004: The Devil's Advocate

AJ Tan is a Cornell student who has been working for Metanomics over the summer. Turns out, Second Life wasn't entirely up to his expectations. I think his expectations are probably pretty standard for college students, so while SL works *for me* on a personal and professional basis, it clearly isn't everyone's cup of tea.

--Rob B.

Kyle Broflovski: Dude! Boars are only worth two experience points a piece. Do you know how many we would have to kill to get up 30 levels?


Eric Cartman: Yes, 65,340,285…which should take us seven weeks, five days, thirteen hours and twenty minutes, giving ourselves 3 hours a night to sleep. What do you say, guys? You can just... you can just hang outside in the sun all day tossing a ball around. Or, you can sit at your computer and do something that matters.

Having spent an entire summer working in Second Life, I feel well qualified to voice my opinion on this virtual world. Open the flood gate doors, because I think Second Life is boring.

Disclaimer: These are personal views and not endorsed by Metanomics or its affliates.

Doubtless, some of you may have clicked the “Read More” link with a little more zeal than usual. However, I did not say Second Life was useless, merely boring. Spending the summer watching and re-watching every episode of Metanomics has taught me that Second Life can be a breeding ground for ingenious non-profit organizations and innovative educational outreach programs. But, at the end of the day, is there any more to Second Life than classrooms and talking heads? Do the deserted islands owned by big corporations, such as IBM or Cisco, magically fill with visitors when no one is looking? How long can you really spend doing something where there is no sense of advancement or reward? Is Second Life much different from a big virtual doll house?
In an age where entertainment is more of a demand than a request, new users are unlikely to remain in Second Life where the initial most intriguing activity is customizing one’s character. Navigating the myriad of stores and items can be interesting; nevertheless, one can only play dress-up for so long. Being fortunate enough to have had an in-world guide, I soon graduated to playing simple games and attending some live events. As an avid gamer, the “games” I played could best be classified as slightly more amusing than 2-D Flash games, but I still would not take them over side-scrolling Mario anytime soon. Live events were novel for a while, but eventually became more akin to listening to the radio and talking to your friends on your favorite chat client. Project collaboration seemed to be the logical next use for Second Life, but I found it more difficult and cumbersome than simply using a program with chat and file transfer capabilities, such as Skype. Perhaps a product of my generational upbringing, but I find the simulation of face time (vs. actual face time or video conferencing) to be no more useful than just talking into a microphone.
There is no continuity, no over-arching story to keep me interested. Unlike modern games that allow you to reach conclusions by taking some path, Second Life has neither a conclusion nor a path. New characters are unceremoniously dropped into a “this-direction-is-forward” tutorial, with very little guidance on what to do next. I do not wish to go out and find something to do, I have to do enough searching in the real world. I want to be entertained. Virtual worlds are supposed to be an escape from reality – Second Life is too close a parallel to the real thing.
Perhaps the saving grace of Second Life are the people you meet and the connections you make. Much like real life, I think this to be true; however, the initial culture shock may be difficult for most students to adjust to. As I have observed, the social dynamic that makes Second Life so disagreeable to myself is the underlying presence of a parent / teacher / boss – child / student / employee relationship.
In my experience, the demographic of Second Life residents is roughly in the mid- to late-thirties. For me, these individuals represent “real” adults who do not celebrate the end of finals week or the advertisement of a city-wide bar crawl. As such, the presence of these “real” adults triggers real-world conceptions of societal norms that force me to monitor and limit my online behavior. Despite this, my presence as an avatar, an individual behind the shadows of the virtual veil, in a virtual world tears me in the opposite direction telling me that it is okay to act out because it is still pretend. Couple these feelings with the fact that I work for Cornell and that my avatar and behaviors are a reflection of my school and self, and now we have a confused and frustrated individual.
During my earlier days in Second Life, I was chastised for having an avatar that was too other-worldly and made of too many prims so as to cause a heavy lag. Additionally, I was also told not to disturb in-world meetings, an instruction that I can only assume resulted from a five-persona conference where I allowed my avatar to randomly (albeit silently) burst into dance while my supervisors were voice chatting. To be honest, receiving these reprimands made me feel childlike and inexperienced.
To me, virtual worlds were built as a sort of great equalizer. Anyone can enter the world and create an entirely new personality for themselves. Anonymity fueled interactions. The only hierarchical system in place was one that you allowed yourself to be a part of, such as within guilds or clans. Avatars are one of the primary modes of self-expression in virtual worlds that espouse the freedom of choice, and their appearance should be such as their owner desires.
Before coming to Second Life, I had never heard the term “griefer,” and to this day the word still triggers a mental picture of an old man waving his cane telling me that rock ‘n’ roll will rot my brain. The word has either originated in Second Life or similar virtual worlds; I have not heard it used in any of the other online communities I have been part of. “Grief play,” as it is called in Second Life, is a fact of life that is simply dealt with and ignored. Forums always have some individual who revels in disseminating false and misleading information and games will always have hackers or players who exploit bugs. Within Second Life, reactions against these “griefers” are too idealistic, too tattle-tale-esque. When examples of griefing come to include one’s choice of avatar name, such as the one I have chosen for myself, Roflcopter Robonaught, perhaps the definition of the word has gone further than merely disruption of game play. Perhaps it has been stretched to “what the adults do not like or understand.” Griefers exist, there is no need to crusade against them. Simply curse more and ban.
In the end, Second Life may be a wonderful tool for educational and non-profit organizations. Though, the big question remains: how will you get people to care?

AJ Tan is a senior at Cornell University majoring in
Applied Economics and Management
He can be reached at ant27@cornell.edu or in Second Life as
"Roflcopter Robonaught"