sykuas

[ceaselessbasher]

sometimes i do think

what if i worked in tumblr

i could work in tumblr

[junkobears]

Here Lies Dreaded V3 Discourse

So I have seemed to cause a huge kerfuffle in the hardcore Ouma conspiracy theorists standom, and a banal (if condescending, but seeing the response to it honestly justifies it more than anything now. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it”, you better believe I can take it and will now PROPERLY dish it out right back at you) comment about one of Tsumugi’s anime references has led to someone launching a hilariously personal attack at me for Daring To Disagree With A Theory That Was Posted On A Public Website. Someone who I wasn’t even initially responding too, at that. And has now blocked me before even allowing me to respond and clarify my original comments. Don’t want to deal with the consequences of being a repugnant, rude person I guess? Shock and surprise for Tumblr.

The link to the post is here, but I’ve taken the liberty to screenshot it just in case it gets deleted later, in hope that maybe there’ll be some reflection on this person’s part that this really is not an acceptable way to respond to people who have a dissenting opinion? Anyways, I will be responding to the personal attack post and that will be the last time I interact with this group, because clearly it’s not worth it to actually have a discussion about our respective ending theories. I ain’t got time beyond this for tedious insecure fucks these days.

Anyways, my response is under the cut to save my poor followers’ dashes. Sorry to drag drama onto my blog but I can’t really let this slide. I’m also tagging @jacks-plays-drv3 just because I assume the twin comes with the other with these two, and I want my response to have been seen.

Screenshot In This Link - This post is long enough without the image taking up more space, haha.

Let’s start with this mess, shall we? And I will go into painstaking detail.

Paragraph 1: So this already starts off with a whole lot of needless aggression and projection. So I’m not even going to attempt to be nice back. But: maybe I haven’t proven anything because I literally had not typed up a response to clarify my original comments @ Jacks yet before the rabid attack dog was unleashed? Like, there was literally no attempt from you to have a discussion that was a genuine offer from me, I was not out to get you actually. I also honestly just laughed at being called shallow, JUST LIKE THAT HORRIBLE CHARACTER TSUMUGI SHIROGANE right off the bat as well. That’s a compliment really, honey. Weirdly I don’t share the same opinions as you do. Tsumugi is my fave and unlike you I actually think about and HAVE analyzed/discussed her character in detail previously, which I would’ve been happy to share had you not immediately went into Blind Raging Idiot Mode. Guess we can’t have it all, huh?

As for needing proof that she makes the Flashback Lights... nevermind the CG that literally shows her making them during Chapter 6, but do you have proof that Monokuma is the person who makes the Lights instead of just placing them for the students? I doubt it, somehow. Cuz a lot of your theories don’t actually have any concrete proof. Quelle surprise. Probably why anyone not immediately on board with your headcanon gets you so goddamn angry, huh? Cuz it’s completely baseless and you know it at heart.

As for the Ouma comments, actually I have read the assorted creator comments regarding his character even if you like to believe I’m a slobbering moron who turned my brain off as soon as I finished V3, so yes I already know that his name was chosen to sound mastermind-like. Maybe this was to emphasize and make his fake mastermind reveal appear more legit on first read? JUST A THOUGHT, SWEETIE. You know the entire fucking point of Chapter 5? You’re so slavishly devoted to your theory that you actually are incapable of reading the basic fucking text from the actual game, but again. Not a surprise. Considering what I’ve read from your blog (really, who are you again? I only knew Jacks’ blog from before all this, so you taking such a personal offense at my comments is honestly hilarious but baffling at the same time. It ain’t all about you, babe.)

As for the lab door, here’s an simpler explanation (Occam’s Razor, look it up): The star sign constellation pattern was there as a hint for the player to connect Ouma’s messages from his dorm room to the vault in Amami’s lab once its opened and you can see the star signs in there. Or perhaps it was designed like that by TDR to make the students make that connection as well in the original script and think that Ouma was the mastermind cuz of the connection to Amami’s lab? Literally, there are a lot of possibilities, cuz it’s a NOTHING DETAIL THAT DOESN’T ACTUALLY MATTER IN THE BIG PICTURE. Considering Kodaka’s track record with writing these games I don’t actually believe it’s anything major, personally. He doesn’t really strike me as the type to hide this completely separate story underneath the actual story we got, and with such vague nothing “”””””””””””clues””””””””””””. You and Jacks do yourselves (well you already do cuz you love to jack yourselves off with how CLEVER AND BETTER you are than the rest of us plebs), sure, in believing otherwise (You have way too much faith in him as a writer. Or you’re desperately trying to pretend V3 wasn’t poorly written cuz you don’t like the Ch. 6 twist) but also realize that its nothing more than extrapolation on your part that it actually means anything beyond the.... SHALLOW (horror scream) connection given in-game.

And really, who the fuck cares if it doesn’t match the title of ‘Supreme Leader’? It’s already a ridiculous talent as it stands already. The entire point of his character is that everything about him, his motives and his talent is contradictory and weird. That’s why I like him, actually. He isn’t an abused martyr who never lies like you goons believe and he also isn’t the evil monstrous chessmaster some of the fandom thinks. It’s Complex Motives™ .

Anyways moving on. Pointing out an anime reference =/= DISREGARDING PEOPLE’S ANALYSIS. Pointing out that most of the plot leads up to and supports the fiction twist =/= uncritically agreeing with everything Tsumugi says. Actually, after examining the game’s story for myself I came to the conclusion that all the clues in it really only support her version of the story, really. There are a few things I think she lied about, but it is not CONCLUSIVELY proven she lied in my opinion and so I don’t really give a fucking toss until new canon comes out and reveals more of the V3 story. Oumatwin don’t real, gurl. If there was actually anything in-game beyond one obvious joke line in the NON-CANON!!!!!!! bonus mode supporting that he existed, maybe I’d respect your theory more. Even though you don’t deserve respect after your little tantrum. 

Paragraph 2: Jesus I already am investing way too much time into this response at people who don’t actually deserve it, oh well. But laughing hard at the attempt to try and act as if you weren’t being a snobby asshole with your comments. Again, HUGE AMOUNTS OF PROJECTION at me about things I literally have never done and said. I have never interacted with you or Jacks prior to my initial comment. No fucking clue why you brought up the SaiOuma shit, cuz I don’t even LIKE Saihara as a character and don’t like that fujobait ship in the slightest? But I guess it’s easier to assume that all your critics are the exact same fucking person with the same opinions, so you can feel more persecuted, huh? You literally did not even wait for me to respond or check my blog that would’ve easily disproven these dumb-as-fuck assumptions. And get off the fucking high horse (pun completely intended), you lot are not the only people in this fandom who are capable of critical thought. How completely self-obsessed can you be? 

For someone who claims to have a lot of critical thinking skills compared to this nasty fandom, you really are terrible at parsing other people’s words. You fucking know when I said “group of anime fans” that I was referring to Team Danganronpa, the organization literally mentioned in game as running the game. The group Tsumugi is part of. She literally has a company badge FFS. THEY ARE ANIME FANS. THEY ALL STARTED KILLING GAMES CUZ THEY ALL LOVE THIS SHITTY SERIES. I can’t believe this had to be explained. And the rest of this paragraph word salad is the most pedantic argument. It’s really not hard to believe an organization in this series would have access to all this tech. And yes, it’s a popular TV show in-universe, of course it’ll have funding. And the whole damn point of the ending is that the V3 world is consuming fiction the wrong way by having real-life killing games, missing the entire point of the DR series and fiction in general? What’s your actual point?

Paragraph 3: Again more assumptions, I wasn’t ‘crying’ about being called gullible. I was just pointing it out as part of your extremely unnecessary smug dismissal of my post. That you really haven’t disproved at all, btw. Honestly the childish response you both had to me just makes me laugh out of pity more than anything. And if I was really upset I wouldn’t have offered to have a discussion with you or even continued to reply after Jacks initial (vague) post about what I said. So don’t put words in my mouth. And yes my analysis was not completed in my initial comments. It’s Tumblr fucking replies, I can’t fit the entire fucking dissertation of Tsumugi opinions in there for you to jeer at in there. Again, I offered to share my opinions and got this as a response, so lol. You are your own worst enemy when it comes to trying to get people to take you and your theories seriously. 

Paragraph 4: Especially since you immediately jump to PULLING THINGS OUT OF YOUR ASS (seriously, fucking snorted at this part. I want this whole diatribe on my fucking gravestone. It’s by far the most hilariously petty thing ever said about me on this site.) instead of letting me explain my position. If you just want to be in the creepy cult Oumatwin echo chamber you should’ve just said and blocked me ASAP instead of word salading vague bullshit justifications for why actually people who disagree with you are just stupid crybabies who can never hope to understand your genius. Again, my initial comments didn’t whine about not being taken seriously at all, I was pointing out the hypocrisy/rudeness is all. And again, get off the high horse about critical thinking. I have thought about Tsumugi’s character and how she relates to the over-arching plot and how truthful it is, and the overall ‘mystery’ of V3 (spoiler: there is none. it was all solved by chapter 6). I have thought about this game. In fact I dedicate too much time to critical analysis of this series that doesn’t actually deserve it cuz lately I find Kodaka to be a hack writer. Your assumptions are flat-out wrong, dear. And AGAIN. I WOULD’VE. SHARED AND DISCUSSED IN MORE DETAIL HAD I BEEN GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY. But rude fucks gonna vomit shit out of their mouth cuz they have literally no self-control and have meltdowns at the slightest difference of opinion, I guess. 

Your extreme hatred for Tsumugi as a character truly shines through. Clearly no thought has been put into her from your end, even though you and Jacks rage about people not taking Ouma seriously as a character. Double standards as always with fujos. Nothing I’m not used too, she is incredibly unpopular in this fandom. And everyone is entitled to their own opinions. So I’m not even mad at that. I have never said otherwise. Even you and Jacks are valid in having your own theories and thoughts. The ending of V3 is designed entirely so everyone can analyze the game for themselves and draw their own conclusions about the story and themes. That’s the whole point. Even though I personally dislike that as a writing decision on Kodaka’s part because I would prefer the story to be conclusively ended and the epilogue is a giant turd that misses the entire point of Chapter 6 and enables shit (anal pun intended, dumbass) like this to start spreading as “Analysis”. But hey, to each their own.

However I will not be interacting with either of you again after this post though, even though I was willing to discuss beforehand, because you both have shown yourselves to be incredibly vile with the way you approach other people in this fandom, and especially those who don’t share your conspiracy theory. Despite the absolutely ironic comments I’ve seen from Oumanous in their later, also terrible posts about how you need to understand your opponent before engaging, which they literally failed entirely to do before engaging the firing squad at me and other commentators who responded. So much for the sanctity of discussion, huh? Enjoy your circlejerk. Everyone else who follows me in this fandom though? Please consider blocking these two if you are also a sane human being who is capable of polite discussion/disagreements. They are not worth your time otherwise. They were really not worth my time writing this post, but I felt I had to say something.

In conclusion: Out with the both of you.

[pcyxiukai]

Tumblr Support {A Gag Fic}

Description: Juls, Lori, Shanna, Maria, Minseok, Kyungsoo, Jongin, and Sehun must fight evil Tumblr Support’s Dougery and his sidekick Joseph in order to get Juls’ blog, solarexact, back.

Genre: Crack/gag fic

Pairing: N/A (featuring me (juls), Lori (@soobadnoonecanstopher), Shanna (@kpopfanfictrash), and Maria (@angel-skye) (and jongin, minseok, kyungsoo, and sehun)

Mobile Masterlist | Twitter

“What do you mean I can’t get my blog back?” Juls’ voice carried throughout the whole building, the poor tech guy standing in front of her was more than confused. The guy’s face contorted into something that looked like anxiety as he looked right at Juls.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am, Tumblr deletions are permanent and whoever hacked your blog deleted everything.” The man in front of her stuttered. Juls almost rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. There had to be a way to get her blog back.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she whipped around to see her friend Kim Minseok, also known as Snow Man. She gave him the look and he knew exactly what that meant - the poor girl couldn’t get her blog back.

“Do you see this man?” Juls gestured towards Minseok. “Where is my abnormally large collection of pictures of him that I kept on my tumblr? Huh?” Oddly enough, Minseok hardly had any reaction, he just nodded along.

Another man approached from the back. He was much taller and had an angry look in his eyes. The top of his head was balded and only the sides of his head and the light gray hair sticking out from it. He looked like he was miserable, Juls decided.

“Excuse me, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.” The taller, more miserable man looked at Juls. She raised her eyebrow, she wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. She wasn’t going to leave without her blog, she had people she couldn’t let down.

“What’s your name?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“That’s none of your busi-”

“Your name, sir.”

“Doug.” He replied grumpily. “Anyway, we can’t get your blog back and we get that you’re upset but we’re all blatantly horrible people who let Russian satanists hack and destroy people's’ hard work.”

“Well, Dougery, I would like to speak with your supervisor.” After she said that, Minseok just pulled at her shoulder. She looked at him with a frown.

“Juls, it’s not worth it. You can reconstruct and your followers love you anyway, it’ll be okay.” Oh, what would Juls do without her voice of reason? She groaned and stuck her tongue out at Dougery before she followed Minseok out of the door to Tumblr Support.

“Can’t you just…freeze the place with your weird ass snow powers and let me hack into the system - wait that’s ironic.” She looked at Minseok. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“For the last time, it’s frost, not snow. Why are you making me seem lame?” He pouted at her. She chuckled and patted his arm gently.

“Trust me, buddy, I’m not the one making you seem lame.”

Juls and Minseok arrived back at their headquarters soon after that. To spite her, Minseok froze Juls’ hands together. They were currently melting as she attempted to open the door. Turns out, it was hard to twist a doorknob when your hands are frozen together.

Minseok just laughed and opened the door, earning a glare from Juls as she walked in. Maria and Shanna were sitting at the table, going over some blog plans with Sehun and Jongin. Kyungsoo sat next to Sehun, and the question on Juls’ mind came out faster than she thought it would.

“Where’s Lori?”

“She said she was running late. Something about a guy named Craig?” Kyungsoo shrugged. The four EXO members and the three girls would have to wait to discuss the problem at hand. With a villain like Dougery on the loose, they would need an elaborate plan.

The door opened and Lori walked in soon after that. Something kept moving inside her purse and it seemed as if she was struggling with something. Kyungsoo stood up to help her, but he screamed when the cat jumped from her purse.

“Are you scared of Craig?” Lori’s eyes widened. “You know what, what kind of cat name is Craig? We’re calling him Craigory. Craigory P. Buttsworth.”

“P.?” Shanna frowned.

“Peabody. Obviously.” Lori played with Mr. Buttsworth’s ears, petting him.

“Do we have to have the cat in here…?” Kyungsoo looked uncomfortable. Not the uncomfortable that people usually look, no. He was sitting in his chair again, his knees held to his chest as he stared down Mr. Buttsworth.

“Kyungsoo…he’s a cat.” Minseok interjected. “Plus he’s cute. Of course he has to be in here. Lori brought him for a reason.”

“Actually he just looked really lonely…” Lori shrugged. “He’s my neighbor’s cat. He clearly didn’t want to be outside, so I took him. He’s at my house all the time anyway.” It was silent for a few moments except for Kyungsoo’s chair constantly hitting the table lightly as he shook.

“He’s fine here, he can be a part of the team - God damn it, Minseok, stop freezing my hands I’m going to get frostbite!” Juls whacked his arm with both of her hands that had been in solid ice for maybe ten minutes now.

“Maybe then you’ll realize it’s Frost Man, not Snow Man.” He grumbled.

“Both are lame as hell.” Sehun told him.

“You make wind blow!” Minseok defended himself. “I can cause winters and internal struggling.”

“Yeah, I’m internally struggling because I have to deal with you.” Sehun quipped. Juls watched in terror as Minseok’s jaw dropped. When Minseok was upset, no matter where they were, it always happened -

Snow drifted from the ceiling, leaving the four girls to groan as the other EXO members facepalmed, unsure of how to deal with their eldest member. Yes, eldest, however he did act younger than Sehun at times.

“Sehun, apologize.” Maria groaned.

“It’s true!” Sehun whined. “Maybe he shouldn’t make it snow every time he’s upset -” Sehun’s mouth snapped shut as the snow began to come down harder. He sighed and looked at Minseok. “Minseok - wait, look at me, I’m going to apologize, can you please just make it stop snowing it’s cold as hell.”

“Hell is warm you dumbass.” Maria told him.

“Technically it’s hot.” Shanna added on. “Besides, it’s not even that cold. The snow isn’t making it cold, Sehun, your heart is making us cold.” Sehun looked at her as if she just committed the biggest sin known to (wo)man.

“Can we focus, maybe?” Jongin piped in after being silent the whole time. “Juls lost her blog and we’ve got to find a way to get it back, with or without Tumblr Support.”

“They should be called Tumblr Let Down.” Juls scoffed, shaking her head. “Doug is one bad guy. There’s got to be a way that we can stop him. Whether I get my blog back or not, we can’t let this happen to other people. Doug condones random Russian satanists deactivating blogs that did nothing but good and hard work - that’s not okay. Hands in guys.” All eight of them put their hands together. “We will defeat Doug. On the count of three. One, two -” Mr. Buttsworth’s paw landed on top of Kyungsoo’s hand. Kyungsoo flinched and held his breath. “- three!”

“We will defeat Doug!” The group yelled together, with a loud meow from Mr. Buttsworth.

Defeating Doug was certainly proving to be a complicated and difficult plan. However, Juls and the Tumblr Forces™ would be able to beat him. They all were extremely confident - that was, except for Kyungsoo, who had been mentally scarred because of Mr. Buttsworth’s paw.

The first mission was taken by Jongin and Shanna. Shanna was going to talk to the person who was at the help desk (probably not the target, Doug) while Jongin teleported into the back. Juls, Maria, and Lori watched closely as Shanna was attempting to complete the mission.

Shanna talked to the guy at the counter about her blog being all funky apparently, and then Jongin disappeared from next to Maria. In less than five minutes, he came back, holding a yellow envelope that, written in big, bold letters, spelled out Doug.

“Do you think Kyungsoo is gonna kick out Craigory?” Lori asked Juls.

“He wouldn’t.” Juls shook her head. “He can’t even touch the damn thing without crying.” Both of them were talking in hushed voices. They didn’t know why, but it did look kind of suspicious that they were sitting behind a bush with some binoculars and Teleportation Man, who had a large envelope in his grasp with a name spelled out that belonged to none of them.

“What’s taking her so long?” Jongin grumbled, staring into the doors at Shanna.

“She’s talking to the guy. Maybe it’s Doug. I never even thought about Doug as a possibility. I hate Doug.” Juls rambled, more to herself than to anyone else. “Is Minseok okay? He took a nap earlier and I don’t know if he’s still asleep.”

“The man’s almost twenty-seven, he’ll be fine. You don’t have to keep tucking him into bed for his daily naps. And you don’t have to make him food every day -” Jongin said.

“Shush.” Juls interrupted him. “Even grown men need love and affection, get out of here.” She ignored his words, clearly not planning on stopping her care for Minseok.

“I don’t take naps every day-”

“And you’re crabby all the time.” Maria replied, making Jongin pout and huff, giving up. Juls cackled and they turned to face the building again, watching as Shanna walked out. She was holding an envelope that looked like what Jongin was holding, except the words on her’s said ‘kpopfanfictrash’. Juls wondered if she’d ever see the ‘solarexact’ envelope ever again. Probably not, but ‘xiustories’ is pretty lit.

The way back to headquarters was silent. The mission to get Juls’ blog back was in full force, yet something felt wrong. ‘xiustories’ would never be ‘solarexact’. Despite that, Juls wanted to make it as amazing as the last one, if not more, just for the people who were there for her. The kind messages she received warmed her heart and spurred her on to actually want to defeat Doug and the Russian satanists.

Russian satanists or not, she would continue.

The four girls all arrived back at headquarters, finding their outfits that only came out for special occasions. The boys saluted them as they walked out, their outfits and masks fitted perfectly to them as they prepared to take on Dougery and his sidekick, Joseph, another old and balding man behind the powers of evil. But this one wore baseball caps excessively.

After the formal salute (that only happened when the girls actually dressed up to save the day), the boys and the girls sat down - seriously, for the first time in the past three weeks - and discussed exactly how this was going to work.

When they arrived at Tumblr Support, Doug and Joseph were waiting outside, their flabby muscles showing as they rolled up the sleeves to their (ugly) white dress shirts that EXO could’ve pulled off much better.

“We’ll give you one more chance, Dougery.” Juls yelled, all of the heroes standing together. “Give me my blog back!”

“Sorry, tumblr deletions are permanent, so hopefully tumblr can delete you!” He said spitefully, getting ready to fight.

“Well then,” Maria scoffed. “He’s not nice.”

“No Dougerys are.” Lori replied, all of them tense and ready to fight. Then, a group of Doug’s evil minions raced from the building, charging the eight superheroes. War broke out between them; Minseok used his snow powers -

“It’s FROST, God damn it!”

Minseok used his frost powers to freeze them, Jongin used his teleportation powers to make them transport to some island in the middle of nowhere, Kyungsoo stomped and shit to send earth flying at the enemies and ultimately crushing them, and Sehun blew them away - literally. The four girls were fist fighting until Juls got to Dougery.

They spun around each other in circles, both of their postures horrible for a fight. Doug launched through the air first, but Minseok froze him in midair, a not so epic expression on his face. Juls turned to Minseok and glared at him.

“I could’ve handled that.” She pouted. The other three girls came up to her.

“So that’s taken care of I guess?” Shanna shrugged. The four girls looked around at the rubble that had previously been the parking lot to Tumblr Support, the large ‘t’ now dangling from the building at an awkward angle.

“I wonder how Craigory is doing.” Lori hummed, walking over to Kyungsoo.

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be.” Maria replied. “Are we sure it’s over?”

“It’s over.” Juls nodded. “Let’s get him into the prisons.”

“Alright, let me tell Jongin.” Shanna suggested. “Jongin teleport this loser to the prisons - wait, no, stop it! I didn’t mean Sehun!”

“He’s a loser -”

“Good lord.” Juls groaned, facepalming. “Are you guys ready to go home yet?”

“To headquarters!” They all cheered as the ice sculpture that was Dougery was transported into the prisons, along with the very shocked Joseph.

As the heroes made their way home, little did they know that deep inside the prisons, the ice that held Doug began cracking and melting.

Their battle against Tumblr Support was far from over.

[impageddon]

Another Hit on the Head (Evil Plants AU fanfic)

After being a long while out of Tumblr, I finished this lil trash that I call a fanfiction.

Couldn’t think of a better title ;-;

My English is just intermediary (and this is my first fanfic in English) so yeah, don’t expect too much from it

PvZH belongs to Popcap, Evil Plants AU belongs to @lissandre-art-blog (hope you don’t get too disappointed on me, friend)

Special thanks to @irl-chomper for being so supportive =‘) Hope you don’t get disappointed too

    It wasn't a beautiful evening. Because of the huge dark clouds, anyone looking at the sky would think it was late night. It could start raining at any moment, and the thunders could, occasionally, be heard from afar.

    Most of people decided to stay home, not only because of the unfriendly weather, but also because Suburbia is filled with threats now. A bonk choy, walking along the street, humming a happy tune and jumping of joy… He is known as Grass Knuckles, and yes, he is one of those threats.

    Why so happy? Ah, just because he got more “trophies” after beating some guys. He kept humming, without any worries about the weather, walking towards his abandoned factory…

    …Actually, it's a Z-Tech factory, but he says he owns it, just like all the stuff he stole from his victims.

    He got even more excited after hearing footsteps, imagining that it was another person dumb enough to try to defeat him. However, after turning around, he found out that the street was empty.

    - Who's there?

    No response, just the sound of the wind. He kept walking, trying to convince himself that it was just an impression. Yeah, he probably just heard the sound of his landing after a jump.

    As he kept his way, no longer humming and jumping, but still in a happy mood, he started to feel that someone was watching him. But who? The streets were empty! He started paying atention to the houses, trying to find the source of this weird feeling. Some people were looking at the scenery through the window, but the first sight of the green villain was enough to make all of them close the curtains.

    After some more insecure walking, he finaly reached the spot he wanted. However, he didn't get rid of that feeling. If someone was really watching him, that person would discover his safe place.

    - Who's there? Stop being such a coward and face me!

    Again, there was no response; just a thunder in the background. Without alternatives, he stepped on the sidewalk and started running, making his way through the buildings, hoping to mislead his supposed follower before reaching the fence.

    Finally, he climbed the fence and went to his factory.

    - What was that?! - He wondered after closing the door. - It… It was just an impression, right? Yeah! Nothing serious! Well, you've had a long day, Grass Knuckles! You deserve some rest.

    He smiled at his new spoils beforing adding them to a pile of things, and then decided to drink some water and, well, rest.

    However, he couldn't rest for too long.

    After some minutes, when he was about to take a nap, someone knocked on the door, scaring him. Nobody was supposed to know!

    - WHAT??!! - He took a deep breath after shouting. - Who… Who is there?

    - Theodore! - The visitor giggled after replying. The voice was familiar to Grass Knuckles, but he couldn't recognize it. Actually, he didn't remember anyone whose name was Theodore.

    - Theodore? Theodore who?

    - Theodore isn't open so I had to knock.

    He screamed of anger after realizing he fell into a knock knock joke. The joker, however, couldn't stop laughing. That laughter was so unmistakable that Grass Knuckles couldn't even believe it.

    “What… What is he doing here?!” He thought.

    The plant villain answered the door, finding a zombie… A very famous imp… In front of him, that got defensive right after.

    - Grass Knuckles! I challenge you! - Impfinity said, jolly, like if that was some kind of game.

    Those words filled the bonk choy with adrenaline. The perfect opportunity to destroy the multiplying pest!

    However, when he was about to start the battle, something made him stop.

    - Sorry… I won't fight an imp.

    - Wait… What?! - The imp couldn't avoid making a frustrated face.

    - Yeah, I refuse to fight you.

    - WHY?!

    - Don't you realize that a single strong punch might be enough to break all your bones? Too weak! Not my level.

    - Says the guy who fights civilians.

    - They're not as fragile as you. But hey, you should be happy! I'm sparing you!

    Impfinity was furious, but suddenly, a smile and an idea.

    - Alright then, I'll just come back to the headquarters and tell Zomboss your hiding spot. He'll probably send someone else to fight you. - He turned around, but couldn't even start walking. Grass Knuckles grabbed him by the arms, trying to make sure he wouldn't press the button on his belt.

    - You're not going anywhere! - He said, pushing the zombie hero to the factory and holding his arms again right after. Impfinity tried to break free, but Grass Knuckles was stronger.

    The plant closed the door.

    - WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! KIDNAPPING ME?!

    - I can't fight you because it would be unfair, but you'll expose me if I let you go. That's the only option left! - The imp froze. - Aw, this expression of fear is so cute and satisfying!

    The zombie quickly kicked the bonk choy, trying to find another way to break free, but it didn't work. Grass Knuckles was too tough. Maybe a bite would be a good solution? He's a vegetable after all, right? Impfinity stepped back in order to get closer.

    The plant villain tried to avoid the high-pitched scream, but couldn't. That pest had just biten his leaf! That hurts! He accidentally released the imp, that activated his belt right after.

    A flashing light, and then, two identical imps in the room.

    Grass Knuckles stared at them. Both were in a fighting position, clearly calling the plant for a fight.

    But there was something wrong.

    Impfinity wouldn't come face to face with Grass Knuckles alone, and would clone himself a hundred times at the first chance, and not only once.

    - Should have accepted my challenge when there was just one of me! - One of the imps said before giggling.

    - Alright. - Grass Knuckles decided to play along after seeing a blue thing through the window that allowed him to have an idea of what Impfinity's plan was. - I really don't want to fight, but if you insist… Just don't cry when I break you.

    “He thinks he can deceive me… Foolish.”

    Yay! - The Impfinities celebrated before separating, one going to the right and the other to the left, but both heading towards Grass Knuckles. The plant tried to keep an eye on both of them, and as soon as one jumped, he punched him.

    The imp hit against the villain's pile of trophies, and at the same moment, Grass Knuckles felt something hitting his “head” pretty hard from behind.

    He attacked the other imp, that had just jumped on him and kicked his head, but this one wasn't taking it easy. He used the bonk choy's leafy arm as a support to jump over him, grabbing and pulling his “hair” before landing.

    Even with the pain, Grass Knuckles could turn around brutally, throwing the imp, that hit against the wall.

    He looked at the window after remembering that there was something there. It was just the time to realize that the other Impfinity was about to jump on him. His first reaction was a simple push, just enough for him to don't get hurt.

    He was about to try landing a punch when, again, the other imp jumped on him from the behind. Fortunately (for Grass Knuckles), there was no kick this time. The zombie just decided to stay on his head to annoy him and hamper his movements.

    The bonk choy simply grabbed him by the arms and slammed him against the floor. He wasn't great, so that was enough to make him poof.

    The imp left couldn't avoid gasping.

    “A clone, like I expected.” Grass Knuckles thought. Impfinity doesn't poof when badly hurt, but his clones do. “Now it's time to check the other one…”

    The zombie hero jumped and landed near the window, trying to get some distance, and then pressed the button on his belt.

    The plant villain ran towards him.

    A flashing light. Grass Knuckles decided to give his theory a try and looked at the window. He was right. Another Impfinity jumped through it and, prepared, the bonk choy grabbed him by the feet before the landing and used him to hit the other, that poofed. Then he slammed this newcomer imp against the floor twice, making him poof as well.

    “Yes!”

    The plant villain decided to go outside. There, he found exactly what he expected to find: a tower of Impfinities near the window.

    - Ops… - One of them said.

    - Dismantle! Dismantle! - The orders could be heard, probably from the original Impfinity.

    The imps on the top started to jump, in a sequence, trying to dismantle the tower. Grass Knuckles ran towards it, hitting the ones on the bottom, destabilizing the tower.

    - Strike!

    The ones that couldn't jump fell. Some poofed after hitting the ground, some didn't, and a small amount could use their acrobatic abilities to land safely.

    Grass Knuckles decided to take advantage of this lack of stability. He grabbed one of the imps that was trying to get up after a very high fall and tried to throw him at one of the unhurt imps. Fortunately, he dodged, and then hit the button on his belt several times.

    Some kind of electricity came from the “bulb” on his head, and new Impfinities appeared.

    - Original! I was looking for you! - Grass Knuckles said, laughing, after realizing he almost hit the real Impfinity.

    - I know! - Impfinity smiled.

    - This is your last chance: I don't want to fight you! Surrender! - The plant lied. He really wanted to beat Impfinity, but even with all that cheating, he still felt that that fight was too much for an imp.

    - Oh, don't worry! You won't fight just me. You will fight me, me, me, the other me, and me, and some more “mes”!

    - I would even say this is unfair if you weren't so weak…

    They stared at each other for a while. Suddenly, Grass Knuckles felt another kick on his head.

    - Hey! - He turned around, finding a bunch of clones, that jumped on him right  after. One pulled the hair, other touched the eye, other bited… It was chaos.

    - Come on, guys! Let's get the jump! - He heard Impfinity while trying to break free.

    Okay, maybe fighting a multiplying imp wasn't a very good idea.

    He grabbed one of the clones that were on him and used it to hurt the others, making them poof, since they had already fallen from a tower. Then, he threw this same clone at the Impfinities that were heading towards him. Many jumped to dodge, but most of them got hit and fell down; the one that was thrown poofed.

    Again, the clones reunited to get the jump on him. He could punch some of them, and they instantly poofed.

    All the tension was starting to make Grass Knuckles lose control.

    The ones he couldn't punch divided roles. Some tried to grab his arms to make him unable to attack, some kept pulling his hair. He could see one of the Impfinities run towards him and jump on him, kicking his head… Once more.

    Grass Knuckles's headache got even worse, and everyone started to get the jump on him. He slowly started to feel unable to move because of all those imps.

    The villain screamed and used his strength to break free. Many imps were thrown. He grabbed one by the feet and, again, used it to hit the others.

    All these were poofed, except for one, that was protected by some of the others.

    After that, the plant could see more Impfinities trying to get the jump on him.

    “NOT AGAIN!”

    He did his best and punched all the clones he could punch. Some surprised him, but he grabbed these ones and threw at the others. All of them were poofing.

    The original Impfinity was in the middle of the battle, of course. He doesn't like to make his clones fight while he just watches, he wants to fight as well. With the help of his clones, he could stay safe, but all of the clones were dying.

    The plan was “put pressure and make Grass Knuckles tired”. He thought that it would help, but that didn't seem to be a good strategy anymore. Grass Knuckles was only getting angrier and angrier. That was turning him into a fighting machine, and changing the plan wasn't an option at the moment.

    The clones were dying, and he had to make more.

    The zombie hero decided to run from the fight to be safe. There, he could start hitting his belt, making more identical imps. Grass Knuckles, however, saw the electricity and tried to throw a clone at it, hoping to hit the real Impfinity, that quickly dodged and watched the poof.

    “I won't get rid of this problem if I don't focus the original.” The villain thought.

    Impfinity turned around and found Grass Knuckles running towards him. The plant tried to punch the imp, that was faster and used the bonk choy's arm as a support to jump over him.

    The villain, unsatisfied, headed towards Impfinity again, that looked at the fence and saw an oportunity. He started to run in the direction of the fence, followed by Grass Knuckles. The imp was faster, and still cloned himself, trying to slow the plant down.

    Finnaly, Impfinity jumped and landed on the other side of the fence. Grass Knuckles started climbing it as the zombie decided to run and find a safe place.

    - You can't run from me, Impfinity! - The bonk choy said. Meanwhile, behind a house, the imp took a deep breath and started cloning.

    - We're gonna try getting the jump on Grass Knuckles when he shows up, like a surprise party. - He whispered.

    The plant, however, saw the unmistakable electricity that comes from Impfinity when he clones himself and got ready.

    At the moment he showed up, the Impfinities jumped on him, but he could, again, grab one and use it against the others. The original jumped off before getting hurt and cloned a bit more, running right after.

    - No way! - Grass Knuckles threw the clone at him. This time, he couldn't dodge. In fact, he didn't even see that coming.

    Impfinity was slowly getting up when his thrown clone gasped and jumped. He turned around and found the plant villain really close to him. His first reaction was to make some more clones while trying to get up, but Grass Knuckles, like always, grabbed one of the imps. He threw it at the original, again, that, this time, ended up hitting the head against the ground.

    Finaly, Grass Knuckles punched the real Impfinity. The evil plant made sure to punch him right in the belt's button, to break it. The few clones that were still alive, trying to push Grass Knuckles away, immediately poofed.

    - Boy, I'll be honest! - The bonk choy laughed. - For a moment, I really thought that you had a chance! I'm impressed! Or should I say… Impressed?

    Impfinity loves imp puns, but that one didn't make him happy. In fact, the only thing he could feel was the pain. If you wanna make him suffer, break his belt. It's not only a way to prevent him from cloning and instakill all the clones, but it's also very painful.

    - This terrible headache I'm feeling was worth it. Watching your pain is priceless! - Impfinity could hear Grass Knuckles' voice. He looked at the plant and found out that he was about to get punched right in the face.

    - NO! - He rolled to the side, making Grass Knuckles punch the ground and scream right after.

    The zombie hero got up quickly, his hand on the broken button. He started running with some difficulty, trying to escape.

    Impfinity turned a corner and ran along an alley. It took him a while to find supports to make a high jump, high enough to reach the roofs. With a smile, he ran towards a pipe, that didn't break because of the imp's lightness, and jumped on it, trying to land on an awning, in order to use it as a trampoline and reach the roofs, where he would be safe and could start making his way to the headquarters.

    However, as expected, Grass Knuckles followed him, even after hurting his hand by punching the ground. When he saw that his victim was about to escape, he got a trash can lid and threw it at Impfinity, that couldn't land correctly after getting hit.

    The zombie slipped and fell. Grass Knuckles approached and lifted him, only so he could land a strong punch. Right after, he slammed Impfinity against the wall, and only then his expression of anger and hate turned into a creepy smile.

    - I won! - He said jolly before releasing the imp, that moaned a little after falling on the ground. His legs couldn't stand anymore, and he could barely move. - Congratulations, Impfinity. You're the hardest opponent I've ever faced! But, of course, wasn't able to defeat me. Well, now that I've beaten you, it's time to get my prize, and this cloning machine you're wearing seems pretty cool.

    - Please… Don't…

    - Yeah, I liked it. It's mine now. - Grass Knuckles' smile widened. - Wait a second… Just remembered that I have to kidnap you! - He laughed.

    Impfinity was going to say that he told Zomboss the plant's hiding spot right after stalking him earlier, before fighting, but then he realized that it was better to keep that information as a secret.

    Not to mention that he could barely speak as well.

    - Boy… - Grass Knuckles stared at the belt. - I shouldn't have broken it. How am I going to check if I can clone myself now? And I'm not good at fixing things… If I only had a friend that…

Flashback ON

    - Grass Knuckles… You're very good at breaking things.

    - Yeah, I know…

    - Hey, don't be sad. It's ok to be clumsy! Just... Try to be careful. It's a cell phone after all, and not just a toy… I mean, it's not a toy, but it really looks like a toy to me… This old human tech…

    - But can you fix it?

    - Of course I can!

    - Thank you! Boy, it's really great to have a tech expert as a friend.

    - Citron will always be here for you!

Flashback OFF

    Grass Knuckles lost his balance. What… What was that?

    Was that… A memory?

    He knew that he was a hero before turning into an evil green robber, and he knew that he had friends, but that sudden memory… It was good to have a friend. It was good to have Citron by his side.

    The plant felt split. He was happy with his current life as a bad guy, accumulating goods, beating people and watching them suffer… But there was a part of him that wanted to remember more, a part that missed Citron's friendship, and not because he's good at fixing things.

    Even knowing that he used to be good, that was the first time Grass Knuckles felt that way after becoming a villain. He knew he was good, but he couldn't remember that it was good to be good.

    Where is Citron now? What happened to him? What happened to the others? Who are the others?

    The plant felt the first drops of rain splashing on his face and hands, and it got intense quickly.

    “This is going to be a real storm.” He thought.

    At that moment, he saw Impfinity on the ground.

    - Impfinity? Are you there? - There was no response. He approached and found out that the imp was unconscious.

    “Oh boy… What have I done? Of course, Impfinity is a pest… And he asked for it... But… He was already defeated, I didn't need to… Hurt him like that… I haven't killed him, have I? I hurt people, but I'm not a killer!”.

    - Hey, wake up! - He tried shaking the imp, but, again, no response.

    Grass Knuckles took a deep breath.

    “I was going to kidnap him anyways…” The bonk choy decided to take the zombie hero with him and go the factory, where Impfinity could rest and get better.

    None of them realized that the fight had an audience, that watched everything through the windows since they left the factory. These people, too scared to intervene, closed their curtains with sadness after seeing the villain's victory. The alley got empty, just Grass Knuckles carrying Impfinity, heading towards the factory, trying to comprehend the feeling that the memory brought, on a rainy and dark night.

Hope u liked it *hides*

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: In Search of the Authentic Selfie

Screenshot of Google Image search results for “selfie”

Editor’s note: The following excerpt is the ninth chapter of The Selfie Generation: How Our Self-Images Are Changing Our Notions of Privacy, Sex, Consent, and Culture, Alicia Eler’s new book from Skyhorse Publishing building on ideas first developed in a series of posts on Hyperallergic starting in June 2013.

*  *  *

The selfie is an aspirational image, but it also an integral aspect of socializing, interacting, and being seen by others online. In an attention economy of likes that demands performance and absolute connectivity, the selfie is a way to visually grab some- one’s attention, mimicking a face-to-face interaction. In order to exist, the selfie most be produced by the individual, and consumed by the network. Even though the selfie is a singular image object, it exists as a continual piece of content when posted to the network because of the people on the network who interact with it. Yet upon posting, it also becomes an archive of one’s presence on the network. The selfie that is posted to the network is always about being seen the way you want others to see you. (#putyourbestfaceforward)

Though the selfie is a millennial phenomena, there are noticeably different selfie-ing habits between older millennials such as myself, who grew up using AIM and then joined Friendster and early MySpace; younger millennials who had Facebook in high school; and members of Generation Z who, born after 1996, are teens now or in their early twenties and regularly use Instagram, Snapchat, and Tumblr. One thing that distinguishes older and younger millennials and Gen Z is the question of online privacy. Older millennials remember a time when there was such a thing as online privacy, whereas younger Gen Zs do not.

“One of the reasons I (and a lot of us ‘older millennials’ in tech) get so nostalgic for the old days is because we believed in the power of living in public and the tools we used never got in the way of that; and the tools were for the most part, super naive about the potential privacy violations they presented,” says Harlo Holmes, director of newsroom digital security at Freedom of the Press Foundation.

Infinite mirror // selfie-ing

The selfie is perpetually here and now, but where is it headed? Madison Malone Kirscher writes regularly about selfies for New York Magazine’s section Select All, which asks questions about how we live online. I was intrigued by her stories about sealfies (selfies with seals), handless selfies (selfies taken with a timer in front of the mirror while the phone is flying in the air) and ballot selfies, and figured she’d have some answers to these questions.

“Anytime anybody whips out a phone to take a photo, people will call it a selfie,” said Kirscher when we spoke by phone. “If you can put ‘selfie’ in a headline, people will click it and people will care.” The word “selfie,” as we saw in chapter 4, is buzzy, cute, and clickworthy.

“When I think about people like my parents, they know what [the selfie] is,” Kirscher said. “Suddenly, this trend that maybe they don’t give a damn about — people taking pictures in their bedroom mirrors throwing their phones in the air, which is this ridiculous teen thing — there’s a touchstone there now because everyone knows what a selfie is this side of point-and-shoot cameras circa 2003.”

The social appropriateness of the selfie is constantly in flux. It was intensely vilified during its upswing, but now it has settled in to being an accepted aspect of how we live.

The selfie is fun. When shared, it becomes a social image. Ultimately, self-imaging is enjoyable and something that most every millennial does at some point, to see how they look on-screen and to connect with friends.

Willingly returned to my high school to see this year's musical so now I'm hiding out in the bathroom because time is a flat circle. http://pic.twitter.com/IrMeGz9Twg

— Madison M. K. (@4evrmalone) March 11, 2017

“I have this series of tweets where I take a selfie every time I wear tech fleece — [the other day, I was doing it, and] I watched some person who was probably thirty to thirty-five years older look at me and then pantomime, ‘Are you kidding me?’” says Kirscher. “And that’s not even an inappropriate setting. I’m just walking up 1st Avenue, I’m not bothering anyone, I’m not impeding on anything — I’m just taking a picture of my face.”

That’s one way of selfie-ing, and it’s also specific to millennials who are in their 20s. Because selfie-ing is largely a teen phenomena, as discussed in chapter 1, what about kids who are part of Generation Z, people who were born after 1996? If we’re talking about the future, this is who will determine it.

“I don’t use Facebook because Facebook is boring,” says George Yocom, thirteen, who’s in the eighth grade and lives in Minneapolis. “That’s where all the old people go and write about weird weather and stuff. I don’t want to hear about what you are doing right now.”

I’d been on Facebook just moments before talking to George. After talking with him, I felt incredibly lame. I’d met his mom the week before when she came by the Star Tribune of Minneapolis, where I work, to give a talk to journalists about covering the trans community.

George and I talked about his social media — he really only uses Instagram, Snapchat, and Tumblr because that’s where his friends hang out, and that’s mostly who he follows on social media. He goes on every day, often first thing in the morning, and of course social media does affect his friendships and how he sees people in the world. It’s also important for him to post about the stuff he cares about and is doing.

“As a trans activist, I am more like trying to get people to support this organization, or do stuff and not just sit there and think about it — which is good, but to actually go out there and do stuff,” he says.

But really, I just wanted to talk with George about his selfies. Maybe, I wrote this whole book just so I could get to this part of it. I asked him, how often do you post selfies?

“I feel like, mainly I probably do because I don’t know what else to post and I don’t have any other pictures and like, why not?” he says. The selfies that he notices get the most likes are ones where he’s wearing really cute outfits, and doesn’t have his face in them.

“[When people see those photos they] are like, ‘Oh cute,’ and I’m like, ‘I know.’”

There’s an assumption out in the world, as mentioned in Nancy Jo Sales’ book American Girls that social media is affecting the lives of teenage girls in a negative way, and that they would leave the network if they could. Certainly, social media is changing the social behavior of teens today. When I asked George if social media has been a helpful way for him to connect with friends, he replied, “It definitely helps me connect with people because obviously I can’t be with people 24/7, but I want to know what they’re doing,” he says. “And like, sometimes it’s hard to talk to people because I have social anxiety, so it’s cool to see them online and be like, ‘Hey, you’re having a good time, that’s great!’”

Two artists of the selfie generation: RaFiA Santana & Brannon Rockwell-Charland

Selfies are a completely mainstream phenomenon. And like any pop culture phenomena, they are ripe for critique by artists of the selfie generation. Artists of the selfie generation use social media as part of building their persona or brand, and they also use themselves in their work. In this IRL-URL fluid space, artists of the selfie generation criss-cross from the digital to the physical, exploring and playing with the overlap between the two.

Artists of the selfie generation are diverse, geographically scattered about (location optional!), and connected by the Internet and social media. Artists of the selfie generation engage with intersectional feminism, a term originally coined by Black feminists to point out the unique intersection of oppression that they experience both as women and people of color. It now has come to include anyone who experiences oppression under white supremacist, capitalist, patriarchal society. As the blog Intersectional Feminism 101 writes: “Those with disabilities, mental ill- ness, non-Western religious identities, nonwhite ethnic or racial identities, nonthin bodies, non-Eurocentric features, low income, those who are not alloromantic, allosexual, heterosexual, or cis-gender [specically cis male by Western standards], or those who simply do not adhere to a Western model of gender or sexuality all experience oppression due to their relative ‘disadvantage.’”

One such artist who uses the selfie as one of her many means of self-expression is Brooklyn-based artist RaFiA Santana, age twenty-six. She is a millennial who selfies as a way to both create an archive of herself, and to make sure she is seen the way she wants to be seen. On social media she has said that she has a separate account just for people of color, and one where she creates a persona that’s read more by non-POC folks. Creating such distinct personas on social media is one way to navigate fluid social media identities.

Her selfie art is also a necessity in part because of systemic racism that she experiences. Santana knows that someone who takes her photo will come to it with their own visual memory and baggage of historical images of Black people. Santana works across platforms, and often uses herself in her work. She comes from a family of artists — her mother is a photographer and archivist, and her father is a photographer and filmmaker — and she started using a camera as a teenager.

On the top of her website, she has category for “selfie,” but this wasn’t on purpose. It just happened because she tagged a lot of images with #selfie, and that created a larger tag cloud on the top of her website.

“I have a ton of images of myself, and it does stretch across photography, graphic design, and just like Instagram pictures,” says Santana. “That was a way of categorizing it and putting it into different compartments — how to show it. Somebody picked it up as a series, and I was like, ‘Oh I guess it’s kinda like that, but I was like, oh wait it’s not a self-portrait series,’ but whenever I post a picture of me that I made, I put it under ‘selfie.’”

The main draw of the selfie, especially for people who have seen results they aren’t happy with when turning over the lens to a photographer, is that we can shape our own narratives based on how we want to be seen.

“You get these narratives with photography but if somebody else is taking your picture they are seeing you through their lens, and a lot of what I have been taking issue with and just noticing with a lot of Black photography in major magazines — a lot of the photographers are white and if they shoot Black people they are not conscious about the inherent biases they have — because they’ve been seeing Black people through the white lens forever. That’s like all they’ve been seeing — they’ll still photograph Black people the same way, making them look demonic or just the standard ghetto and not lit properly, they don’t understand how Black people want to look — they don’t understand the Black aesthetic.”

For Santana, she’s often had to go back and retouch photos that were taken of her at major magazines, because the photographer didn’t know how to photograph her. With the selfie, such issues don’t come up because she’s taught herself how to shoot, she knows what looks good, and she knows how to make it so.

“The selfie has been super empowering in that way, just being able to show myself as I am,” she says. In addition, selfie-ing is a way for her to self-reflect — she sees selfie-ing and self-reflection as overlapping.

“Self-reflection is important because you need that to grow,” she says. “If you don’t know where you’re at you don’t know where you need to be. Even if you are in a bad place, you usually want to get out of that bad place. You want to think about that and break down all the things that you do like and things that you don’t like, how do I change this, enhance this, the selfie is very important to me in that respect — it’s sort of like a record.”

It’s not impossible to get an image of yourself that you like that wasn’t taken by you, but it’s definitely harder. Finding a photographer who not only gets your aesthetic, but gets the essence of you and can bring that out in an image — heighten it to ensure that you look even better than you would in everyday life — is a rarity.

“I want to show myself how I wanted to be seen and that’s not going to happen if I let someone else take over my image,” says RaFiA. “Unless we have that relationship and are close with each other, and they know what I want to look like.”

Similarly, Brannon Rockwell-Charland, twenty-four, is an artist working on her MFA in the interdisciplinary studio program at UCLA. She engages often with the selfie, and for her it is a way to connect with herself and assert a sense of power. Rather than tell you more, I asked Brannon for her thoughts on her relationship to the selfie. Here’s what she shared:

Every time I make an image of myself, whether I make it in a darkroom or on an iPhone, I feel that I am reclaiming some kind of power. Selfies give me a sense of control in the face of the always-impending fetishization of black women’s bodies.

The way I’m “read” by others visually is at the center of my work, and there’s a lot at stake for me when I render myself. I’m attempting to clear some space to be able to express my full range of humanity while engaged with whatever aspects of my history I choose but without respectability politics.

I think about history all the time — my own personal history and the contentiousness with which we tend to view images of black woman-ness throughout time. Jezebel. Mammy. Slut. Superwoman. Tragic Mulatto. The list goes on. I’m as tired of that list as I am intrigued by that list. I want to be able to be all of those women simultaneously and at will. I want to be able to be none of them.

I resist erasure by redefining, by embodying, by existing artistically in spaces that are amazing and problematic when it comes to the image of the black woman. The thing about selfies as a form of image-making that is so tied to social media is that, as we discussed in our queer Tumblr article, we are wrapped up in this paradox of self-reclamation and the social capitalist currency of the Internet. “We are subject to market logic.”

I think maybe I used to be more concerned with resisting and transcending late capitalism. But these days, having just moved to LA, having just started an MFA program, still feeling very uprooted in my art practice, wondering how I’ll afford to live in this city, I find myself wanting to engage with capitalism like I want to engage with the labels of black womanhood. I find myself wondering if I should make my Instagram public. Instagram is where I post most of my selfies; it’s the online space where I am my weirdest self. I find myself wondering how to sell my work. I am in my work. I’m sitting in this perpetually ambivalent space.

For Brannon, selfies are a continual part of her work, ever evolving and complicated in their multifacetedness. As an artist, she curates her image online as well, making her selfie collection unique to her aesthetic and sense of self. By being what she describes as her “weirdest self,” Brannon creates a type of artist persona through selfies and other content she posts to Instagram, while also recognizing that the images she is making are connected to capitalizing on one’s own body and image likeness.

In this way, there is a projected and curated vulnerability dis- played through sel es that traverses issues of privacy online. “When I talk about our ‘right to privacy,’ I usually frame it as a choice, or a positive action, rather than a defense,” says Harlo Holmes, of the Freedom of the Press Foundation. “There is indeed a lot of power in creating a public self; everyone is going to share stuff, but make sure you use technology in a way that only you get to choose which version of yourself exists for public consumption.”

Genevieve Gaignard is another artist who creates work around complicated racial identities. As a self-identi ed mixed-race woman, she contends with different stereotypes and personas in her work, creating alter-egos in a way that is more Nicki Minaj and less Cindy Sherman. She also takes many, many selfies.

As I wrote in a review of her exhibition Us Only at Shulamit Nazarin Gallery in Venice, California, for CRAVE magazine, I discussed how her “high yellow femme” identity complicates her relationship to Blackness and how she is read out in the world, yet isn’t necessarily a conversation about what it’s like to “pass.” In her show she explores the multiple identities that she could embody based on the ways she is perceived.

I wrote about Gaignard’s art several times in Los Angeles. In a review of her exhibition Smell the Roses at the California African-American Museum for Hyperallergic, I was curious to think about her work as more than either selfie or self-portrait, and more like creating new mythologies that blend autobiography and fiction. I pointed to UCLA associate English professor Uri McMillian’s essay “Masquerade, Surface, and Mourning: The Performance of Memory-Work in Genevieve Gaignard: Smell the Roses,” which he wrote for the exhibition:

Gaignard’s performances can be positioned in a genealogy of feminist persona-play, including Adrian Piper’s The Mythic Being, Lorraine O’Grady’s Mlle Bourgeoise Noire, and Howardena Pindell’s Free, White, and 21, as well as Nikki S. Lee’s Projects, Eleanor Antin’s black ballerina, Eleanora Antinova, and Anna Deavere Smith’s Twilight.

Because of their shared interest in characters, Gaignard’s work is often compared to Cindy Sherman. But whereas Sherman reveals nothing about herself, Gaignard reveals a lot. And instead of working with female archetypes in the media, Gaignard makes the personal explicitly political.

She’s also damn funny. So I’ll leave you with this tongue-in-cheek work of hers. It’s called “Selfie Stick,” and points to the selfie’s origins: the mirror.

No selfies allowed but plenty of rewards received at Jumbo’s Clown Room

Speaking of the production and consumption of (cis)female bodies, there are no selfies or other types of photography allowed at Jumbo’s Clown Room, a strip club on Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles. I had driven by it many times while cruising through Hollywood, noticing the bouncer who eyed IDs at the door. The red-brick facade reminded me of how few brick buildings there are in Los Angeles because of earthquakes. There are no windows in the facade of Jumbo’s. There are no free shows for passersby.

I initially resisted going to Jumbo’s. I had seen amateur burlesque shows in Chicago, at dimly-lit dive bars on makeshift stages, and at storefront theaters squeezed between warehouses on diagonally directional streets. I didn’t want to pay an admission fee to see women’s bodies commodified, and then throw dollar bills at them, which felt even more demoralizing. Even though I am a cis queer woman, I grapple with questions of objectifying women. Also, why go watch live when this commodification is so readily available on TV, the Internet, and in porn? With all this screened play, why would anyone go see girls, like, real human beings, simulating what we are already seeing on screens all the time already?

Jumbo’s was different from other strip clubs. Unlike the plethora of other XXX nude girl joints, which I noticed the most when I first moved to LA, this one has been around since 1970, it’s not nude, and it is burlesque. It is rumored that workers there are treated more ethically. As with any strip club though, there are still plenty of dollar bills that patrons throw onto the stage, ready to be swept up after the dance is over. It’s the business of selling bodies, sex, desire, pleasure.

Curious and open to this new experience, I decided to go — but not on my own, of course. BFF Che Landon, who you remember from previous chapters, thought it would be hilarious to take our eight-months-pregnant-and-about-to-pop friend to Jumbo’s. What funnier place to spot a pregnant woman, am I right?? And who knows, maybe the baby would decide to make an appearance that evening!

There are no photos allowed inside the red-brick facade of Jumbo’s. A packed bar and a stage with a single golden pole erected into it sandwich the available seating area. A series of chairs lined the perimeter of the stage, just beyond the rail that separated the dancer and the audience members who have decided to sit right there in front of the stage and fling bills at the dancers rather than lounge on a black leather booth or on stools at a high stooled circular table further away. The bar that wraps its way around the stage is painted red, and dotted with yellow stars. Mirrors line the back wall of the stage, the ceiling above the stage, and another side of the wall adjacent to the stage.

No matter where you are sitting in the audience, you can see the dancer from multiple angles. Or you can just look straight ahead at her. There is no screen or screened bodies. Just sit back and look into the mirror — see yourself watching her, see her reflected back in the mirror, see reflections of bodies in space.

Sitting in the front row that night at Jumbo’s, I had the overwhelming sense that I’d experienced this dynamic before — this wanting to sit in the front row and look but not be seen looking. I turned to my left, watching as one of my friends gleefully dispensed dollar bills like a blissed-out bank teller to a happily receiving customer.

That’s when it hit me. I remembered this experience. My desire to look but not be seen reminded me of being at a comedy show and making the bold choice to sit in the front row, experiencing that same sensation — hoping that the comedian would make eye contact with me and single me out, put me on the spot with eye contact, but not actually acknowledge my presence. I was there to listen and be an objectified voyeur, but not to be seen.

There’s another important element of Jumbo’s that I mentioned earlier, but I want to reinforce. There are no phones allowed. No one can photograph the girls. They cannot photograph themselves, either. In essence, they are protected against the threat of social media and the Internet. Their bodies will not exist in data form. Their essence will never leave that room. The memories of their bodies will exist only in the minds of visitors that evening, hundreds of eyes gazing in, skin-deep, on the surface. They can only be seen directly, never in a meta-way or through a third-party app. They can only ever be performers and reflections in mirrors, various angles, ass, face, right here, right now.

Anyone seen with their phone out is reprimanded. I took mine out at one point just to check an app quick, and immediately a bouncer noticed and approached me, yelling: “No phones!” I was putting the phone away when the dancer on stage who donned an obviously sexy Halloween costume that included a fake bloodied sword moved toward me. I played along with her slashing roleplay motion. Then she slunk off, dropping to the floor where she gyrated awhile, then wrapped her legs around a pole, sliding up and down it until the song ended and she exited.

While she did this, I watched the mirrors. They created multiple reflected versions of her in this physical space that replicated the infinite reflection of a sexualized selfie put out on the Internet, available for anyone to see through the smartphone in their hands, a face appearing in the palm of your hand. Except instead of direct gazes and dollar bills landing on her as she moved across the stage, such a selfie would garner likes and retweets and comments, shares and often creepy @ messages. Every click is feedback, a like, a reward. Every dollar dropped on-stage is a monetary reward.

“The human reward system tends to be responsive to a variety of things that lead to a subjective pleasurable response,” says Dr. Mauricio Delgado, associate professor in the Department of Psychology at Rutgers University. “This includes the most basic of rewards such as food or money. This also includes more social rewards; things such as a simple smile, receiving compliments, or feeling accepted by peers.”

I was thinking about this effect of the body and face as a woman’s first and last weapon in the digital age and IRL, online as a selfie-er versus in-person as a body. In both spaces, the body becomes not just a brand or a means of gaining social capital, but a literal commodity.

I tell this story not to take issue with strip clubs, burlesque/ erotic dancers, or the act of voyeurism. My experience at Jumbo’s made me think more deeply about some of the recurring critiques of selfie culture, particularly those aimed at young women who find the act of selfie-ing to be empowering, experimenting with their bodies and sexuality in the way that they want to, being seen in the way that they want to be seen. It is empowering as a way to capture attention and to connect quickly, but it comes with the reality of literally releasing one’s selfie as data to the network.

Often, the young women who are purveyors of selfie culture replicate the same types of sexual submissiveness that wouldn’t be seen as “strong” or empowering at all. Women’s bodies are always sexualized. This becomes even more complicated within the realm of selfie culture, because while the image is of her and for her, it becomes something that is also consumed by others who see her as a sexualized object. It’s impossible to escape the gaze or the commodification of bodies under patriarchy.

Can the selfie ever be radical?

I’m a millennial who voted and then selfie-d about voting. I felt conflicted about this. Why did I need to share something I did? If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall? (#picsoritdidnthappen) Similarly, if I voted and didn’t take a selfie of that instance, did I ever vote? (#ballotselfieoritneverhappened) The answer is obviously yes, but considering that it’s only 2017 and women only gained the right to vote in 1920, not even one hundred years ago, I decided that I wanted to be part of the voting selfie moment on social media. This begs the question: Are selfies tools of empowerment for women in the digital age, or for other people and bodies that are usually othered? Is it meaningful to post a photo like this?

Professor Derek Conrad Murphy makes a case for selfies as a “means to resist the male-dominated media culture’s obsession with and oppressive hold over their lives and bodies.” Murray pulls out the ways that selfie-ing and self-imaging for women on and for the Internet do feel revolutionary, like a sea of faces all rallying together, even if there is no political motivation behind the selfie-ing. “Even if there is no overt political intent, they are indeed contending with the manner in which capitalism is enacted upon their lives,” writes Murray in his paper, Notes to self: the visual culture of selfies in the age of social media.

Murray is self-aware of this generous read on selfie culture, a seemingly ostentatious remark against the blanket accusations of narcissism. Despite the view that your dad might give about “the kids these days being such narcissists,” Murray disagrees, instead taking a more positive approach to the phenomena on the whole, noting the ways that it can be used to dismantle the repression and control of female sexuality.

“Teaching a lot of young women, I see them struggling with societal expectation around how they should behave and look, which often grates against their own desires,” Murray said to me, when we emailed about these questions. “For many women, pornography is very liberating, while others feel demeaned by it, and that’s OK. Antiporn stances, however, often exert just another form of moralistic control and shaming — and often strip women who participate in and consume it of their agency. In terms of the selfie, seeing young women in control of their own image and expressing an unapologetically bold form of sexuality, simply grates against a very repressive social role that women are meant to perform.”

In an attention economy on and offline that demands performance and absolute connectivity, a young woman must continue defining herself. At the end of the day, the selfie is a way to visually grab someone’s attention, mimicking a face-to-face interaction. It is a way to hold space.

The approval of others is not meaningless. I’ve long since wondered if taking and posting a selfie connotes anything beyond surface likes. Self-imaging ultimately comes down to a desire, perhaps even a need, to see oneself — not for someone else’s enjoyment, but just for oneself, to be seen. It is a mechanism for survival, a truly stark negation against invisibility, an action against erasure.

Get selfie-aware

On social media, narratives are fragmented and stories drift off, consumed by the network. Facebook was originally conceived as a way to “tell your life story online,” which seems laughable at this point in time. Who except the people closest to you give a shit about what you ate today? (As I write this, the friend who sits next to me at this café is taking a picture of the cupcake she is about to eat. But she’s a foodie, so . . .) Yet the networks demand content, and everyone has their niche online.

To cast a social media narrative like a screenplay, reality TV show, memoir-like narrative, or series of jokes at a standup comedy show requires constant checking and posting. Plus, the narrative flow is much harder to accomplish on social media. Doing so would mean constantly anticipating reactions. Not everyone has time or interest to strategize that, unless there is a monetary incentive. Think back to chapter 5, the women in China who earn money live-streaming themselves on one ore more of the two hundred livestream platforms. But in the United States, this is less common. Becoming a believable character on social media is to create oneself as a character that is consumable for an audience of social media onlookers, and it is work. Plus, on social media there is an expectation of giving away content for free.

For those who do put time and energy into their social media realms, the article “Social Media Got You Down? Be More Like Beyoncé” by Jenna Wortham for New York Times Magazine rings true. Wortham takes a more optimistic approach to creating a persona or character for yourself online, especially if the rawness of just posting your life to the Internet is bumming you out. (#truth) Taking the time to figure out how to craft your own image, how you want to be seen, is also decidedly individualistic in nature.

Things got more live on social media in 2016, upping the possibilities for content creation. In Spring 2016, Facebook introduced Facebook Live, which allows anyone anywhere to broadcast anything they want to their network. Similarly, in August 2016, Instagram introduced Stories, which are like public versions of snaps, varying in length, but created throughout the day and logged as tiny videos to see and perhaps direct message someone about. Instagram described Stories as a way to “share all the moments of your day, not just the ones you want to keep.” By November 2016, Instagram introduced live videos on their Stories feature. Facebook owns Instagram, but no matter — this is always more content for the network. (There is also an archival feature.)

In Wortham’s article, she argues that this ability to share practically further toes the line of what is socially acceptable. In other words, what’s something to talk about and work out with people IRL, and what’s something to post about as part of one’s online brand?

“There’s nothing necessarily wrong with either example — but they each clearly underline the ways that social media has stripped away our ability to tell what is OK to share and what is not,” writes Wortham. “It’s not just that watching people vie for your attention can feel gross. It’s also that there’s a fine line between appearing savvy online and appearing desperate.”

Wortham suggests that actually, if people thought more about creating a persona for themselves online — in other words, more showing and less telling — audiences could spend more time just enjoying projecting a fantasy. She cites various examples of ways that Beyoncé has quelled rumors about her sister Solange and her marriage to rapper Jay Z through either playing into the drama or creating more of it for the sake of wonderment. In short, Beyoncé has found a way to create a fantasy, holographic selfie through her creative work and Internet presence that leaves people guessing based on what she shows them rather than what she tells them.

“Most people treat social media like the stage for their own reality show, but Beyoncé treats her public persona more like a Barbie — she offers up images and little more, allowing people to project their own ideas, fantasies, and narratives about her life onto it,” writes Wortham.

This is one way to go about creating the selfie, one that will get you the attention you want. It’s Creative Writing 101, to show the story, not tell it. Let the joke unfurl on its own — don’t give away the punchline up front. When it comes to just easily learning how to “be more like Beyoncé,” as Wortham suggests, making it seem like a casual, easy, fun-filled adventure for a leisure class that has time to even think about this, the joke is actually on anyone who thinks that it could be this easy to be like Beyoncé. She’s a celeb. You better believe that she’s got a PR team that guides her through the treacherous swamps, nooks, and crannies of the Internet’s social media landscape.

Despite the controversial nature of presenting any personal information online through social media, we keep doing it. The social media companies that house our selfies and accounts are using our personal data in ways we are not entirely aware of.

“So, while selfie-taking can be a powerful, radical means for expressing and championing forms of identity that have been historically rejected by a racist/patriarchal mainstream culture (think, queer selfies, selfies at BLM protests, hijab selfies, fourth wave soft nude selfies) all selfies shared on social networks are inadvertently participating in capitalism — the same structures that are marginalizing their identities in the first place,” says Alexis Avedisian, Communications Manager at the NYC Media Lab. “Digital formats of activism (like radical selfies) allow for inclusivity within that user’s network, but fully honoring inclusivity is made difficult due to the often apolitical, commercial goals specific to the social media platforms which host the activist action.”

The selfie is the most easily accessible and powerful image for asserting a sense of personhood and connecting with others in a fragmented, networked, and hyperconnected world. It is done without any cost other than the agreement that your image becomes quantifiable data, demonstrative of complacency within techno-capitalism. Yet we cling to the selfie: It is one of the last modes of self-expression and immediacy, an opportunity to create space online, and to connect for (the illusion of) free in a digital age that will transform our personalized interests, purchases, browsing history, and social relations into currency for them. The only social requirement is you.

The post In Search of the Authentic Selfie appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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