The Freedom of Anonymity

I was always a more independent kid than others in my neighborhood. An upper-middle-class suburb, largely, it attracted the cautious types. My elementary school was a short six or ten-minute walk away from my house. A quaint path through the woods or a stroll through the prairie, and I was there, at the newly built, massive elementary school. Crime was a rarity, yet that didn’t stop any of the parents from being cautious. Many of the parents, whose kids lived close to mine, would not let their kids walk to school alone. But I had, ever since I was six or seven. My parents both had military backgrounds. Where I lived, I never met any other kids whose parents were veterans, so perhaps that was why my growing up was different from theirs. My parents preached independence. As many places as I could walk on my own and as many things as I could do on my own, they allowed.

When choosing DePaul, I had to consider the fact that it was in a major city. Yet the proximity to home was appealing, and the more I thought about being a city, the more I liked the sound of it. My parents were supportive of my choice. Just like when I was a kid, they preached the same values of independence. They were wary, of course, and my dad discussed self-defense, but he was not against the idea. Ultimately, both he and my mom had given me the tools growing up to make my own choices and go places by myself.

I took this photo on one of my first walks in the city, as I discovered the beauty of my surroundings.

In spite of my independence back home, there were things that held me back. I always wanted to explore more than I did. Most stores were not accessible by walking, so I could not go anywhere until I had a car. But when I did, I found myself sitting at home more often than not. The idea of going out and seeing people I knew seemed exhausting. As much as I liked to hang out with friends or catch up, sometimes I wished I could do my own thing, in public, and be politely ignored.

My limitations extended past travel. I was afraid to break out of my shell. Any way I could act or dress differently might be noticed or commented upon. So many people in my town have known me my whole life. I didn’t want people to have an opinion or judge where I was going or why I was doing it. So when I came to Chicago, a small weight was lifted off my shoulders. People did not know me. There were many places I could go and things I could do, and no one would care.

I connected to Rebecca Solnit’s writing. I like when she says that “cities have always offered anonymity, variety, and conjunction, qualities best basked in by walking” (Solnit 182). In this section of her work, she talks about how cities offer people the benefit of anonymity. Due to the variety of people in a crowded space, you as a walker are just one of many unknowns to others. Opposite to the small-town experience, people do not know you. It is like browning in incognito, only you are seen, but not known. In addition to this anonymity, Solnit talks about “variety and conjunction”. This refers not only to the endless stream of people, places, and experiences found within a city, but how all these things are happening at once. Cars swing a right turn as pedestrians walk ahead in the crosswalk. People enter stores while others leave. There is no time for separation. Everything and everyone must coexist at once.

I quickly discovered the perks of anonymity. A few stores in my hometown had employees from my high school who worked there. I would dread going to those stores, in case I was forced into an awkward conversation, or worse, judged somehow. But within a week of college, I went to so many places I would have dreaded going to alone. No one I knew was around. The variety of what I could experience was endless. Places new and old surrounded me. Public transportation meant that anywhere within the city limits was a plausible destination. I researched places to walk, eat, and shop. My walks to some of these places ended up being memorable experiences.

My walk along this bridge near Roosevelt Station was one of my most memorable. I enjoyed the view as I walked on my own.

In Giles Turnbull’s article “Handheld Time Machines’’, he repeats the line “they disregard me”, or some variation thereof (Turnbull). He says this as he documents his various experiences, including photographing two strangers who do not pay any mind to his action. He uses the word “disregard” to describe the tendency of those in the city to ignore people and occurrences. Being in an urban area, it is natural that people desire privacy. By “disregarding” the actions of others, we are giving them that little bit of privacy. We are allowing another person to exist without our gaze influencing them. I have observed this disregard countless times. People shout and gesture on trains, but they are ignored. I have come to adapt to this level of regard for others. When I see something strange, I disregard it and look at my phone or right through what is happening.

For myself, I found this disregard to be freeing. Similar to the idea of anonymity, knowing I am being disregarded by most people allows me to be myself. Not only am I a stranger to most people, I am unimportant. Even with strangers in my hometown, there was still a higher likelihood someone might judge me. With less exciting things happening, my bad hair day might be of interest to a random person. In Chicago, this is less true. Amongst people shouting and cursing, my frizzy hair is the least of anyone’s worries. I no longer feel the same pressure when being in public because it takes so much more to stand out. Not standing out is a peaceful feeling.

In Lauren Elkin’s “Radical Flâneuserie”, she talks about how women are seen as walkers of the street. Men are not questioned in the same way as women are. Historically, women on the streets were considered sex workers. Otherwise, women had to be shopping to have a valid excuse to be out and about. As someone who enjoys walking for leisure, I connected to Elkin’s words about what it means to exist in a male-dominated society. In particular, she says that “rather than wandering aimlessly, like the flâneur, the most salient characteristic of the flâneuse is that she goes where she’s not supposed to” (Elkin).

I took this photo when I walked around Soldier Field. I was alone in an empty area.

I relate to this quote due to a specific walk I had that made me feel that way. When I was on one of my walks for Discover Chicago, I ended up wandering behind Soldier Field. The area was empty and deserted. I felt as though I should not be there and that it would be seen as strange if anyone knew I was there. I had no clear “purpose” there. There was nothing obvious for me to see, nor any product or service to consume. Reading Elkin’s work makes me wonder how a man might feel in a similar circumstance. Do men as often question whether they belong when out for a stroll? When I passed Soldier Field, I was walking alongside an almost desolate road. The bridge I eventually reached to cross the train tracks looked empty and distant. I felt almost too small for it and out of place, wondering if the cars passing by me would think I was lost. As a walker, as a “flâneuse”, I walk where I am not supposed to. I am neither shopping nor selling my body. I am a person walking of my own accord.

I took this photo on a bridge over train tracks. The area was very empty.

On the Chicago Park District website, I read up on the inner workings of Grant Park, a place I have gone to on my walks. What I found fascinating was that the creation of the park was specifically promised as an area that would be public and remain free of buildings. I find it really valuable that the city saw this as important. While much of my walking has taken place alongside buildings, it can be harder to stroll leisurely in a space so heavily based on commerce and business. When I walked in Grant Park, I felt more welcome to wander, due to the lack of buildings. The park incentivizes walking and was made as a public space where people could share, and I have enjoyed being able to use the space.

The Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park, where I took one of my walks. Many other people were enjoying the space, as I was.

WORKS CITED

Elkin, Lauren. “Radical Flâneuserie.” The Paris Review, 31 Oct. 2016, www.theparisreview.org/blog/2016/08/25/radical-flaneuserie/.

“Grant (Ulysses) Park.” Chicago Park District, Chicago Park District, www.chicagoparkdistrict.com/parks-facilities/grant-ulysses-park. Accessed 24 Oct. 2023.

Solnit, Rebecca. Wanderlust: A History of Walking. New York, Viking, 2000. Accessed 24 Oct. 2023.

Turnbull, Giles. “Handheld Time Machines.” The Morning News, themorningnews.org/article/handheld-time-machines. Accessed 24 Oct. 2023.