At first, I was delighted with FaceTime. It was even better than the “television watches,” of my childhood: those items the future would surely bring, by which we’d be able to see as well as talk to people at a distance.
But FaceTime produced no fuzzy tv watch display: instead, you heard and saw people continents away in sharp focus. The screen was many times bigger than a watch face, and it showed real-time video. It was a wonder.
For the first several years after FaceTime was introduced, I used it often. It became especially delightful after I had a grandchild. She lived far away, and I needed to see her however I could. Now I could gaze at her ravishing face whenever I spoke to her parents or, later, when we conversed. I even wrote a children’s book for her 3rd birthday: “Facetime Grandma” (which I never tried to publish, though now I wonder way. Grandmoms would love it!).
But over the years, I began to like FaceTime less, and use it less, especially with my friends. Although it would seem to approximate life better than a sound-alone phone call, FaceTime is, in fact, unnatural. In person, we never look at a person’s face the entire duration of a conversation. Even when sitting opposite them at a restaurant, we are busy with our food or we are glancing at the other diners or we are looking for the waiter to bring us some more bread.
Or we’re talking side by side: in a car, or on a walk, or on a beach Unless we’re newly in love, we’re not likely to be staring at another person’s face for minute after minute. But that is what FaceTime mandates that we do, sometimes for half an hour at a time.
Furthermore, FaceTime shows us our own face as well, in a small window, making us self-conscious about our own appearance. We tilt our face to lessen the shadows or raise our chin to improve our neck. It’s tempting to keep checking that small window not only to ascertain one is still in the frame but also to ensure one’s optimal appearance.
So FaceTime makes you self-consciousness in a historically new way. It is doubly unnatural: you are not only gazing at your friend for the entire duration of the call, but you also keep looking at yourself.
At a recent FaceTime conversation with my seven-year-old granddaughter, I felt a certain lack of engagement on her part. I saw her looking at herself and making faces. She was mugging for the camera and was distracted by her image in a way she’d never been before. I suggested that the next time we talk we’d do it the old-fashioned way: audio only. The concept seemed new to her, but she agreed.
I’d like to report that on our next (voice only) call our talk was of higher quality, but I have vowed to be strictly honest in these posts, and that is not the truth. We have poor cell service here in Sag Harbor, and without seeing my lips move, she had a hard time understanding what I was saying. But I’m eager to try it some more, in a better location, because I’m convinced we’ll have better conversations.
When it’s audio only, you are wholly attuned to what the other person is saying. Without the visual distraction, your response is at once more spontaneous and deeper. The quality of the conversation is simply superior.
Your exchange may be even better than being with someone in person because in real life, there are always distractions. You notice that she’s wearing a new shade of lipstick or that her bra strap is showing (intentionally?). There’s a breeze, and you wonder if you should put on a sweater.
But on a voice-only call, there’s only talk connecting you, and you have few distractions.
A while ago, I had an ongoing freelance gig at Novartis, interviewing their scientists about recent research developments. I always interviewed them by phone: it was the era of the landline, and their voices were clear. I had no idea what they looked like—nor did it matter.
Once, the scientist was working near me, and I decided to visit his lab and do the interview in person. It didn’t work out nearly as well as usual, for he was much more inhibited in person than any of my subjects had been on the phone.
Now that I’ve decided to abjure FaceTime on most personal calls, I also turn off my camera on Zoom calls, unless it’s a family Zoom. Why do people have to look at my face when there are fifty of us on the call?
Once I met someone in person who’d seen me on a literary how-to zoom call. (I forget which particular how-to: get an agent, publish your memoir, market your book, get onto podcasts. . . ) Although I thought that on that call I’d been discreet, he said he’d seen me smoking a joint! So, there’s that, too. You can do what you want when the camera’s turned off.
Best of all, when you narrow your attention to the human voice, you communicate better. When it’s just your voice and theirs, you listen more attentively and respond more fully. Intimacy beckons.
1000%!!!!! You nailed it.
I wish you hadn't said "ropey old lady neck," because now it is engraved upon my brain!