I see the skin and read its label. Photorealistic. Free. Nice tan, with facial (as well as cranial) hair conveniently prepackaged. Perfect for the builder avatar I am creating for my RL work in SL. So I come up with a genderless moniker, proceed to my local sandbox to try the skin on, much as one would go to a RL dressing room to try a pair of pants, and immediately get complimented by a woman I know, but who obviously does not recognize me under my assumed name. Self-consciousness creeps in as I realize I’ve just assumed more than a male skin, but have been attributed doses of testosterone-induced characteristics which will now define my existence as a man. “Looking good, babe” I read in my chat line. I shift my camera’s perspective repeatedly still trying find out if the comment is meant for my eyes, and then I see it: it is a private IM. There is no mistaking the intention of the speaker; the message was for me. A simple thank you will have to serve as the coda to wrap-up the ten lines of chat the woman had already sent me. At this point, I think to myself, I’m not quite ready to talk or act like a man otherwise why would I feel blood rushing to my face? Did I just blush in RL about an episode in SL?
Having gained the courage to move ahead, as a “looking good, babe”, I went in search of a sim affiliated with the institution I work for in RL. Serious RL business in SL. When I got there I realized the place was deserted except for one pink, Muppet-resembling avatar whose gender I suspected to be male. I circled around him finally stopping in mid-air to inquire about his presence on this island. As a researcher, I have no problem posing questions to my interlocutors. As a man, with a perfectly symmetrical goatee on my sculpted chin, and whose profile contains no link to my academic work, I was suddenly inquisitorial and rude. “Are you my inquisitioner?” the Muppet asked. The conversation, if it can be construed as such, quickly deteriorated to the point where I was dodging derogatory terms accusing me of being sexist against pink Muppets, as ignorant about the semiotic elements of color, as racist for not embracing avatar difference, even if only in cartoon form, as intolerant for presumably not wanting him/her there. And just as fast, being a man became a deficit. I could no longer hide under the “babe” label given to me thirty minutes earlier at the Hamnida sandbox. I was presumably now a male with insecurity issues. And while the Muppet’s intentions remained unclear, once again I felt the blood rushing to my face, albeit for a different reason. At that moment I thought of slapping this Muppet with the knowledge that I am a woman (of color) who asks questions as part of her academic training.
