The World of the Avatar

A couple of weeks ago I downloaded this program called IMVU.  Who knows where I found it... I just came across it, downloaded it, and had to figure out the whole thing from scratch.  (God help me if I ever read the directions for something.)  Anyway, this particular program allows you to create an avatar, and go into whatever weird ass chat room you can imagine.  (And as you might imagine, I tend to frequent the supernatural LGBT rooms... there are a such thing as "vampire kisses".)  Oh, and thanks to computer generated images of ourselves, EVERYONE is gorgeous.  How do I describe it?  The computer geek by day becomes the charming, suave gentleman in the evening.  Donned in the latest fashions and the wittiest lines, boys sit in his lap (yes, the avatars can actually be arranged in a number of exciting positions!) and whisper flirtatiously in the chat room.  Demure lesbians become dominatrix goddesses, complete with leather surrounding their cleavage and tall boots high up their thighs.  Even underpaid trannys "pass" 100%, with the Adam's apples vanished from the ladies, and masectomy scars erased from the men--completely transformed into princes and princesses of their domains.  

And what is most fascinating is that no matter how beautiful (read: aesthetically pleasing, sexually enticing, etc.) the avatar may appear in contrast to the user's real self, the avatar still is, in essence, the user.  The personality has developed an audacity that no longer has a reason to hide and nothing to hide behind when speaking with others. In the real world, the price for being yourself is extremely expensive (fiscally, emotionally, career-wise, etc.)  but dressing up for the evening and going into a dimly light night club to seduce and be seduced by other avatars: priceless.  I feel like the avatars are our 'Tyler Durdan's: the semi-physical manifestations of our subconsciousness.  I suppose they're really only bad when someone gets hurt. And then again, how badly can a computer-generated image feel rejection?  

Do I feel like a complete loser that the greatest extent of my social interaction is through my 4 inch tall projection of myself?  Eh... sure.  LOL.  It's Friday night, I just got paid (a lot, since I've been working over time a lot lately), I'm 23 (so I can get into bars and clubs) and I'm single.  So why am I not dressed up and out at some trendy queer establishment downtown?  Well, because really: why spend money, gas, and time driving downtown only to feel incredibly self-conscious around the hypermasculine (and the hyper-queeny) gay men I find myself surrounded by, feeling as if I'm constantly being sized-up and judged, and incapable of having fun for fearing constant rejection?  I can't imagine why not...  Anyway, I will concede that while I am a natural casanova in a world dependent on my own creative assemblage of body features and dressing and on my writing (I'm much more charming in the cyberworld?) I can't make up for the lack of social life in the real world.  LOL. Maybe someday I won't have to work two jobs to pay bills.  I'll have time to work out and money to buy awesome clothes.  Until that day comes, I'll let mini-me do all the work...