I’m a people watcher. Whether it be at Midtown, Turlington or in class, you can often find me unabashedly staring at people from a stationary viewpoint — usually just watching, but occasionally taking notes. What started as a slightly creepy habit has recently been exacerbated by my independent research class, which requires me to take extensive field notes on basically anything I observe people doing. Sure, I was used to standing in a corner at any given social event and idly watching people interact. However, something about taking notes took it to a sociopathic level I wasn’t particularly comfortable with.
For the first few weeks I situated myself in Starbucks or on the Plaza of the Americas and just watched people to my heart’s content, the echoes of my mother’s voice in my head yelling, "Don’t stare, it’s rude!" growing fainter by the minute. Anything that struck me as slightly interesting I would take note of. You’d be surprised by how many things I noticed: the way people interacted with friends, recurring themes in conversations and even how people ordered their coffee. Yet, the most prevalent observations concerned cellphone use.
Ah, cellphones. Between your parents complaining, "Your eyes are glued to that phone!" and the constant articles decrying our generation’s technological addiction, you just can’t escape the discussion that surrounds our favorite little device.
When you observe people for hours on end, patterns are bound to appear. One after another, I watched students walk through Turlington Plaza without looking up once from their phones; a concerning yet impressive skill in my estimation, considering I’ve walked straight into lampposts without any distraction to blame. People with headphones in, texting and FaceTiming kept passing me as I marveled at something I hadn’t noticed before because, well, I’m usually on my phone, too. After I started noticing it, I became hyper aware, seeing more and more people completely disengaged with reality whenever I ventured outside my apartment.
I’m really trying to not be that girl — the one that whines about the evils of technology and praises a time period she never actually experienced — because, let’s be honest, that girl’s the worst. I may have a strong distaste for Kindles, but I use my phone just as much as any other 20-year-old college girl. I don’t yearn for "the good ol’ days" or wish people sent more letters. Technology has made this world undeniably better, and for that I’m forever grateful.
However, sometimes it takes watching the video of the Arizona State University "selfie girls" at the Diamondbacks game or seeing Eric Pickersgill’s photographic series "Removed" to realize how much time we’re spending staring at a screen and scrolling through useless information instead of enjoying the moment we’re in. For those who haven’t seen "Removed," it’s a collection of black-and-white photographs capturing people in everyday situations with the phones removed from their hands. What results is an eerie series of images depicting utter isolation, people blankly gazing at the empty space in their hands instead of their families, friends or significant others.
As I scrolled through some of the photos in the series, I was struck with the same guilty cognizance I felt watching students dash through Turlington Plaza with complete disregard for what was going on around them. It’s unquestionably difficult to ignore those notifications for the sake of being present in the moment, but I promise you it’s worth it. Feel free to start some people watching of your own, but maybe skip taking notes and potentially creeping out everyone around you.
Marisa Papenfuss is a UF English junior. Her column appears on Tuesdays.
