Here are the facts:

I spent the afternoon sitting at the table in my apartment working on my monthly report to be sent to the other members of my group. Around 4pm, a heard a knock on my door. When I opened the door I found three men, all appearing to be in their early 20s and in Movistar uniforms. “Señor Juan Perez?” the one with the clipboard asked, looking confused, and obviously knowing that I was not Señor Perez. “Mmm. No, lo siento.” I responded. “Oh, perdón” he said as he looked at his clipboard. Then knocked on the apartment next door. “No hay problema” I responded, closing my door.

I sat back down at my computer feeling like I had wasted an opportunity. Not only were these potential contacts, they were internet installation workers. The exact type of people useful in an ethnography of how people use the internet. So I grabbed my stack of business cards and went back to the door. When I opened it again, two were standing on landing of the apartment steps just outside my door and using every ounce of courage I spit out “Soy antropologa y mi proyecto es en el tema de internet. Si quieren ayudar y complir una encuesta sobre el uso de internet y redes sociales en Alto Hospicio, aqui está mi tarjeta. Pueden mandarme un email y te explico mas sobre le investigación porque no quiero molestarse cuando están trabajando.” They responded with polite chitchat asking me the same things everyone does. “Where are you from?” “How long have you spent in Chile?” “How much longer are you going to stay?” I politely answered then said I would let them get back to work.

I walked inside feeling pleased that I had at least tried to make some new contacts today, even though I had pretty much resigned myself to staying inside and writing all day. In fact, I was so pleased with myself that I half-facetiously wrote on facebook, “new sampling method: when repair men accidentally knock on my door, give them my card in hopes they'll email and i can give them my survey.” I thought it was especially clever because though some anthropologists use quite rigorous sampling methods, in other circumstances it simply impossible to be systematic about choosing who will participate in a qualitative study. I follow anthropologists such as Laura Bohannan Michael Taussig, and Victor Turner, who argue that the discipline, at it’s core is opportunistic and relies on coincidence. “The way [Taussig sees] it, a plan of research is little more than an excuse for the real thing to come along, I much the same way as the anthropologist Victor Turner described the value of writing down kinship diagrams as largely an excuse to stop falling asleep on the job and provide a situation in which the real stuff got a chance to emerge” (Taussig 2011:59). [see a longer discussion here]

As facebook statuses do, after a few minutes, it had received a few likes. And then a comment. Ooh, what better way to procrastinate, I thought. Reading comments on facebook is so much more fulfilling than simple likes.

hmmm...yeah you get great info but only until a point...is that IRB proof? "I will flirt shamelessly with every person I meet until they agree to an interview" 

Suddenly, I began to question if I had been flirting. Honestly, the men were not unattractive. I did smile. Had I been subconsciously coming on to them? Did I only give them my card because I thought they were attractive? Was I too nice? Should I not have answered their questions about where I’m from and how long I’m staying in Chile?

And then I started thinking about anthropology in general. Really all anthropologists, or at least the good ones, have to flirt (in a general sense). If you want to meet new people and gain rapport with them in a relationship that usually benefits you and your career far more than it does them, you’ve got to know how to sweet talk. Whether it’s with little old ladies, friendly police officers, or the Moviestar installation men, being nice and smiling is the only way you’re going to get anywhere. Flirting is part of the skillset of an anthropologist.

Yet the way this person—this person who is a woman and an anthropologist—characterized my friendliness as “flirt[ing] shamelessly” really rather upsets me. If I had done the exact same thing, which I often consider, with the woman who comes to my door weekly selling pastries, would that be considered flirting? If I were a man and asked these installation men to email me if they’d be willing to participate in my survey would it be read the same way?

Part of my research strategy, suggested by the project leader, is going door to door (with an assistant) asking people to take the survey. Will this be construed as flirting? Is there a qualitative difference between me knocking on a random door or someone random knocking on my door? Is opportunism slutty?

In the end the comment upsets me, not because this one person made an incredibly gendered assumption in that suggesting a woman initiating conversation with a man or group of men is always “flirt[ing] shamelessly.” And it is not just because this person, as an intelligent woman trained in anthropology, should know better than to reinscribe the very ideologies that one hopes anthropologists are working against. No, it bothers me because I know it reflects a broader discourse in which a woman, and particularly a single woman who lives alone, making conversation with men must be a sexual invitation. For me, the first way to fight against this stereotype is not to sit in my apartment wishing to ask people to take the survey but fearing I will be misinterpreted. Rather it is to go out and defy these discourses (though safely), asserting myself as a capable researcher gathering participants for my survey.

Bohannan, Laura
1966  Shakespeare in the Bush: An American Anthropologist Set Out to Study the Tiv of Africa and Was Taught the True Meaning of Hamlet. Natural History 75: 23-33.

Taussig, Michael T.
2011  I Swear I Saw This: Drawings in Fieldwork Notebooks, Namely My Own. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Turner, Victor
1969  The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Aldline Publishing. 

It was a typical summer Sunday in Alto Hospicio, and my friend Jhony invited me to a barbeque at another friend’s house. He picked me up in his Jeep emblazoned with a Zorros Rojos (red foxes) sticker, announcing his membership in the truck, car, and motorcycle offroading club. We arrived at his friends’ house, and met the hosts, brothers Miguel and Paul. Paul was in a wheelchair with a broken leg from a recent motorcycle accident. Also present were Cris and my friend Alex, who is not part of the club, but just bought a used small truck and wants to start riding with them. In general, I was happy to be spending the afternoon with some people who are slightly older than me, because so much of my social circle here falls into the 20-25 year old category. 

As the three of us walked to the corner, Alex asked Jhony about changing the steering wheel in his truck. Jhony said he’d help in exchange for Alex helping him set up his new Samsung tablet phone (a Tab 3, I think). So, when we returned to the with 24 Escudo beers to the meat-smoke filled patio, Alex set to work.
   

Jhony’s first request was that Alex add Whatsapp, and in particular that he add his own and all the Zorros Rojos members’ contacts. Alex did so, and even sent a few pictures of the chicken breasts on the grill using the app. Jhony had already added Facebook, but asked the group what other apps he needed. We went around the circle offering our suggestions and the list included: Shazam, Skype, Google Chrome, Youtube, and Instagram. “What’s Instagram for?” asked Jhony. Alex explained “You upload pictures and the whole world says ‘I like it!” “It’s good for self-esteem” I offered. Alex agreed, sarcastically adding “Yep, it makes you feel like a real photographer.” Paul also offered his approval, “It's for ugly people like us. You take pictures and we come out looking good. It works like magic.”

By the time we had all consumed too many pounds of steak, chicken breast, hot dogs, and chorizo, Jhony had all of the apps we suggested as well as a flashlight, table level, compass, traffic advisory, QR scanner, and language translator on his new phone. Though I had a great time translating silly song lyrics for them, and laughing when they told Alex his new haircut looks like Miley Cyrus, I was also especially interested to get perspectives on different phone applications from people who do not see them as their main form of social engagement. Both age and their involvement in the Zorros Rojos place Facebook and other forms of social networking as supplementary forms of sociality, rather than the main way they communicate with their friends. And more than anything, I appreciated their sarcastic treatment of Instagram, which satirizes the ways so many younger people use the application. Yet, despite their degradations, they all still use it, knowing that it doesn’t quite make them artistic photographers, but appreciating that it might make their photos of tire tracks in the sand, just a little more aesthetically pleasing. 

I had a unique opportunity this morning. I was given access to an apartment of a friend whose boyfriend (pololo) had started moving some of his things in. I took the opportunity to snap some shots of his stuff: the most important things for daily living he had transplanted into her space. I thought something a little different might make for an interesting post. 

I suspect these items would be common in Northern Chile, but I cannot be sure. I am curious what might items might be the most important for a woman moving into her boyfriend's apartment. Would the amount of toiletries and clothing be bigger? Would the number and size of electronics be smaller? Or perhaps different in nature (hair dryers instead of stereos)? I am equally curious how these things vary from culture to culture.

I am reminded of my summers during grad school when I would pack up my car with the essentials and drive twelve hours from Washington D.C. to Chicago to spend two months with my boyfriend. Two boxes of books, a suitcase of clothes (another small duffle bag for shoes), my computer, and my bike helmet were the essentials. 

Obviously these things vary person to person, but this instant of beginning to move in with a significant other is not only important for the relationship. The things we move with us first, the things we deem most essential to daily life, these items of material culture give a unique and deeply revealing look into a person. 

I'm curious what other people have taken or would take when beginning to move in. Whether it is with a significant other, a friend, or simply an extended stay with family-what are the essential material possessions you take with you? Please leave a comment!

The selfie has been the subject of much discussion in recent times, from valuations of vanity to criticisms of public figures taking self-portraits at solemn events. But the selfie is more than narcicism or pathology. For anthropologists, it can actually tell us quite a bit about daily life, leisure (or not so leisureful) time, and notions of beauty.

About a month ago, I began analyzing the Instagram feeds of almost 75 residents of Alto Hospicio, most of them under the age of 25. Certain aspects of their Instagram usage were not terribly surprising. The example I present here is the selfie. Of their last 15 photos, all users averaged about 6 selfies (this was also fairly consistent between young men and woman, with only a .07 average difference). But what was surprising was the lack of artistry that seemed to be attributed to these photos. Filters were used, but subject matter was not particularly “beautiful.” Shots were not composed with symmetry, with horizontal lines leveled, or with the rule of thirds in mind. Neither were shots noteworthy for their “rarity.” As Jon Snow of Chanel 4 tells Nimrod Kamer in his short Guardian video about selfies, “I think if you’re somewhere rare, it’s worth [taking a selfie], or if you’re doing something rare, it’s worth doing it.” (see min 2:55-3:05 of the video below). 

But these photos are taken in family living rooms, while at work, and the backseat of an older sibling’s car. The exact places the users traverse every day. The definitive opposite of “rare.” Instead, they are taken in utterly mundane places. The ubiquity of mundane photos corresponds closely to Daniel Miller’s assertion that the intention behind photography is now not so much to produce a photograph, but that the photography legitimates the act of taking a picture. The transience of Instagram also legitimates the mundane self-portrait. It is not a portrait meant for a display of beauty, but rather a document of the moment. In this sense, it’s intention to amuse in the moment (or short period of time thereafter). It not only is briefly entertaining in the instant of taking the photo, but provides entertainment for a friend or follower who might view the photo. Further, through collecting likes and comments, the mundane photo may serve to break up a mundane day for the user. 

The other most common form of self-portrait was the “sassy” photo. These appear like fashion magazine photos aimed at showing off clothing. They are often either taken in the mirror or by a friend. Hands are often on the hips, or in another “fashion model” sort of pose. It is important to note the difference here between sassy and sexy. Though the line between the two can at times be ambiguous, sexy photos usually involve the subject with little clothing, lying on a bed, or showing cleavage or abs. Sassy photos on the other hand are the type your mother might comment “Oh, you look so cute!” Notably, in these sassy photos, the clothing that is being shown off is rarely overly stylish. Hair is usually not noticeably done for a special occasion. Though these certainly pop up when people attend formal events (such as weddings or graduations), they more commonly appear with every day clothing and style. 

The point of understanding self-portraits, including selfies, is that it lends us information about conceptions of attractiveness and beauty among particular groups of people. And attractiveness is something that most people think about when posing for a portrait that they will then share with their networks. This is evident here from bodily poses and facial expressions. Both are chosen in these photos, meaning there is an explicit, self-conscious presentation of the self.

However, what seems quite clear to me, given the number of mundane photos and sassy photos that display everyday clothing and hair, is that people’s sense of what forms of attractiveness are worthy of display are actually quite “normal.” This is reinforced by my observations in Alto Hospicio in general. People are rarely dressed nicely. Jeans, shorts, and t-shirts are the norm. It is rare to see women in dresses or fancy tops. Most men wear sneakers and most women wear flip flop sandals. Women especially wear bright colors. Men also generally wear t-shirts, though during the week it is not uncommon to see men on their work lunch breaks wearing plaid short sleeved collared shirts with jeans. 

I’m reminded here of two different critiques of “critiques of selfies,” which both have come from self-identified “feminist” bloggers. The first, The Young Girl and the Selfie written by a woman who is an ex-PhD student in sociology, suggests that the selfie, represents the perfect contradiction of late-capitalism: young women’s bodies’ are both a target for consumption (particularly for “beauty” and “style” products) and judged not by those who inhabit them, but by those who gaze upon them. Thus, the selfie is the logical outcome of this combination of pressures. And when the selfie is demonized, it becomes “simultaneously the site of desire and pity.” Teen girls are “Young-Girls” [a type, not individuals], are spectacles, are narcissists, are consumers, because those are the very criterion that must be met to be a young woman and also part of society.

The second blog, The Radical Politics of Selfies goes beyond this first piece, arguing that while perhaps selfies may reflect “the way society teaches women that their most important quality is their physical attractiveness…not all [people] are allowed to see themselves as beautiful, desirable, sexy, or fit for human consumption.” For many, mass media representations of people who look like them are nowhere to be found. Magazines, television, movies, and advertisements depict people who are so far from physically similar to women of color, queer women, differently-abled people, and even people with a high percentage of body fat, that they are not only an unrealistic ideal, but have little to no resonance. Thus, the author concludes, that social media allows for people who do not fit these molds to find (and produce) proper representations of themselves.

Alto Hospicio is the kind of place where people do not look like the actors in television shows they watch. They do not look like the news anchors on CNN Chile, let alone the South American telenovelas that most middle-aged women watch. They are generally darker skinned, shorter, wider, and have more indigenous features. And to dress or otherwise present themselves as such might not be authentic. Even though the city is a melting pot of Northern Chileans, Southern Chileans, Bolivians, Peruvians, and Colombians, they generally all blend together in a homogenizing soup of “normalness.” No one really stands out. Skin tones range from the light tan of mixed Spanish/Indigenous/German heritage to the dark tone of Afro-South Americans, but the casual clothing, low-maintenance hair styles, and lack of other physical beauty accents brings everyone together. Thus, perhaps the selfie acts as resistance against erasure: within this homogenizing crowd, for the region that is often forgotten politically and lacks representation in media.