Being perceived as an uncaring person is scary. I am hesitant to do things that come off as performative, such as reading a paperback in public or going to the Frances Lehman Loeb Art Center to draw pictures. The idea of passersby categorizing me among people who performatively do things for attention discourages me from bringing my hobbies out of my dorm room and into public spaces. Although I do wish to enjoy my magazines, books and all the other ways I engage with media outside of a screen, it scares me that some people might think I do these things not because I care but because I am seeking attention. The root of this issue is the fact that making connections with the physical world requires a sense of discomfort that comes along with being awkward yet genuine.
My phone has become a sort of home base. Every time I feel awkward sitting alone at a table, my first instinct is to pull out my phone. Likewise, each time there is a lull in the conversation, everyone takes out their phone for a brief moment to revisit “home.” My phone contains so many familiar things that can transport me from one uncomfortable place to an environment that I have meticulously designed to feel personal. As soon as I open my phone, I see a photo of my dog, all of my apps are in the same places each time I swipe and all my friends are in a queue, as though they are waiting for me to text them. I can step from one conversation in the real world to another by dialing a number. All of these aspects have contributed to my connection with my phone, but the connection I have with it has become more comforting than the interactions I have with real people.
Similarly, using digital versions of physical media has vastly altered my perception of analog media simply because of the lack of accessibility. For some reason, books have become daunting to begin and a burden to carry around. This is why I have tried to transition to using physical versions of all the commodities that I relish about my phone, such as reading real books and listening to my cassette tapes. It seems that I have grown more comfortable retreating to my home base than existing in the actual space around me.
I have recently purchased a magazine so I could find another outlet to stare at pretty photos of clothes and read articles about celebrities while also limiting my time on social media. The magazine feels more special than my phone because, at its core, it is a stack of photographs that could easily be folded or warped by water. Carrying around a physical magazine is not like carrying something small like my phone that I could put in my back pocket, nor is it something that would find its way back to me should I leave it on a table by accident; if someone leaves their phone somewhere, we try to find its owner, but if someone forgets their magazine, the initiative to locate its owner is less pressing. To me, the fact that it is a piece of tangible media and subject to damage makes me feel like I must protect it, for it symbolizes cultural capital.
Looking at someone reading a magazine is different than looking at someone with their phone out because we all know what it is like to stare at a phone. Choosing to read it feels like I am making an intellectual choice to be “unplugged” and mysterious. However, we seldom see people reading this way in public because we are told it is pretentious or performative to be different. We mistake being genuine with performative displays of cultural capital. Perhaps the discomfort of leaving my phone—the space that I have curated to feel so comfortable within—is amplified when I begin to fear being perceived as performative.
The truth is, fear of pretentiousness is a trap. Online trends tell us to blame men for being pretentious every time they pull out Betty Friedan’s “The Feminine Mystique,” but perhaps they are not reading for attention and simply wish to learn about its contents. Perhaps they care. Perhaps they do not, but either way, they still choose to open up the book and read what is inside. What is important is what people receive from activities such as reading rather than focusing on how they appear while doing so.
I have come to realize that, as a liberal arts student, much of my life is pretentious just by nature. I suppose class trips to art museums, annotated books by Plato and weekends spent in the library sum up my experience so far. Just listing these items makes me feel like I am trying to perform as an intellectual, but these are typical things that most Vassar students experience. They care to learn about artwork, they annotate books because they wish to understand, and they study all weekend long because they have a big exam. Maybe we do these things because they contribute value to our lives, not because we would like to come off a certain way. But even so, who cares? Unfortunately, standing in silent elevators will always be awkward, and eating at the Deece alone will always feel strange… until you notice that everyone is struggling with the same feeling. However, interacting with the physical world, whether that consists of the things or people around you, can make the world feel more like home.
Great article,realistically.