connects users and creates this evolution of avatars-turned-people – avatar first, friend second, person third. Think Animorphs, but Avamorphs…or, maybe, Paramorphs? No, that might be too ghoulish.
How does parasociality change our behavior IRL?
However, we run into a fundamental issue – a fictional realist perspective on parasocial relationships doesn’t account for the nuance of online relationships, and how this (nuance of online relationships) is further complicated by avatar representations. I have ideas for how these link, and the most clear one seems to be this: to be leaning into fictional realism of the Knowledge of a Human Person with Feelings with a mediating platform serving as a narrative device – a way, a world in which these narratives can fly and roam – is to be attaching a new level of hyperrealism to the internet, one which is conducive towhat people may view as introversion – the act of leaning into the inner self and its life.
This inner self, however, because it can be changed, molded, and manipulated at the individual’s whim rather than due to “external-ities,” is similar to that of an avatar, almost as if it’s an extension of the self. Because it is an extension of the inner self, some feel it akin to a “truer” self – the self with the qualities of reality and the qualities of a kind and hopeful imagination. Where Baudrillard finds a fundamental emptiness and detachment from reality, game users and social media consumers find a truer kinship and relation to life and people.
Simon and Garfunkel Present: The Sounds of Separation
As we tuck into ourselves, our avatars, our games and our books, we check out of fundamental social behaviors, like greeting service workers upon approach, or asking someone in distress if they need help. Working at the library, I experience a lot of service exchanges that make me feel like a robot, like an NPC waiting for a player to finally give me something to do, rather than a person with limbs and blood and thoughts and emotions. They walk up, nod, scan their ID, all before I can register that there is a human being standing in front of me – the interaction takes 5 seconds rather than 20, which is beautiful for efficiency’s sake, and vaguely degrading for mine. Walking into the room to group play Stardew Valley felt similar, like I was a necessary NPC whose sole purpose was to enter and catalyze gameplay. I was instructed (albeit kindly) upon arrival, I sat, engaged in some chatter to introduce me to my partner, but no introductions to anyone outside of our group. In fact, and maybe this is a personal issue, but I don’t think I remember more than 4 names of that room of at least 11 people. As the game began, I noticed that it was difficult to engage and coordinate with different players, as no one was discussing daily objectives, but rather focusing on their own individual goals. Throughout gameplay, there was a lot of silence and a very focused energy, one directed at each individual screen rather than them in tandem or cooperation. I felt lost, even though we knew what our objectives were and how to meet them. I felt lost in the broader context, I think because of the detachment from everyone else’s gameplay, and I didn’t really know why we were playing together if everyone was doing their own thing.
There was a moment in which we tried to enlist the help of another player, but the question was met with crickets. We ask again, slight stirs. We ask one more time, someone pipes up and offers to help. We all cheer, the objective is met, yay! I was excited, especially since it was a daffodil and it was lovely to find, but I still felt uncomfortable, like a 5th wheel. Maybe it stemmed from my own emotional issues, and I could’ve initiated a particularly lively gameplay with a more energetic arrival, but it did seem important to note the silence and general ambivalence and consider it next to parasociality.
For a game whose appeal is community minded, and with a player-base likely very similarly valued, playing the game this way felt stilted and confusing, like it was inherently competitive and solely goal-oriented. Even with programs and systems that are meant to appeal to mutual work and community advancement, it raises questions about the nature of the internet and whether it more readily serves sharing, withholding or preserving information and ideas.
