The Aerie
Turning invisible happened naturally. It's not as if I was particularly opaque in the first place, so losing my shadow hardly rated notice. I was too early into the computer field to be of interest, and I never had any fashion sense, so I largely escaped the radar when I was younger.
And then I got married, and then I got old, and then I got kinda pudgy, and before I knew it, I had vanished entirely.
I first noticed that I was turning invisible when I worked at the U of MN in the early Nineties. In my early Thirties, the college women had started to fade backwards into 'girls,' and the only time that I seemed noticeable was when somebody's computer needed fixing. I recall in particular a colleague with whom I had a perfectly cordial relationship. She was an attractive enough young woman, and I thought nothing of it, until one day I saw her with a guy in whom she was interested.
He was your classic man-about-campus: tall, muscular, thick neck and short hair. Her whole posture radiated interest - there were practically sparks leaping between her and him. He, on the other hand, was apparently oblivious to this interest - staring off into the distance while they spoke, even as she quivvered for his attention like a puppy at the Thanksgiving table. Maybe it was a ploy, but my own history suggests that in my youth I, too, was as oblivious to intense interest as was he at this time. And what dawned on me as I looked at her look at him was, "She doesn't even register that I exist."
And it was true. While she was cordial enough and friendly and pleasant to work with, I suspect that had I stopped appearing at work at any point, she would not have noticed my absence. I was a cipher to her, just "some guy at work."
So I was turning invisible already.
Yesterday I commented that I was not part of the marketing demographic for the Sony portable computers. Advertised with hip-hugger jeans, pastel colors, and butt tattoos, this was a product marketed at a much younger audience.
Further confirmation of my growing invisibleness was offered by Yahoo. The other day I was checking my Yahoo Mail for the latest plea from the widow of African dictator Mobutu Sese-Seko for assistance in washing the blood off her husband's money. (How does this woman get ALL my e-mail addresses?) Then I saw a little icon that said "Create your Avatar" or something like that.
Curious, and easily distracted, I poked around at the feature, which allows one to create a cartoonish version of oneself to be displayed online. Several brand-name items of clothing are provided to wear, as well as a variety of hairstyles, skin tones, and backgrounds. After clicking through a few settings I became bored, and returned to the task of sending my bank account information to Mrs. Sese-Seko.
The next day while chatting over Yahoo Messenger, a friend said "What's this stupid icon?" Since my icon is, or was, a picture of an albatross, I asked what he was talking about. "It's a cartoon of some guy."
Ah. Unbeknownst to me, the Yahoo Avatar apparently over-wrote my cunning albatross picture under Yahoo Messenger.
So I figured I could either get rid of the new Avatar, or at least make it look enough like me that a viewer might not need to wonder what it was supposed to be. I headed back to the Yahoo Avatar section to explore the problem, and soon found myself sucked into the process once again. I found suitable glasses, a jacket and a hat, and an interesting setting. I was all set, except for one item: a beard.
If you didn't already know, I have a beard. It's not merely a convenient tool for creating a chin where none earlier existed, but due to some quirk of genetics I have to shave twice a day if I want to go without one. Being much too lazy to attend to personal grooming more than once a day (if that!) I grew a beard in my early Twenties and have had one ever since. The one time I shaved it off, my daughter literally didn't recognize me: when she did, she angrily prohibited me from ever doing anything like that again.
So I searched around for a beard. Failing to find one, I searched the help files, to no avail. Finally, I wrote to the Yahoo help e-mail address, expecting to send my bits off into the void. Instead, I got he first of a series of very quick responses, for which I must offer Yahoo full props. Heavily edited, but with actual quotes, here's the exchange:
"How do I do facial hair?" (Me)
"I'm sorry, but I'm not really clear on what you're trying to do." (Yahoo)
"Beards. Moustaches. Goatees. Things like that."
"At the moment, the feature you are requesting is not available. Your suggestion will be added to the 'want' list."
I kind of sat back at that one. I mean, I've written these kinds of little programs, a zillion years ago when I was in school and had time for such nonsense. With a few simple constraints (i.e. "do you really want your icon to have a beard, ma'am?") it's almost trivial to write.
What kind of mindset could put this much creative effort into these cartoony little Avatars without even considering facial hair? They've got twenty different hairstyles from "bald" to "shaggy," a hundred different shirts and pants, even a dozen hats. But no facial hair? Who could overlook that?
And then it dawned on me: facial hair is not included, because this marketing effort isn't aimed at people who can grow beards. It's probably not even written by people who can grow beards.
Clearly it's not complete yet. After all, one of the preview images shows a fellow with a 'soul patch' even though you can't set up an Avatar with a soul patch. (Interestingly, Merriam-Webster's online dictionary did not know the term: count on the free, public-domain, all-volunteer Wikipedia to have the full info). So I suppose sometime down the line - when their voices have changed, or when the makers of Propecia™ need to find a new place to advertise, they'll finally get around to adding beards. And right after that wrinkles, gray hair, saggy boobs and bellies, and walkers.
Meanwhile I managed to find one face which, for reasons I cannot explain, has a slight five o'clock shadow. It will have to do for now, although it resembles me about as much as I resemble Rob Reiner. I dunno, maybe that shadow is what passes for a beard with the folks programming these flash candies. It's close enough for now - almost as if my Avatar has a faint, almost-invisible beard.
Meanwhile, pudgy middle-aged bearded white guys remain invisible to the marketing division at Yahoo, and to most of the world.
And I don't want to hear that I actually do resemble Rob Reiner. I'd rather be invisible, thanks.
Posted by Albatross at January 26, 2006 2:02 PM | TrackBack