AB: Tell me about the timeliness of Lena Chen’s project OnlyBans (2021).

AF: When I was first talking with Lena Chen, who is a writer, performer, and multimedia artist based in Pittsburg, she originally was going to participate in the exhibition through a work she was planning to make that features a character called Elle Peril. Elle Peril is an alternate ego Lena created for herself, who she performs and writes as. However, since Instagram changed its terms of service recently, many sex workers or sexual content providers on Instagram have been negatively affected. The platform is essentially censoring this material, blocking accounts, or removing posts in very hypocritical ways. For example, ads still exist on Instagram that are for lingerie, pleasure products, etc. These ads are not removed because there’s a direct link for Instagram to be a part of the transaction and profit from the products being sold. A lot of sex workers who use Instagram use it as an advertising platform, but not as a platform from which you receive payment. So now, sex or erotic workers are unable to use the platform the same way at all, for their business, it’s extremely prohibiting and difficult especially during the pandemic. 

Because of this, Lena decided to go forward with a project she’d had in the works called OnlyBans, an interactive online game. She decided to develop this game and offered to put it in the exhibition instead of the original project, as she was worried it would be banned if put on Instagram. You can access OnlyBans now through a laptop or desktop (it’s not mobile yet) and you play this game as a sex worker starting a business. The game takes you through a series of questions, asking you what you would do if this was your reality. Would you use your real email or fake? What kind of pictures would you post? How risky would you be? It takes you through the process to build an understanding for those that are actually living this. I thought this work was important to add to the exhibition, as it focuses on how women are portrayed online in such a timely manner, and how they’re discriminated against for being sexual beings. 

I mention the article, “Sex Workers Denounce Instagram’s ‘Puritanical’ New Rules”, by writer Sophie K. Rosa in my catalog, and it states, “…most sex workers are women and gender non-conforming people, including a disproportionate number of workers who experience intersecting marginalization like trans women, single mothers, women of color…” So this project is important because not only is this affecting women and sex workers online but it disproportionately affects those of color or those who are trans or non-binary. 

AB: I like how this project is not only commenting on the way women are portrayed online, but also highlights people that are trying to normalize pleasure work as a whole, and people dealing with the effects of these terms of service changes. I also wanted to ask you about how the artists in this exhibition showcase the sexuality that is placed on femininity or the sexualized body of women in general. I noticed in the catalog you mention it’s the artist’s form of resistance or reclaiming the sexualized body because they very much use this body and even perpetuate these stereotypes to some extent. At the same time, they add little alterations to the body to make it less conventional (filters, dystopian, or avatar effects). For those that would ask, are those alterations really “undoing” the sexualization or perpetuation of that imagery or stereotypes placed on women? How would you respond? 

AF: I think specifically Stern’s paintings and Bunniana definitely comply with these stereotypes or standards. However, they do add eerie or uncomfortable details that don’t necessarily “undo” these standards but they challenge them. Stern’s paintings exude the conventionally “sexy” body but she adds inhuman effects such as otherworldly skin tones, no pupils, etc. Same with Bunniana, also representational of the stereotypical hourglass figure but is a hot pink bunny…so now you’re attracted to a hot pink rabbit [laughs]. I think those are the ways they make it sexy but change a detail so you’re almost perverted for finding these things sexy. They’re saying yes, this is idealized, this is what you wanted, right? Except that we’re taking away some of the core aspects of these stereotypes (no pupils, bunny instead of human). It points at the viewer and calls for reflection. 

AB: Talk about the title: what’s ur handle? You explain where this “handle” phrase originated in the catalog—from truck drivers back in the 70s who were communicating while traveling. 

AF: I think it’s kind of an endearing terminology or language. I wanted it to be called what’s ur handle? because I think that your handle is synonymous with your avatar. It’s your way of creating yourself or your identity. For example, to reference Legacy’s Glitch Feminism again, she begins the manifesto by sharing the username she had when she first went online. Some people might simply put their name, but if not, it’s another way of representing yourself.

AB: The term ‘handle’ always reminds me of the way pen names are used, and that name is what is attached to your creation. It’s fascinating how we separate the two or compartmentalize them. I think social media has created more space for bridging together your creative self and your “offline” self. These platforms realize the ways they could be the same or differ and put the decision in your hands as you brought up earlier. 

AF: Right! Because the show really circles around Instagram a lot, I thought the term was relevant. That’s how I hear it used most now. I wanted it to be playful, humorous, a call and response. It’s really asking, who are you online? How do you characterize yourself? All of the artists in the show ask these questions as well, it’s about the relationship people have to their online avatars and other online avatars in one way or another. The title applies to all the artworks but is also recognizable to those that maybe aren’t familiar with these artists. 

AB: I wanted to talk about the definitions you list for avatar in your catalog, there’s one that says it’s another way of defining or representing a deity. In Tabita Rezaire’s Hoetep Blessings (2015), this definition really connects here, as a way of returning to self, or healing as Rezaire is showcasing. With this definition, it’s as if the avatar allows you to return to yourself in deity form, or lets you see yourself in a deity form because you are choosing your image for others to see. It questions what our views of perfectionism are too. 

AF: Exactly, I liked the idea of putting the definition on there because the avatar is at the core of the exhibition concept and it branches out from there. I was thinking about these definitions and how the term morphed into something else, like you said, a manifestation of deity. I read more about Rezaire’s work and Hoetep Blessings and made that same connection. It circles back to this particular definition. This form of resistance, practices of healing, celebration, and spiritual knowledge returns to the point of an avatar being a deity or something to protect. I like the idea of wanting to protect your avatar, practicing protection of self through these methods and your identity online. A lot of this work discusses how the word ‘Hoetep’ is proliferated, originally it’s a sacred word that’s used to empower and embrace the female energy, and through abuse online has come to be pronounced as ‘hoetep’ and used as this word that characterizes problematic representations of Black women online. I think this work tries to address this issue of how the female body has been viewed, distorted and discriminated against online—particularly the Black female body. So Rezaire instead celebrates the body with practices of healing, spiritual knowledge, yoga, etc. 

AB: In the catalog you write, “…your handle becomes your nickname for a reason.” It made me think about one of the themes you state of your exhibition, avatars as a form of resistance. If your avatar is an extension of yourself or your identity, how can people, women in particular, use them to feel safe online? Especially if the systems that are offline are online. 

AF: I guess it’s the anonymity, you have the option to not be seen, to create how you are portrayed. The exhibition itself is kind of meant to showcase the eerie or dystopian side of the Internet, while it also has these avatars that are a combination of the stereotypes we talked about earlier. I wanted to offer this space that you can embrace the creepy and don’t have to choose conventional beauty. 

AB: Creepy and sexy at the same time, but on your own terms. 

AF: [Laughs] Right, I think that’s why these topics are so important to discuss, it’s embedded in daily life for so many people. 

Angelica Maria Fuentes is a writer, curator, and art administrator based in New York City. Fuentes recently completed a thesis project in the form of an exhibition and catalog for the School of Visual Arts’ MA program in curatorial practice. Fuentes’ curatorial interests include interactive, digital, and intersectional feminist practices. Before moving to New York in 2019 she received her BA in Art History at the University of California, San Diego, and has worked for various institutions, art organizations, and businesses such as UCSD’s Visual Arts Department, The New Children’s Museum, and Contemporary Conservation in NYC. This summer Fuentes will work as a curatorial intern for the Queens Museum.