Cultivating Pleasure In Virtual Space
From Zoom Fatigue to Zoom Resilience
Data & Society’s Health & Data team analyzes not just health data collection, but also the many unintended consequences of technology. As a team, we investigate what constitutes healthy online behavior. This prompted me to interrogate my increasingly contentious relationship with Zoom. The term “Zoom fatigue” caught on quickly after the transition to remote everything (work, school, social activities) solidified. Finding the energy to be social from a space normally relegated to privacy and rest (my apartment) was an affective labor that drained my energy as a technology user, but fascinated me as a researcher.
Zoom fatigue feels like my computer sucking out the last vestiges of my soul as I try desperately to emote through a piece of metal and plastic.
Zoom fatigue feels like my computer sucking out the last vestiges of my soul as I try desperately to emote through a piece of metal and plastic. It always results in an immediate emotional and physical collapse every time that we finally, finally click that red button to end the call. In a recent article for Technology, Mind, and Behavior, communications scholar Jeremy Bailenson identifies the design flaws that cause Zoom fatigue. Bailenson points to nonverbal overload––a mix of physical, psychological, and technological dis-affordances that result in a feeling of tiredness — as a key contributor to Zoom fatigue. Excessive amounts of close-up eye gaze, sending and receiving extra nonverbal cues, increased self-evaluation from staring at oneself in the little Zoom box, and constraints on physical mobility; these phenomena, Bailenson argues, compound to leave frequent video conference callers in a state of exhaustion:
“On Zoom, behavior ordinarily reserved for close relationships — such as long stretches of direct eye gaze and faces seen close up — has suddenly become the way we interact with casual acquaintances, coworkers, and even strangers.”
This misplaced emotionality in the (virtual) workplace is heightened for marginalized people, specifically Black women. Black women have been relied upon to perform emotional labor in the workplace long before the pandemic. We are expected to willingly engage in racialized and gendered discussions, to fit in as a funny or sassy token (lest we become seen as angry), and to meet intangible and unknowable standards tied to our identity without our knowledge or consent.
Fading into the background at work and in the world was never an option for Black women and on Zoom, our hypervisibility and all-too-familiar tokenization can be exacerbated by a digital infrastructure that is redefining workplace interaction.
Fading into the background at work and in the world was never an option for Black women and on Zoom, our hypervisibility and all-too-familiar tokenization can be exacerbated by a digital infrastructure that is redefining workplace interaction. In my own experience, this weighted feeling of having to be fully “on” as a Black woman at work has made Zoom calls the most draining part of any given day in quarantine.
In February 2021, when Disney+ announced that it would be adding the 1997 TV adaptation of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella starring Brandy Norwood and Whitney Houston, I was surprised to notice a change in my staunch anti-Zoom stance. I immediately sent a message to a group text made up of my dearest Black femme friends about planning a watch party. “Black Cinderella,” as we called it in my home, was my favorite movie growing up. In the tradition of treasured childhood memories its songs, costumes, and genuine Black Girl Magic have occupied a warm space in my memory ever since. Every Black woman who is old enough to remember VHS tapes, myself included, absolutely lost it when the news dropped.
After a few cancellations and postponements due to Zoom fatigue in our work lives, we finally settled on a Friday night that worked across three time zones. We fumbled around Disney+’s “Watch Together” feature and hopped on FaceTime with our videos on and sound muted. From the moment Brandy appeared on screen, I knew that this video conference would be unlike all the others. We were cutting up, cracking jokes, reviving old memories, and simply enjoying each other’s company. I found the words to every song effortlessly rolling off my lips, and to my absolute joy and comfort, so did my lovely friends. We would unmute ourselves, roast Prince Charming’s dated hairstyle, mute ourselves and sing along as loud as we could, and then unmute again to praise the very concept of Whitney Houston’s existence.
From the moment Brandy appeared on screen, I knew that this video conference would be unlike all the others. We were cutting up, cracking jokes, reviving old memories, and simply enjoying each other’s company.
Most amazing of all, after two hours of exchanging emotions and affect and nonverbal cues, I felt energized.
The feeling I was left with was one that reminded me of pre-pandemic times when social interaction was frequent and random and tactile and whole. In the absence of the in-person interactions that replenish my energy, I was finally able to find a way to use a tool that I proudly hated in service of genuine joy. Accessibility advocate Chancey Fleet described this feeling in an April 2020 podcast episode for Data & Society: “It takes a measure of isolation, needing things that you don’t have convenient to hand, and marginalization to motivate the average person to network more broadly and more deeply, and to start a structuring an interdependent support system.” My alienation from pre-pandemic socializing and a weighted experience as a Black woman in a virtual space turned a virtual gathering into a survival tactic. For me, our Black Cinderella virtual movie night brought a deepening of my network, a replenishing of our interdependency, and an affirmation of the parts of my identity on a digital platform that once felt purely extractive.
My alienation from pre-pandemic socializing and a weighted experience as a Black woman in a virtual space turned a virtual gathering into a survival tactic.
In a recent blog post, adrienne maree brown, an author, doula, and emergent strategist, wrote about the benefits of sharing our individual access to abundance when it exists, especially in a time as draining and exploitative as a pandemic. “If you’re good, say you’re good,” she explains, noting that the tendency to feel guilty about experiencing joy these days can actually be harmful. In the places where we experience abundance, joy, and pleasure, it is important to share not only our access to these things but how we tap into them. While I don’t think I can claim complete “goodness” in my current relationship with Zoom, I have made a concerted effort to bring what I could from my movie night into other video calls. Faced with a Zoom invite that does not offer Brandy and Whitney Houston’s legendary harmonies, I try to offer myself grace for missing nonverbal cues, fixing my hair while staring at my little Zoom box, and even feeling tired after all of that virtual emoting.
I know that not every Zoom call can be a joy-filled catch-up with friends, but now I know that good Zoom calls not only exist, but can be cultivated.
In our primer debunking four myths about digital well-being, the Health & Data team emphasizes the idea that different people have different responses to technology, even on the same platform. While “healthy technology” has no clear definition, appropriating digital tools to meet individual or community needs is one way that we can confront unhealthy technology use. As we look forward to a transition away from virtual work, it is important to own and define healthy tech for ourselves, an action that people with disabilities, teenagers, trans and nonbinary people, sex workers, and others who re-invent videocalls practice every single day. By reflecting on what made my Zoom calls feel good, I have been able to carry energy-giving practices into my digital life, and revolutionize my understanding of what it means to be fulfilled in online interactions. Whether it be practicing calm by adopting a new Zoom breathing practice, adding humor by messing around with wonky Zoom sound effects, or self-sabotaging your audio feed to mount an escape, there is no better time to tap into new, radical, pleasurable ways to meet online.
Joan Mukogosi is a research assistant with the Health and Data team at Data & Society, and data researcher at COVID Black.
