Difference between revisions of "David Song"
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| − | ==<b> | + | ==<b> To You, After 2000 Years </b> == |
| − | + | I was born in the year 2000, the beginning of the new millenium. To conspiracists, it was the year of catastrophic doom. To the Chinese lunar calendar, it was the Year of the Dragon. To me, it was the starting point of my generation, those who grew up encased in digital technology. Unlike many of my peers however, my social media usage is comparatively less. The sole social media account I own and use semi-regularly is Facebook. But in a society where creating and maintaining connections through computers is widespread, what becomes of the disconnected user’s digital identity? Thus I began my search for the selves I’ve spread across the Internet. | |
| − | === <big>'''Google'''</big> === | + | === <big>'''search?q=david+song'''</big> === |
| + | The first step to finding yourself online is searching your name. It's how we distinguish ourselves. Growing up as an Asian American from the Midwest, I used to think my name was somewhat unique. For the non-religious, it’s a biblical reference to a Hebrew king famous for defeating Goliath, the classic underdog narrative. It wasn’t until I became more involved in Asian American communities that I realized my name is actually extremely common among Asian Americans. Even while narrowing my scope to the University of Michigan, I am one of five David Songs. With my wistful resignation that I belong to a larger collective, I searched my name with the world’s most used search engine: Google.com. As expected, I observed that my name’s search results were inundated with countless other David Songs, all of whom were far more successful than me. It also became immediately clear that societally-valued aspects of one’s identity like occupation can affect their digital identity’s value. For instance, Google’s searching algorithm prioritized returning LinkedIn pages, gaining noticeably more traffic than other forms of identification. My LinkedIn is relatively unknown, so my digital identity is valued less. Twenty pages later and I was still nowhere close to finding a fragment of my online identity. Slowly, the results morphed into other famous Davids with the word ‘song’ somewhere included. David Bowie became a particular nemesis of mine during my search. I soon managed to reach the final page of results still finding nothing related to me. Instead of showing everyone eventually, visibility is limited to a fixed amount of server space. While the theme of ranking people based on certain qualities is mirrored in normal society, digital identities aren’t guaranteed inherent value just by existing. Even though countless David Songs exist, I’m special to someone. According to Google? I’m nobody. | ||
| + | |||
| + | === <big>'''search?q=david+song'''</big> === | ||
[[File:Wiki.png|thumbnail|right|My information on VoterRecords.com]] | [[File:Wiki.png|thumbnail|right|My information on VoterRecords.com]] | ||
| − | + | Hypothesizing that specifying my search further could work, I tried rerunning the query again along with my middle name and finally, I obtained results. Using my full legal name returned a mysterious website registered as VoterRecords.com. This particular record of mine had my date of birth, current home address, date of registration, and voter ID number. Of course without my middle name, which I’ve told few, it would be extremely difficult to locate this exact webpage. But learning that someone’s address could be doxxed so easily, especially when the website is known in advance, was a discomforting realization. What concerned me even further was seeing my parents and neighbors’ information being recommended too. By voting and fulfilling my civic duty in America, I had unintentionally created a trail of digital breadcrumbs to my family. Thankfully, VoterRecords offers to remove online records given that one has the legal right which I promptly exercised. I initially assumed that my digital identity was near nonexistent due to minimal social media interaction, yet my encounter with VoterRecords demonstrated the complete opposite. Real-world actions have a say in accumulating data, either with or without informed consent. Therefore, it’s nearly impossible to fully know the self that’s controlled by data brokers, explaining why so many are unaware of their data rights. | |
| − | === <big>''' | + | === <big>'''Social Media'''</big> === |
[[File:Wiki2.png|thumbnail|right|Some of the many David Songs on Facebook]] | [[File:Wiki2.png|thumbnail|right|Some of the many David Songs on Facebook]] | ||
| − | I decided to explore Facebook next because it hosts my only social media profile. Starting very similarly to Google, I | + | It’s no secret that digital identities aren’t an authentic depiction of ourselves. Any outside attempt to infer an internal state will always be prone to biases. In spite of this, I decided to explore Facebook next not because it hosts my only social media profile, but to reflect upon years of activity. Starting out very similarly to Google, I persisted in scrolling through thousands upon thousands of David Songs. I surrendered quicker this time and opened my public Facebook profile. At first glance, it’s obvious that I’m either not a frequent user of Facebook or I don’t update my profile regularly. My current profile picture promotes a school event that happened over a year ago. The last photo containing my face was posted in 2018 and I’ve only posted three in total that actually show myself. The content of my profile pictures range from a random illustration of a Magikarp to filters supporting Star Wars and Paris after the 2015 terrorist attacks. I also have things I’ve “liked” visible on my profile, most are school-related and some are of random interests like video games. Putting it all together, my Facebook profile is stereotypical of someone inactive on social media and doesn’t accurately illustrate my current identity. I no longer play video games as often and appearance-wise, I’m definitely different from myself back in 2018. It’s obvious that without an up-to-date profile, my current self wouldn’t be well represented. But even during my most active stints on Facebook, my identity never felt completely present. This mentality is reflected heavily throughout my generation, as we understand this concept best. A common pushback was the creation of smaller, private accounts exclusively meant for close friends and family, a truer expression of digital identity. There are also those who use both public and private account types, maintaining their best appearance while staying vulnerable. |
| − | + | ||
| − | + | ||
=== <big>'''Reflections'''</big> === | === <big>'''Reflections'''</big> === | ||
| − | Outside of Facebook, I have no social media presence whatsoever. It’s a fair assessment to make that outside of my advertising data and random voting records, I don’t have a digital identity. In many instances, I’ve debated making some type of social media profile and committing to using it frequently. Yet this was never actualized for several reasons. Starting in 2015, I primarily began using Reddit to interact with online communities, these typically revolved around depending on what games I played. The friends I surrounded myself with also used social media minimally. Rather than socializing with my peers on social media, video games became an alternative replacement for building a network. I formed many of my highschool friendships through gaming which inadvertently contributed to my nonexistent adaptation of social media. By finding online alternatives and staying active in after-school extracurriculars, I was able to circumvent the need of having an online presence to stay connected. As time passed, I observed an increasing number of people creating accounts and sharing their identities while I continued resisting. The initial pushback arguments of privacy and mental health concerns I raised were rational but looking back, | + | Outside of Facebook, I have no social media presence whatsoever. It’s a fair assessment to make that outside of my advertising data and random voting records, I don’t have a digital identity. In many instances, I’ve debated making some type of social media profile and committing to using it frequently. Yet this was never actualized for several reasons. Starting in 2015, I primarily began using Reddit to interact with online communities, these typically revolved around depending on what games I played. The friends I surrounded myself with also used social media minimally. Rather than socializing with my peers on social media, video games became an alternative replacement for building a network. I formed many of my highschool friendships through gaming which inadvertently contributed to my nonexistent adaptation of social media. By finding online alternatives and staying active in after-school extracurriculars, I was able to circumvent the need of having an online presence to stay connected. As time passed, I observed an increasing number of people creating accounts and sharing their identities while I continued resisting. The initial pushback arguments of privacy and mental health concerns I raised were rational but looking back, my ego was merely protecting itself. Perhaps as social media use normalized over time, I disliked admitting I didn’t have one and conjured more justifications. It became easier and easier to ignore social media because the longer I waited, the more justified my initial cause became. Ironically enough, waiting worsened the impending anxiety behind not having any social media. My worries culminated during my first year of college when my roommate admitted to thinking less of me at first for “not having an Instagram account.” This became a blunt reminder that my journey of online identity wasn’t the societal norm, seeding doubt within my actual identity. |
=== <big>'''Concluding Thoughts'''</big> === | === <big>'''Concluding Thoughts'''</big> === | ||
Today, although some doubts resurface occasionally, I’m ultimately content living without social media. The online representation of my identity through social media isn’t fully accurate but I certainly don’t lack one outside of the Internet. Growing up, I’ve always enjoyed asserting and maintaining my individualism. This tendency manifests itself in my music taste and obviously in defending my lack of social media usage as well. Though it wasn’t my original intent to not have a well-defined digital identity, it’s become part of my actual identity. That doesn’t mean you can characterize me as someone intentionally refusing to interact with society, but the legitimacy of that claim itself reflects the extent of how pivotal digital identities have become to our daily lives. The shifting standards for how people should be identified in society has real consequences for those that don’t conform, which I witnessed firsthand in college. More worrying is the existence of those who cannot integrate their digital identities but are willing to do so. Foreigners, inexperienced Internet users, and the elderly are just some examples of the many potentially left behind. Ultimately, representing one’s identity is fundamental to the human experience and while digital mediums can be of use, they should never fully replace nor require it. | Today, although some doubts resurface occasionally, I’m ultimately content living without social media. The online representation of my identity through social media isn’t fully accurate but I certainly don’t lack one outside of the Internet. Growing up, I’ve always enjoyed asserting and maintaining my individualism. This tendency manifests itself in my music taste and obviously in defending my lack of social media usage as well. Though it wasn’t my original intent to not have a well-defined digital identity, it’s become part of my actual identity. That doesn’t mean you can characterize me as someone intentionally refusing to interact with society, but the legitimacy of that claim itself reflects the extent of how pivotal digital identities have become to our daily lives. The shifting standards for how people should be identified in society has real consequences for those that don’t conform, which I witnessed firsthand in college. More worrying is the existence of those who cannot integrate their digital identities but are willing to do so. Foreigners, inexperienced Internet users, and the elderly are just some examples of the many potentially left behind. Ultimately, representing one’s identity is fundamental to the human experience and while digital mediums can be of use, they should never fully replace nor require it. | ||
Revision as of 04:19, 5 March 2021
Contents
To You, After 2000 Years
I was born in the year 2000, the beginning of the new millenium. To conspiracists, it was the year of catastrophic doom. To the Chinese lunar calendar, it was the Year of the Dragon. To me, it was the starting point of my generation, those who grew up encased in digital technology. Unlike many of my peers however, my social media usage is comparatively less. The sole social media account I own and use semi-regularly is Facebook. But in a society where creating and maintaining connections through computers is widespread, what becomes of the disconnected user’s digital identity? Thus I began my search for the selves I’ve spread across the Internet.
search?q=david+song
The first step to finding yourself online is searching your name. It's how we distinguish ourselves. Growing up as an Asian American from the Midwest, I used to think my name was somewhat unique. For the non-religious, it’s a biblical reference to a Hebrew king famous for defeating Goliath, the classic underdog narrative. It wasn’t until I became more involved in Asian American communities that I realized my name is actually extremely common among Asian Americans. Even while narrowing my scope to the University of Michigan, I am one of five David Songs. With my wistful resignation that I belong to a larger collective, I searched my name with the world’s most used search engine: Google.com. As expected, I observed that my name’s search results were inundated with countless other David Songs, all of whom were far more successful than me. It also became immediately clear that societally-valued aspects of one’s identity like occupation can affect their digital identity’s value. For instance, Google’s searching algorithm prioritized returning LinkedIn pages, gaining noticeably more traffic than other forms of identification. My LinkedIn is relatively unknown, so my digital identity is valued less. Twenty pages later and I was still nowhere close to finding a fragment of my online identity. Slowly, the results morphed into other famous Davids with the word ‘song’ somewhere included. David Bowie became a particular nemesis of mine during my search. I soon managed to reach the final page of results still finding nothing related to me. Instead of showing everyone eventually, visibility is limited to a fixed amount of server space. While the theme of ranking people based on certain qualities is mirrored in normal society, digital identities aren’t guaranteed inherent value just by existing. Even though countless David Songs exist, I’m special to someone. According to Google? I’m nobody.
search?q=david+song
Hypothesizing that specifying my search further could work, I tried rerunning the query again along with my middle name and finally, I obtained results. Using my full legal name returned a mysterious website registered as VoterRecords.com. This particular record of mine had my date of birth, current home address, date of registration, and voter ID number. Of course without my middle name, which I’ve told few, it would be extremely difficult to locate this exact webpage. But learning that someone’s address could be doxxed so easily, especially when the website is known in advance, was a discomforting realization. What concerned me even further was seeing my parents and neighbors’ information being recommended too. By voting and fulfilling my civic duty in America, I had unintentionally created a trail of digital breadcrumbs to my family. Thankfully, VoterRecords offers to remove online records given that one has the legal right which I promptly exercised. I initially assumed that my digital identity was near nonexistent due to minimal social media interaction, yet my encounter with VoterRecords demonstrated the complete opposite. Real-world actions have a say in accumulating data, either with or without informed consent. Therefore, it’s nearly impossible to fully know the self that’s controlled by data brokers, explaining why so many are unaware of their data rights.
Social Media
It’s no secret that digital identities aren’t an authentic depiction of ourselves. Any outside attempt to infer an internal state will always be prone to biases. In spite of this, I decided to explore Facebook next not because it hosts my only social media profile, but to reflect upon years of activity. Starting out very similarly to Google, I persisted in scrolling through thousands upon thousands of David Songs. I surrendered quicker this time and opened my public Facebook profile. At first glance, it’s obvious that I’m either not a frequent user of Facebook or I don’t update my profile regularly. My current profile picture promotes a school event that happened over a year ago. The last photo containing my face was posted in 2018 and I’ve only posted three in total that actually show myself. The content of my profile pictures range from a random illustration of a Magikarp to filters supporting Star Wars and Paris after the 2015 terrorist attacks. I also have things I’ve “liked” visible on my profile, most are school-related and some are of random interests like video games. Putting it all together, my Facebook profile is stereotypical of someone inactive on social media and doesn’t accurately illustrate my current identity. I no longer play video games as often and appearance-wise, I’m definitely different from myself back in 2018. It’s obvious that without an up-to-date profile, my current self wouldn’t be well represented. But even during my most active stints on Facebook, my identity never felt completely present. This mentality is reflected heavily throughout my generation, as we understand this concept best. A common pushback was the creation of smaller, private accounts exclusively meant for close friends and family, a truer expression of digital identity. There are also those who use both public and private account types, maintaining their best appearance while staying vulnerable.
Reflections
Outside of Facebook, I have no social media presence whatsoever. It’s a fair assessment to make that outside of my advertising data and random voting records, I don’t have a digital identity. In many instances, I’ve debated making some type of social media profile and committing to using it frequently. Yet this was never actualized for several reasons. Starting in 2015, I primarily began using Reddit to interact with online communities, these typically revolved around depending on what games I played. The friends I surrounded myself with also used social media minimally. Rather than socializing with my peers on social media, video games became an alternative replacement for building a network. I formed many of my highschool friendships through gaming which inadvertently contributed to my nonexistent adaptation of social media. By finding online alternatives and staying active in after-school extracurriculars, I was able to circumvent the need of having an online presence to stay connected. As time passed, I observed an increasing number of people creating accounts and sharing their identities while I continued resisting. The initial pushback arguments of privacy and mental health concerns I raised were rational but looking back, my ego was merely protecting itself. Perhaps as social media use normalized over time, I disliked admitting I didn’t have one and conjured more justifications. It became easier and easier to ignore social media because the longer I waited, the more justified my initial cause became. Ironically enough, waiting worsened the impending anxiety behind not having any social media. My worries culminated during my first year of college when my roommate admitted to thinking less of me at first for “not having an Instagram account.” This became a blunt reminder that my journey of online identity wasn’t the societal norm, seeding doubt within my actual identity.
Concluding Thoughts
Today, although some doubts resurface occasionally, I’m ultimately content living without social media. The online representation of my identity through social media isn’t fully accurate but I certainly don’t lack one outside of the Internet. Growing up, I’ve always enjoyed asserting and maintaining my individualism. This tendency manifests itself in my music taste and obviously in defending my lack of social media usage as well. Though it wasn’t my original intent to not have a well-defined digital identity, it’s become part of my actual identity. That doesn’t mean you can characterize me as someone intentionally refusing to interact with society, but the legitimacy of that claim itself reflects the extent of how pivotal digital identities have become to our daily lives. The shifting standards for how people should be identified in society has real consequences for those that don’t conform, which I witnessed firsthand in college. More worrying is the existence of those who cannot integrate their digital identities but are willing to do so. Foreigners, inexperienced Internet users, and the elderly are just some examples of the many potentially left behind. Ultimately, representing one’s identity is fundamental to the human experience and while digital mediums can be of use, they should never fully replace nor require it.
