The date is July 11th, 2024. I lay eyes on the most surreal city skyline, formed by towering skyscrapers with vibrant neon lights resembling a scene out of a dystopian cyberpunk science fiction film. As I walk through the busy commercial streets of Chongqing, China, I question how “real” this city is—how many layers of superficiality and commoditized simulation-like environments exist in a metropolis like this? The city is heavily technologically integrated, everything operates digitally, including currency and its people live under facial recognition surveillance systems and biometric scanners present throughout its public spaces. The streets are busy with internet subcultures popular with the youth such as Erciyuan and street food made for the spectacle of online food vloggers and mukbang videos.
The culture and infrastructure of Chongqing resemble the network and nonlinear structure of the Internet. It is a vast, interlinked space curated by the functionality of software and technological infrastructure. Its nonlinear structure creates a void from which identity, language, and new forms of consumption emerge. Have we reached the threshold in which the internet and reality become indiscernible? The internet is not just a completely virtual space if we observe the movement of culture and language in our real world. Is there even a “real” and “authentic” world to experience at this point or should we reconsider authenticity as a concept?
The neon lights of the skyline dissipated as a new day began in my exploration of the city. I hurried to visit a mall like no other. An entire underground mall decorated with sci-fi imagery, colorful lights, and vibrant subcultures present in each shop and space. In the central space of the mall, there were many cosplayers of video games and music that mostly resonated with the youth—hard-hitting bass, 808s, and high beats per minute. The atmosphere and environment are immersive, as if many different spaces of internet culture collided into one, ranging from science fiction and anime to video games.
Despite the experience of seeing such scenery being enjoyable, there is a lingering feeling of superficiality—the question of how “real” everything is at this moment. An entire mall of simulated reality and digital characters morphed into reality; a takeover of the virtual world into reality itself. Is this manufactured world an escape from the mundanity of everyday life? Or is this the most desirable reality for many people? The internet has created a space for fictional ideas and concepts to manifest into reality; language and culture that exist primarily online have permeated into reality and endlessly transposed their own representation. We’ve reached a point where we cannot distinguish the origin of a concept, idea, or narrative—whether something originated from our real world or the internet. As much as I adore the vibrant and lively subcultures within Chongqing, there is a lingering sense of superficiality that is omnipresent in every space of the city.
It was evening. As I looked outside my hotel window from the 28th floor, I could see Jiefangbei getting lit up at night; various illuminated billboards for designer products surrounding the city. I found it ironic that a monument commemorating the end of World War II, symbolizing Chinese freedom from Japanese occupation, is located in the centrality of the most consumerist and technologically subjugated city in China. Near the docks of the city, photographers are spotted with professional equipment enticing tourists to pay a fee for a picture taken at Hongyadong. These pictures are notably taken for social media likes and views due to the usage of filtering and photoshopping done on the spot. Even street food here can not be separated from the spectacle of online food vlogging, as many spots in Chongqing emphasize presentation, aesthetics, and marketability over the tradition and culture of the food it represents. The commodification of what is considered traditional Chinese culture is seen throughout the entire city.
I felt like there’s an existential dread that exists among people who live in economically and technologically advanced societies that they are unable to escape from. You can’t escape the internet living in Chongqing; you need it for public transportation, doctor visits, and even to pay for a bottle of water. WeChat is an essential app as the entire society is cashless; you use it for everyday payments and communication with family. A paradoxical, yet melancholic dilemma occurs: how do you escape something that ingrains an existential dread in your mind, yet it is also the very thing that allows you to feel fulfilled? The digital space is everywhere and inescapable no matter where you are.
One of the biggest clothing stores I visited in Chongqing separates its inventory by denoting sections of the store by feng ge (aesthetics or style). There is something universal in the way language on the internet has permeated into conversational and colloquial usage. The attachment of the suffix “-core” or “aesthetic” denotes a certain category in which some form of medium falls stylistically or connotatively, especially prevalent in spaces concerned with fashion and graphic art. The separation of clothing using online lingo describing aesthetics and genres is an obscene view, almost as if sections were individual Pinterest boards.
Would I have seen the store in that way if I had never exposed myself to the Internet? Is my entire perspective on the world and the rapid digitalization of it my very own doing due to too much online content consumption? The way I view myself and the way I view the world has become dependent and largely influenced by my digital consumption. Similar to those people at the mall, and the people who live in Chongqing, I am an indiscernible amalgamation of everything I experienced digitally and outside the digital world—a mosaic of the digital and real world. Yet, I continuously impose myself upon an ever-changing world in which the virtual is inseparable from reality.
A world that is always changing is a world that is asking to be changed, similarly, just like ourselves. Nothing can grasp this idea more than a show that greatly resonated with me called, Serial Experiments Lain. This show explores the concept of reality as cyberspace gradually merges into one plane of reality. Throughout the series, the boundary between the real world and the virtual disintegrates into a singular form of reality. Our main protagonist, Lain, is a regular high school student who becomes heavily involved in an online cult that seeks to bring about digital transcendence, in which the mind and consciousness can exist without the physical limitations of the real world. She accesses something called “The Wired” (equivalent to our Internet) throughout the series, which serves as the boundary between reality and the digital, which becomes a surrealist amalgamation.
Metaphorically, this show conveys the consequences of uncontrollable technological growth and the prevalence of superficiality that can come with it. We see Lain creating a new world and imposing her will within “The Wired,” creating something entirely new and accessing the “outside world” of her reality. The show ends with the disintegration of “herself” as the separation between her “digital self” and “real self” becomes nonexistent because everything exists within the world that does not belong to her own will.
For me, authenticity is not a constant state of “realness” that we experience or some truth about ourselves that we put out into the world. We need to accept that there is no “authenticity” in the way we attach “trueness” or “realness” to ourselves, but authenticity is the striving for the “real” in the presence of the virtual and superficial. To be authentic is the continuous imposition of your own will upon a world that is built upon superficiality and virtuality; it is to control the modality of your own world.
The “self” in a world in which cyberspace and the real world become increasingly discernible is akin to being a cyborg, an amalgamation of digital consumption and machinic desires. We’re sentient cyborgs stuck in a room without an escape—no doors, no windows, and only small gaps that allow us to see the outside. We will never be able to escape because, like Lain’s world, everything that is encoded within our psyche and sense of self does not fully belong to our will. Just like within the boundaries of Chongqing, people live to change themselves and their surroundings—no matter how heavy the existential dread that comes with technological subjugation. Despite the superficiality and rapid digitalization of the city, there are small pockets of authenticity that you can see, small gaps in the wall. The desire to experience the outside is our strive for authenticity, beyond the walls of the superficial and virtual that encloses us.