Although instant messaging is a business tool I use every day, I still associate it with flirting, gossip and idle chat. That may be because it’s now social and entertaining enough to include chat avatars, cute little pictures of your virtual self that display during your instant messaging session. My Yahoo! Messenger avatar wears a suit and a tie, as befits my sombre work persona, but you can choose any body, hair, eyes, or clothes you desire. Some wear jewellery. Some have pet tigers. These avatars wink a bit, or frown, but don't do much else. They're not exactly alive. Elsewhere on the web, at IMVU.com for example, that's changing.
As I write this, more than 9,000 people are logged in to IMVU's 3D avatar instant messaging service. You register with the site, create a basic avatar, download a little Java application, and you're good to go. Instead of being limited to emoticons and text, you can move around in a virtual 3D space, and chat via cartoon speech bubbles that appear over your avatar's head, complete with a huge range of body types, costumes, and backgrounds. You can move, emote, shake hands, breakdance, burp, smile and generally carry on as though you were a character in The Simpsons. And all, I hasten to add, when you could be doing real work.
The founders of IMVU thought that people would probably use the application to chat with their existing friends, but have discovered that many users also really like to use IMVU to meet random new people. In the interests of research, I log on and find myself in a virtual coffee shop, seated at a coffee table. Another avatar drops amusingly from top of screen to land in the chair opposite. She's not dressed for an office meeting.
Slightly confused by the interface, I manage to type out "Hey there…", the modern office worker's chipper-but-ever-so-sad greeting. My companion yawns, flicking her hair out of her eyes. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, I explain that I'm researching an article and would like to know why she uses IMVU. Her avatar suddenly seems to scream out in a panic, "Say hello to my Mom!" who has clearly walked into the room behind her. Hmm. We bide our time until "Mom" has gone, and I repeat my request, explaining that I'm not interested in dating but would love to get that quote for my article.
Winding me up with some style, she says, "But we *are* dating!" Suddenly both our avatars are standing up, holding hands, and gazing into each other's eyes. Slightly embarrassed that my work monitor now displays all the hallmarks of a cyber date, I type clearly into the balloon bubble that appears above my head that I need to keep this STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL. My companion laughs and our avatars embrace in a sweaty clinch, but this time I'm prepared and pop out a quick break-dancing move, standing on one hand to keep, as it were, my feet on the metaphorical floor. Like the professional columnist I am, I make my excuses and leave.
I immediately receive an e-mail from IMVU congratulating me on completing my first IMVU conversation, and offering me 50 credits to spend on my homepage. IMVU doesn't charge for its basic service: instead it hosts a flourishing online market in clothes, accessories and other elements you can use to make your IMVU avatar look cool, whether you want to look like a male jaguar, a female coyote, or a smiling disembodied head. All this stuff is user-generated content made up and sold by users of the service.
This is where it all starts to get interesting. The IMVU web page is essentially just another social networking venue, like Myspace.com or Bebo.com, in which you can lay out the wonder of your online persona when you're not chatting via IM, and which allows you to check people out while you're chatting to them. It allows people to customise their pages with art called "stickers" for which it charges, and keeps track of the usual social networking metrics, like buddies and visitors, as well as allowing users to exchange virtual goods as gifts.
I'm sure we're going to see more and more real-time chat via avatars as this sort of interaction becomes just another way for people communicate online. Right now you can browse MySpace.com and see someone who you want to connect with. An enticing little orange icon will tell you that they're online now – just a click away, if you're brave enough. You can send them an instant message, but what if you could take the connection one step further, and interact directly with their avatar, IMVU style? If they could take you in their virtual office, home, or park, or show you their address on Google Earth, or their mansion in Second Life?
The odd thing about human beings is how quickly they seem to be able to integrate stuff outsides themselves into their identity, projecting their image in the brand of jeans they wear, the car they drive or their haircut. Online avatars are a surprisingly powerful way of creating the illusion of contact between selves, and are now colouring and enlivening all sorts of online interactions. All new technologies seem to be used initially for sex, but then they settle down, the accountants get involved and we find other uses for them apart from love and smut. It may not be too long before your avatar is chatting to your supplier's avatar in Singapore about shipping costs.
I suspect that 3D avatar chat will emerge as another way of being online, like e-mail and instant messaging, like uploading images, video, or sound, as a fun way to bring existing social networking sites to life. Expect avatar-based interaction to appear soon at a social networking site near you, and then to gradually seep into your other business interactions. And don't be surprised if like Myspace.com, or Bebo.com, or IMVU.com, you find that the people doing this are offensively young, and often operating under their mums’ radar. Like text messaging, this stuff will be driven by those darn kids.
This week I've suddenly started receiving invitations to join Yahoo! 360, a hosted web page that will allow me "to keep connected to friends and family through blogs, photos and more…" in other words, yet another social network hung off the back of my chat identity. The only drawback is the risk that all these online virtual selves are creating a new mental illness: multiple online personality disorder. Make sure your avatar gets regular online counselling.
