Image Description: An avatar in a virtual world shown mixing music, with ranbow shoulder length hair and black angel wings.
“The intellectual may feel enslaved in matter. If only she could escape from the body. But the mind will not fly unless we embrace the body as a path to freedom.”
– Joanna Frueh
In my early teenage years, I was a social outcast. I grew up in a small, rural Mississippi town with a graduating class of 59. Everyday, I dragged myself to school in dark, concealing clothes and heavy makeup, simultaneously wanting to blend in and stand out, though neither effort succeeded. My asthma kept me from performing well in Gym, and people would laugh at me when I tried to challenge myself by running faster or attempting the same game as everyone else – probably because I was chubby and I had big breasts for my age – so I avoided sports like the plague. Others regularly interrogated me about my sexuality and religious beliefs; students slipped pieces of college ruled paper filled with meticulously penned Bible quotes into my locker, and professors referred to me as a heathen in front of the whole class, which led many to engage me in debates that I never wished to enter. Although I had a few friends, most only interacted with me when they wanted my answers from last night’s homework, so I never felt comfortable being my full self around them. After running the daily gauntlet that is middle school, I ran straight from the school bus to my bedroom, avoiding the critical eyes of my mother. I buried myself under the blankets, leaving all of the lights off, and opened up my laptop – finally, I was in my safe space.
My safe space was not a physical space; it was one of many “virtual worlds” that could be found on the Internet, where users interacted with each other using customized avatars and chat rooms. While many virtual worlds existed – ‘World of Warcraft’, ‘Habbo Hotel’, ‘SecondLife’ – I joined ‘IMVU’ on the recommendation of one of my cousins, and I was hooked. I found myself visiting “IMVU” every day for hours on end, moving from my bed only for meals or bathroom breaks. Looking back, I realize that I was deeply depressed, but visiting ‘IMVU’ was one of the only ways I knew how to cope. It allowed me to explore and make friends even though I was physically isolated.
‘IMVU’ allows users to create virtual avatars, which they control in order to explore the virtual world. While some virtual worlds are open ended, ‘IMVU’ chat rooms are physical rooms that have a limited size and are not interconnected. Each room can only hold eight to fifteen users at a time, depending on the owner’s preference, creating a surprisingly intimate atmosphere. Users click on glowing objects, known as “poseballs,” to interact with the virtual world, and communicate with other users via a text chat. The chat room itself is designed around a central theme, usually related to a specific ‘IMVU’ subculture, or is modeled after physical spaces in real life, such as a coffee shop or a night club.
When I first joined ‘IMVU’, I spent some time exploring many different chat rooms to get a feel for the user culture. There were vampire covens, haunted high school classrooms, anime fans clubs, demons and angels fighting, and even a few regular folks chatting away with their coffee. None of these really seemed like the right fit for me, and I felt stuck. Was there really no place that I would fit in even in the virtual world? Luckily, I didn’t have to search much longer. One night, I stumbled upon a chat room that advertised itself with a photo of colorful anthropomorphic characters dancing under neon lights, and I was too intrigued not to visit. I soon found myself among one of the more exotic subgroups on ‘IMVU’: furry ravers.
Furry ravers tend not to judge others based on their appearance, race, religion, gender, or sexuality. Just like real life ravers, furry ravers adopt the principles of PLUR, or Peace, Love, Unity, and Respect, which makes them the most universally accepting subculture on ‘IMVU.’ The only things that most furry ravers would judge someone on are their outfit choices and their music preferences, but they are quick to offer clothing and song recommendations to set you on the right path. For me, it wasn’t so hard to catch on; the neon rainbow hues, skimpy clothes, big hair, and trance beats excited me in how different and fun they were compared to how I could act and look in real life.
I made fast friends with the furry ravers; we danced, played, and chatted the night away. Common topics included our favorite music, TV shows, and video games, but we also provided each other with soft places to land when the real world was tough. When my depression became worse and the abuses I endured from family and other “friends” continued, I developed suicidal thoughts and self harming tendencies. Often the only people I felt comfortable asking for help were my ‘IMVU’ friends, and they always dropped what they were doing to help me ground myself. I was the younger one in the group, but I always felt cared for and respected by my older friends. I even shared my phone number with some of them, and sent them text messages during school hours when things seemed unbearable.
Although I was a private person, I tried to share some of myself with my mother in the hopes of making a connection. However, she was critical of my time spent in the virtual world; she didn’t understand and thought it was dangerous. “You don’t even know these people,” she would start, “how do you know they aren’t pedophiles or serial killers? Don’t talk to strangers!” She was right; I had no idea what my on-line friends were like in real life, and I probably never would. I hadn’t seen any of their faces or heard their voices – but that was part of the appeal. I didn’t want any of my friends to know what my real life was like, nor did I want to think about real life when I was spending time with them.
Representing myself with an avatar instead of my own body helped me shed my inhibitions when socializing, encouraging me to talk about whatever I wished without judgment and to make friends with people I had never met. Making friends in the virtual world allowed me to do things that I couldn’t do in real life; We could dance the night away, play with toys twice our size, explore fantasy worlds, and perform superhuman actions, all while providing each other with support and friendship. I didn’t want to be limited by my body or by the rules of the real world; reality was already giving me debilitating pain, sadness, and anxiety, and the virtual world gave me a way to make friends without being held back.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but the nights I spent making friends with strangers on the Internet have made me less antisocial in the real world, and taught me how to build a support network through solidarity and compassion. Moving halfway across the country to attend college left me afraid of being isolated and alone again, but I have formed friendships and a community that supports me, even with my perceived imperfections. While my body’s limitations still frustrate me, I am learning to love it for what it can do, and I will continue to find ways to work with the pain and accomplish what I felt was impossible only a few years ago. After all, there are mountains left to climb, though I’ll have to make do with the abilities I have here in the real world.
