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Guys, He’s Literally Me.

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“And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable… I simply am not there.” – Patrick Bateman (American Psycho, 2000).

Alison Landesberg suggests in her essay Prosthetic Memory: Total Recall and Blade Runner the experiences an audience member has watching a film is equally impactful and informative as lived experiences. These simulated experiences cultivate identity and these memories without the lived experience encourage the formation of new opinions. Landesberg explains that these memories build empathy because they give opportunity for audiences to visually put themselves in others’ shoes. However, these movies do not just induce empathy, but encourage confirmation biases and inspire toxic behaviors as well.

Confirmation bias is defined by the Northeastern University Library as “the tendency to process information by looking for, or interpreting, information that is consistent with one’s existing beliefs.” Therefore, if a man believes that they are exceedingly charismatic but utterly self-reliant they will only experience information or experiences that will affirm these self-proclaimed behavioral traits. 

Top of the corporate ladder, disciplined, in a relationship with an heiress, and does as he pleases with others, the dream life. Just one character flaw, if you would call it as such, he likes to “dissect girls”. Hello Patrick Bateman, the poster boy of the Sigma Male.

 A Sigma Male can be defined as a lone wolf, someone who is defined as the “rarest of males (Rose, 2024)”. They are essentially better than everyone, they are logical, confident, women love them and they don’t care; they are not just better than everyone they are above. Sigma Males can be a form of narcissism. Men watch American Psycho and internalize the experiences Bateman lived and say “I could be as successful as him, he is literally me.” Landesberg states films induce empathy from a viewer. However, if one is empathizing with Patrick Bateman and seeing similarities I do not think they are digesting these films critically. While films can promote empathy, there needs to be a recognition of audiences that are not looking to empathize with another person’s lived experience. 

The book American Psycho was written by a queer man Bret Easton Ellis, and the film was directed by a woman. It could deduce that this film was not trying to establish this character that depicts masculinity, rather the opposite. One could say that Patrick Bateman is a satirical depiction of the greed of climbing the ranks of capitalism, as well as the deliberate overlooking of warning signs of dangerous men. “White men can get away with anything. Though that is not what the self-proclaimed Sigma Males take away from the narrative of American Psycho. They see Bateman’s confidence, his logic, his class and not just strive to see themselves in his character, they see themselves as Patrick Bateman (minus the murder tendencies). There is a confirmation bias men use when watching films that highlight men without looking at the deeper meaning. Their analysis is surface-level because they are just looking at themselves. Audiences that see the socially toxic parts of themselves can perpetuate social oppression. These narratives men take away from American Psycho can often be harmful for women. 

Another archetype of men that has been formally labeled via digital media is the “Nice Guy.” Many men try to separate themselves from the “common.” That is why Sigma Males try to emulate the “lone wolf”, someone who does not need anyone. While Nice Guys differentiate themselves from other men, they hear the gross behaviors of other men and act opposingly. However, because they recognize these traits, they believe women owe them the attention because “they are not like other guys.” An example of this would be the male lead of 500 Days of Summer. Though the female lead of the film established many throughout the term of their relationship, the male lead thought she owed him a relationship because he invested so much time with her. Many audiences empathized with the male lead and villainized the female lead. Thus, perpetuating the harmful narrative that women should give in to something they do not want because a man wanted.

Landesberg does clarify that she wants to emphasize that audiences should take away the sentiments of films rather than unquestioningly validate their own pasts. Just like any experience, it could be collective yet the individual will form a unique perspective. While movies are a beautiful way to view a new narrative with a moral that needs to be emphasized, many should realize that they can be just as harmful as they are helpful. Landesberg does a great job describing the positive effects of films yet her argument lacked a contrasting point. Films and media have hyperbolized and affirmed a spectrum of behaviors. Which has radicalized and divided as much as it has connected communities.

As a filmmaker I believe that films can create a narrative of empathy that connects the world, yet there is a need in the world to study context as well as the film itself. There are identities being built from the prosthetic memory received from film, Landesberg emphasizes empathy and I emphasize systematic oppression. There is a trend where viewers of these Sigma Male films are alienating themselves from others and they are developing a disdain for others. Audiences are not seeing the larger picture, they are perpetuating the thoughts that are internalized not just in them but in societal systems.  

Works Cited

American Psycho. Directed by Mary Harron, Lions Gate Films, 2000.

Fake News/Misinformation/Disinformation: What is Confirmation Bias?. Northeastern University Library, https://subjectguides.lib.neu.edu/fakenews/bias.

500 Days of Summer. Directed by Mark Webb, Fox Searchlight Picture, 2009

Landesberg, Alison. Prosthetic Memory: Total Recall and Blade Runner.  Columbia University Press, 2004. 

Rose, Steven. The sad, stupid rise of the sigma male: how toxic masculinity took over social media. The Guardian, 12 Jun, 2024, https://www.theguardian.com/society/article/2024/jun/12/the-sad-stupid-rise-of-the-sigma-male-how-toxic-masculinity-took-over-social-media.

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Critical Response Post to “Morality and Materiality in Digital Technology and Cognition”: How Tony Horava’s Takeaway on ‘the Medium’ Will Always Affect Us

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Introduction

In this critical response post, I will be adding onto ideas discussed in Molly Kingsley and Aminata Chipembere’s post, “Morality and Materiality in Digital Technology and Cognition”. In their blog post, they discussed Bollmer and Verbeek’s ideas on materiality and how they relate to digital technology, talking about the similarities in their perspectives while highlighting a couple important points: digital tech can be material even if it appears immaterial, and technology can influence humans and their decision making. This critical response will focus on the latter idea, and will incorporate the added perspective of Tony Horava on the ways in which the medium of something, whether it be technology or not, still affects us.

Original Post Overview

Kingsley and Chipembere discuss the notion that technology, despite being largely considered to be an ‘immaterial’ presence, still affects our decision making, how we feel, and how we may act in the future. I believe this idea to be very important in today’s culture, as the development of technology rapidly outpaces our capacity to wholly understand it and its effects. The purpose of this critique is to bring in some added perspectives on how exactly technology impacts how we feel and act, as it is not only interesting to think about, but also necessary.

Horava’s Perspective

Tony Horava in his journal article “eBooks and McLuhan: The Medium is Still the Message” talks about McLuhan’s original phrase and how that correlates to modern technology. For example, the way in which one interacts with a physical copy of a book compared to a digital copy of a book is different despite the materials being the same (Horava 62). The way in which our hands turn the page versus swipe a tablet, or the smell of paper versus the smell of a screen, all culminate to creating a unique reading experience that is definitely informed by the medium in which the contents are being gathered from. Using this lens, I want to take a look at some of the examples that Kingsley and Chipembere talk about in their original blog post.

In their post, the authors discuss several ways in which technologies can impact human behaviour, such as the ways in which doctors consult medical devices, as well as talking about hermeneutic media, which provides a representation of reality that requires interpretation (Kingsley and Chipembere). The medical example in particular is one I found especially interesting, as I believe that Horava’s perspective can play a role in how doctors use various medical machinery. As an example, when a doctor uses technology to fetch results, or analyze a sample, or conduct any sort of medical test, the doctor is inherently placing their faith in that technology to work. Contrast the technology available now compared to fifty years ago, and the attitudes would be much different. Doctors would still have faith in their machines, but presumably far less so than their modern-day counterparts, and as such it would take a different mental toll and reflection on their work. More would have to be done to ensure the results are accurate, or that the readings were saying what they thought they were: in short, Horava’s idea on how the medium affects the message applies to doctors’ reliance on technology over the years. Even if the message were the same, for example, on a more simple medical device that was used years ago that is still relevant now, the simple fact that we now live in the modern era with information at our fingertips and hospitals equipped with the latest advancements would add a level of confidence that prior generations wouldn’t have had. This will only continue on into the future too, as tech continues to evolve and early-onset detection systems reduce the amounts of deadlier conditions (hopefully).

Conclusion

This extra level of perspective on Kingsley and Chipembere’s post is not meant as a negative, as I thought their writing was very well done and presented dense ideas in a clear and digestible way. The purpose of this post is to also bring in a relevant newer course reading through Horava, and add his perspective on the concepts discussed by Bollmer and Verbeek, as I believe them to be related. We often talk in this class about how technology influences us, and even how it influences us, but Horava’s article has stuck with me in its ability to articulate the differences between an eBook and physical book, and I thought that the main takeaway from it was worthy to bring up again and apply to my peer’s work. I strongly believe that the medium of digital technology itself does impact us, and as it continues to evolve, so will its impact. What we feel now due to social media and the like will be far different just a few years in the future, and being able to properly communicate that effect is important.

Works Cited

Horava, Tony. “eBooks and McLuhan: The Medium is Still the Message.” Against the Grain, vol. 28, no. 4, 2016, pp. 62-64. Library and Information Science Commons. Accessed 16 November 2025.

Kingsley, Molly, and Aminata Chipembere. Morality and Materiality in Digital Technology and Cognition. 14 November 2025, Morality and Materiality in Digital Technology and Cognition. Accessed 16 November 2025. Blog Post.

Image Credit: https://mitsloan.mit.edu/sites/default/files/2022-07/MIT-Healthcare-Technology-01_0.jpg

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Materialism in Digital Life: The Envision of Smartphones

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Introduction

People often imagine digital technologies as immaterial, floating above physical reality. Screens are described in ways that make it seem like they are part of some other space, independent of anything material. Such a belief underlines much of how we speak about online communication and our digital life. Bollmer challenges this in his book Materialist Media Theory by arguing that all media, including digital forms, depend upon physical environments, embodied routines, and global systems.

Rosenberg and Blondheim extend this argument by observing what happens when a smartphone becomes unavailable. Every time people lose their phones or the battery dies, they go through confusion and anxiety. Everyday routines fall apart, showing how deeply connected with memory, orientation, and safety the device is. This provides everyday evidence for the theory of Bollmer.

This essay makes the case for smartphones as highly material technologies. Reading Rosenberg and Blondheim through Bollmer helps us to understand the smartphone not simply as a digital screen, but as an embodied and infrastructural medium shaping perception, action, and social life.

Bollmer and the Materiality of Media

In Materialist Media Theory: An Introduction, Bollmer argues that media is not an abstract system of symbols existing in a “virtual” world, but rather expressed within concrete material structures. He points out that the digital media we use daily, such as smartphones, are built on a vast and complex material network: from ore mining and chip smelting to power supply, server operation, and the transportation and maintenance of global supply chains. It is these seemingly small and hidden material links that support the operation of modern media. Bollmer states that the so-called “digital” has never been separated from matter; it relies on an entire global industrial ecosystem (Bollmer, p2).

These easily overlooked material components have also changed our understanding of “media.” Media is not merely content on a screen or a channel for transmitting information, but an entity composed of energy, metals, and resources. Behind every click and swipe lies the use of resources and the flow of matter. This also illustrates that media is actually part of the world’s material cycle. It not only creates new meaning but also continuously consumes natural resources. The smartphone is the best example of this contradiction. While smartphones appear lightweight and convenient, their creation is inseparable from raw materials from around the world, complex technologies, and the labor of countless people. We use it every day to browse the internet, take photos, chat, and read information; it has become our primary gateway to the digital world. However, it also consumes energy, metals, and environmental resources. In other words, while mobile phones represent the convenience of modern life, they also remind us of the entire real material foundation behind the digital world.

Therefore, according to Bollmer, understanding media requires returning to its material origins. The “existence” of media lies not only in transmitting information, but also in how it participates step by step in the construction of the world through concrete material forms such as chips, wires, plastics, and minerals. This leads to the proposition that media is not a container for information, but a process constituted by the material world itself.

Rosenberg and Blondheim and the Smartphone in Its Absence

In their empirical study on smartphone use and experience time, Rosenberg and Blondheim pointed out that mobile phones are not merely communication tools, but interactive devices that combine the body and technology, profoundly changing our perception of time, social interactions, and daily habits. Through a “deprivation study,” they deprived adolescents of their phones for a period of time. When the phone was not nearby, participants subconsciously reached for it in their pockets, bags, or on nearby tables, even without any external stimulus. This is interpreted as a phenomenon of “unconscious bodily attachment,” showing that they still have a conditioned reflexive expectation of the phone at a bodily level (Rosenberg and Blondheim, p. 246). From the perspective of media materiality, the touch, swipe, vibration notifications, and screen brightness of mobile phones constantly influence our physical world. As a material technology, the mobile phone intervenes in the body and perception, making the generation of abstract media meaning no longer just language and images, but built on a cyclical interaction of body-interface-attention-time.

For example, our subconscious actions of picking up our phones to check the time, set alarms, record time, and check notifications demonstrate that the phone has become an extension of our bodies. Smartphones have transformed our physical perception of monotonous states of time like “waiting” and “idleness.” Without phones, time felt fixed and continuous. But with phones, time becomes flexible and fragmented. For example, we can check our phones, reply to messages, and switch tasks at any time, breaking time into small segments. These behaviors influence how we perceive the world, understand time, and communicate with others. Smartphones have become an integral part of our lives and bodies, transforming “media” from a mere external tool into an extension of our daily experiences.

Comparative Analysis

Reading these texts together allows us to understand the materiality of the smartphone with much greater precision. Both Bollmer and Rosenberg and Blondheim deny the notion that digital technologies exist outside the physical world, but they do so from different levels and with different kinds of evidence.

First, Bollmer focuses on the structural side of materiality. He explains that what appears to be digital is supported by big and often invisible infrastructures, including mineral extraction necessary to build chips, moving devices along global supply chains, electrical grids powering servers and data centers, down to the physical gestures, which interfaces silently train into our bodies. To Bollmer, materiality is not only an attribute of the device but also a condition that shapes how digital media become possible at all. His view, therefore, underlines the background systems we rarely think about when holding a phone.

Rosenberg and Blondheim provide a more intimate, and immediately observable perspective. They indicate how the smartphone shapes everyday experience by small but meaningful disruptions. When the phone is missing, one loses the ability to navigate, to remember appointments, or to keep up a sense of security. These are not abstract consequences but real breakdowns most people have felt. Reaching for a phone that is not there, or feeling uneasy during a commute without it, makes the materiality of the device unmistakable. Their work brings attention to the micro level of how the smartphone becomes part of bodily rhythm, affective stability, and daily decision making.

Putting the two texts in conversation reveals a layered form of materiality. Bollmer describes the macro layer by emphasizing infrastructures, production and the environmental and political conditions that allow the smartphone to exist. Rosenberg and Blondheim illuminate the micro layer by showing how the device embeds itself in gesture, habit and emotion. These layers are different in scale, yet compatible in argument. Taken together, they reveal how the smartphone operates not only as a technical artifact but also as a lived environment that organizes perception and behaviour.

These connections make the comparison especially useful for our class. The smartphone becomes a case through which we can see how media operate simultaneously as symbolic systems, physical tools, and social structures. The texts also help us understand why smartphone dependence feels so powerful. It’s not simply a matter of distraction or preference. It’s the result of a technological object materially entangled with infrastructure, mobility, memory, and emotion. By looking at the smartphone through both authors, we get a clearer sense of how digital media shape contemporary life across different scales of experience.

Conclusion

Smartphones are often treated as digital or immaterial objects, but together the readings of Bollmer and Rosenberg and Blondheim show that they are deeply material. Their absence disrupts routines and makes visible their role in attention, memory, social stability and bodily practice. Far from separating us from the physical world, smartphones reorganize that world and shape how we experience it.

Understanding smartphone materiality helps us think differently about digital media more generally. It reminds us that screens and data do not exist outside physical life. They are embedded in bodily habits, infrastructures and emotional experience. For the students in this class, this perspective demonstrates that the analysis of media cannot stop at content or representation and has to consider also how technologies participate in shaping everyday life.

The smartphone is a material medium that allows us to see our own dependence particularly well. It calls into question the assumption of much cultural commentary that digital life exists somewhat separately from physical experience. Gaining insight into these conditions allows us to understand more about what structures contemporary life.

Citations

Bollmer, Grant. Materialist Media Theory: An Introduction. Bloomsbury Academic, 2019.

Rosenberg, Hananel, and Menahem Blondheim. “What (Missing) the Smartphone Means: Implications of the Medium’s Portable, Personal, and Prosthetic Aspects in the Deprivation Experience of Teenagers.” Mobile Media & Communication, 2025.

Written by Saber, Rai, Mio

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Inscription, Identification, and the Mezuzah in Jewish Cultural Habitus

“Bialystok Mezuzah”, created by MI POLIN: a Polish company which casts impressions of former mezuzahs stripped from Jewish homes during the Holocaust in bronze. Courtesy of The Jewish Museum via Medium.

Reading Grant Bollmer’s chapter of Materialist Media Theory, “Inscriptions and Techniques” – which has to do with the cultural practice of inscription and its part in determining reality – I immediately saw connections to my own Jewish culture. Specifically, I started thinking about the ways in which cultural material objects (such as Judaica) store, record, and determine a shared historical, documental, and technique-based experience of “habitus” for people raised within Jewish culture. Physical objects are not always thought of as inscriptions. Therefore, I will begin by addressing the performance of inscription through religious writing, then move on to the significance of Judaica objects, before finally identifying a piece of Judaica which bridges inscription and object, as well as religion and culture. 

Writings

The oldest Abrahamic religion, Jewish liturgical canon and everything considered as “text” within the tradition is seemingly endless. Far beyond just the Torah and the Talmud, Jewish scholars and the ultra-religious study countless writings and commentary which present a litany of different interpretations of text. Notably, the practice of scholarly and iterative work is considered essential even within Judaism’s set of canonical texts; “Ketuvim”, a section of Tanakh, refers to books, scrolls, songs, wisdom, and literature that have been amended to the so-called “Hebrew Bible” over time. 

Similarly, sub-groups (sometimes referred to as movements or sects) within Judaism have also undergone changes, identifying individuals within “orthodox”, “hasidic”, “conservative”, “reform”, “kabbalistic”, “humanist”, and even “atheist” categories, made up of those who agree upon their disagreements with earlier movements. This perpetual schisming of identity within the religion relates to what Grant Bollmer describes as the “control of one’s image and self […] reasserted through legal regulation of documents, inscriptions, and artworks that, in combination with the power of the medium to record, either permit or prohibit something from existing in the future, which can allow (or refuse) specific individuals and relations to materialize.” (55) As a concrete example of reasserting identity through inscription, look no farther than the historical “Platforms” developed by rabbis in US cities throughout the 20th century, which articulated and updated the guiding principles of Reform Judaism over time. 

Objects

What I find so interesting is that despite all of the disagreement (and morphing of central values and interpretations of canonical text within each movement), the media being used to record the cultural side of Jewish tradition are largely the same across movements, ascribing a sense of shared history and tradition among us. Judaica, for those who may not know, are items such as candlesticks, cups, Torah dressing, art, jewelry, religious apparel, and historical artifacts “used and cherished in the context of ritual practice” (Benesh). 

I can’t possibly describe the meaning and use of each physical item within Judaism that has shaped my upbringing and experience of culture. Bollmer describes the production of a habitus by inscriptions existing “at the level of the body[,] through practices we internalize and perpetuate– techniques that we practice” (57). He continues by arguing that repeated performance induces a biological form of inscription where “we are ‘writing’ into our own bodies ways of experiencing and acting that perpetuate cultural difference, which are foundational for how we understand both who we are as individuals and our relations with others.” (57-8). The practice of attending synagogue, the speaking and chanting of Hebrew words in unison; the donning of a tallit for a family friend’s Bat Mitzvah; the home rituals of Shabbat candles and baking my own challah; arranging a seder plate in spring; the smell of spices in a Havdalah box as it is passed around a circle of neighbours on Saturday at dusk– these are the kinds of ritual and embodied experiences that for me are not mere structures of worship, but ways of life.

For many, a sense of culture is intimately linked with a sense of difference. Following the French scholar Jacques Derrida, Bollmer argues that groups ‘write’ or ‘inscribe’ matter from within, producing ‘cuts’ that “organize or make sense of the world, which, in turn, locate, distribute, and police the location of specific bodies based on how they ‘matter’” (64). Unfortunately, much of Jewish history is a history of persecution– from historical subjugation under the Romans, to The Crusades and exile from Spain, to continuous pogroms across Europe, to the failed extermination attempt of the Holocaust. The few remaining Holocaust survivors of today tell their children and grandchildren of yellow stars which they were forced to affix to their clothing in the years leading up to the concentration camps. The inscription “Jude” was more than a sign of shame; the stars were an example of such a ‘cut’ that identified Jews from the rest of European society and primed their status as ‘outsiders’ or ‘others’ in relation to their neighbours. 

By contrast, Judaica objects are typically sites for positive identification at the level of Jewish identity. Many of these objects are either passed down in families, or are recovered after surviving anti-semetic events and being separated from their original owners (Benesh). The craftsmanship evident in their making comes from “hiddur mitzvah […] — the principle of beautifying obligations and rituals by appealing to the senses: sight, sound, texture and fragrance” (Benesh). Essentially, many of the objects are not just historical– and not just useful in ritual– but also beautiful sources of pride found in one’s home.

The Mezuzah

This brings me to a point where I can introduce the mezuzah: both an object which evokes identification, and an inscription which generates concepts and performs symbolic work. The mezuzah takes the physical form of a cylindrical encasement (typically decorated), which is affixed to doorframes and contains a small roll of parchment inside, inscribed with significant passages from Deuteronomy. Specifically, the text found inside mezuzahs contains the Sh’ma, considered the most important prayer in the Jewish religion. Highly observant Jews say this prayer three times daily, shading their eyes with a hand as they do so. The lines that follow the Sh’ma’s main proclamation of “one God” command:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day. Impress them upon your children. Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up. Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your forehead, inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” (Deuteronomy 6:5-9)

Found in this translation of the original Hebrew, we can see a direct correlation between practices of the habitus and inscription of a religious identity. Various parts of the body such as the heart, the hand, and the forehead are all named as sites for marking. The physicality of the language, using “charge”, “impress”, “recite”, “bind” and, importantly, “inscribe” are significant, because they instruct a person to outwardly show and practice their alignment with the religion in their everyday actions. Perhaps that is why the object of the mezuzah is still so pervasively displayed before Jewish homes, despite the fact that many Jews today do not engage in regular prayer or observance, and many are altogether atheist or agnostic (Issit and Main). 

In Evocative Objects, Sherry Turkle argued that objects can be sites for our thinking. I would like to use this frame of reference to propose new meanings and uses for mezuzahs in contemporary Jewish culture. The idea of a conceptual mezuzah would suggest that one is hung before a family’s home not because God instructed them to do so, but because its presence offers a material site to “think through” something. Perhaps when we look at, touch, or even kiss the mezuzah when leaving the house, it can remind us of our own ethical standards, compelling us to try and behave accordingly in the world. Maybe the mystery of the mezuzah piques the curiosity of children, who ask their parents why it’s important to them to display a sign of Jewish identity on the cusp of/ barrier to their home. As Bollmer paraphrases from another scholar, Ferraris, “The distinction of ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ can only happen from the inside– which means that ‘outside’ is always a relation produced by assuming the truth of the ‘inside’” (70).

In recent years, there have been efforts within the Jewish community to turn the sign of the mezuzah from a social object that creates a  ‘cut’ between ‘us’ and ‘them’, to one that welcomes and celebrates. For example, the Trans Pride Mezuzah “represents and embodies an intersection between the trans/nonbinary community and the renewal of Jewish tradition”, where trans and gender diverse people are not merely tolerated in a religious home or dwelling place, but actually highlighted and included (Ben-Lulu). Congregation Beit Simchat Torah, a synagogue in New York City which has welcomed the LGBTQ+ community since the 1970s, commissioned mezuzahs for their building created by a Polish company which makes “original casts of real mezuzahs that were on the houses of Jews who lived in Poland, before they perished in the Holocaust” out of bronze (Ben-Lulu). These contemporary Judaica are a highly creative documentation of history, and yet also a symbol of renewed values and understandings about Jewish belief– especially in the context of the synagogue whose entryway they mark.

Conclusion

Analyzing inscription in the context of religion is incomplete without examining materiality. I have just argued how repeated technique and interactions with physical objects create identification with a religious culture within one’s habitus. I’m certain that those with lived experience within other religions can relate to this claim, however I was only able to properly represent these ideas within the context of what I am familiar with. Although my own personal sense of faith is uncertain, and although I hold certain critical opinions about organized religion, my own identity as a Jewish individual is something I consider very important in my life. It is difficult to explain how my life experience, this “habitus”, is inscribed so beautifully and painfully in who I am. Writing this blog has actually allowed me to convey certain ideas which I have never had the words to articulate before. As Bollmer says, things are practiced first before they are ever described. I agree with Professor Schandorf that Materialist Media Theory provides a lot of good grounding for conversations that involve and transcend media studies, and I hope to be able to use it more in the future.

Blog post by Naomi Brown

Works Cited

Benesh, Mika. “Judaica.” Federation CJA, www.federationcja.org/fr/judaica/. 

Ben-Lulu, Elazar. Doorposts of Inclusion: Trans Pride Mezuzah as a Marker of Jewish-Queer Space, Taylor & Francis Online, 8 May 2025, www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/17432200.2025.2484500#abstract.  

Bollmer, Grant. “Inscriptions and Techniques.” Materialist Media Theory: An Introduction. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019. 51–78. Bloomsbury Collections. http://dx.doi.org/10.5040/9781501337086.0005.

Central Conference of American Rabbis. “Platforms.” Central Conference of American Rabbis, 23 Jan. 2018, www.ccarnet.org/rabbinic-voice/platforms/.  

Issitt, Micah , and Carlyn Main. “Judaism.” Hidden Religion: The Greatest Mysteries and Symbols of the World’s Religious Beliefs. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2014. 3–32. Bloomsbury Collections. http://dx.doi.org/10.5040/9798400663277.0006. 

My Jewish Learning. “The Shema.” My Jewish Learning, 16 Jan. 2024, www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-shema/.  

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From Object to Ongoing: Ingold’s Response to Gell on Art and Agency

In Ingold’s Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture, he identifies a major theoretical source of anthropologist Alfred Gell’s Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory, published in 1998, in which he uses as a point to expand, challenging Gell’s focus on the finished artwork and its social functions, and discovers for an anthropology that emphasizes process, practice, and correspondence.

About Alfred Gell

Alfred Gell (1945–1997) was a British social anthropologist who was trained by professors of both Cambridge and the London School of Economics. He was known for sharp, concept-driven writings mostly based on ethnographic cases. Gell was deeply interested in how humans use material objects to act, communicate, and exert influence, and his research varied across topics such as symbolism, ritual, the cognitive dimensions of art, etc. 

About the Source

Gell’s book, Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory (1998), has became famous for changing the way many scholars think about art. Instead of treating art mostly as a vehicle for aesthetics or cultural meanings, Gell claims artworks as parts of social action. He argued that artworks help to make things happen as they guide attention, influence decisions, and carry the presence of people across time and space. Gell further claimed that objects can be understood through the ways in which they connect to people and their original intentions. Moreover, he stated that the “anthropology of art” is the study of a set of social relations that an object stands in a special, “art-like” relation to a social agent. In other words, it is to start from the object, map the social relations around it, and then reconstruct the intentions and meanings that brought it into being.

Ingold’s Citation

Ingold cites the above idea in his book that Gell’s definition captures a widespread habit in the anthropology of art, in which specifically, the process of taking a finished object, placing it in the social context, and reading it backwards from the object to the maker’s intention or cultural meanings. From this, Ingold suggested that Gell refers to that  “it should be possible to trace a chain of causal connections, in reverse, from the final object to the initial intention that allegedly motivated its production, or to the meanings that might be attributed to it” (Ingold 7). Ingold further thinks this move turns art into a static thing to be decoded, and that it hides the actual, living work of making, which is the growth of form in materials and the skilled perception of practitioners as they act and respond. In this case, Ingold sets out his own alternative that rather than an anthropology of art that reads in reverse from object to intention, he is convinced that it would be an anthropology with art that moves forward along with practice, and following how forms arise in time through attention, action, and material response.

Ingold’s Application of Source

Gell tends to reject the idea that artworks are only aesthetic objects or only symbols. As we mentioned before, he treats them as parts of action. In this view, it was further argued that an artwork is an index of a person or event and that it can stand in for a maker, bind a promise, intimidate, attract, or persuade. From Ingold’s perspective, he thinks that starting from the finished object leads us to miss or pay less attention to the ongoing movements, adjustments, and sensitivities through which forms actually come to be and these are the most vital parts. While Gell’s tool helps us to analyze how objects work in social networks after they are made, Ingold tends to want a tool for staying with the momentum growth of the work during its making process. Therefore, we suppose this was the reason that Ingold distinguishes the anthropology of art from the anthropology with art, in which further emphasizes the learning from art as a practice that trains perception and judgment in real time.

Across the book, Ingold argues that anthropology, archaeology, art, and architecture are not only fields that study things, but they are crafts of inquiry and that they share a basic commitment of that knowledge grows by working with materials, paying careful attention, and adjusting to it as we gain them. From this, he raises the term participant observation. According to Ingold, participant observation is not just a technique for gathering “qualitative data” to analyze for later, it is also a way of knowing from the inside. 

Applying Gell’s insights, he stated a clear statement of a dominant approach that he wanted to challenge which is it focuses on the object and reconstructs intentions in reverse. Ingold calls this a “reverse-reading, analytic approach” and mentions that it leads to a dead end for the relation between anthropology and art, as it encourages anthropology to make other practices into objects for study instead of learning along with them. He proposes a different relation of that to think of art and anthropology as companion practices that both “reawaken our senses” and let knowledge grow “from the inside of being.” 

We would say that Ingold uses Gell’s views as motivations to sharpen his own terms. Gell offers “agency” as an answer to the problem of how objects can matter in social life. In this case, Ingold responds by shifting the starting point that instead of asking how finished objects “act back” on people or stand in for them, he perhaps question how the work would involve materials, and how creators follow the lines of movement, force, and flow as they bring the work alive. 

Overall, Gell provides us a strong analysis of art as part of social action, in which Ingold does somehow agree, but Ingold comes up with his own insights towards that with the living processes of making and seeing. By citing Gell’s views and then offering his own insights on “anthropology with art”, “knowing from the inside”,  and “correspondence”, Ingold redirects the vision from what an object leads to how a work would process through time. This shift also reshapes his view of method, in which participant observation becomes a craft commitment to learn by moving with people and materials. 

Contributors

Christina Zhao

Jacqueline Shen

References

Alfred Gell. Editorial Herder Mexico. (2022, February 21).

Claude Smith. (2015, April 9). A messy studio is a happy studio….work in progress.

Gell, A. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford: Clarendon.

Ingold, T. (2013). Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture (1st ed.). 

Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203559055

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Prosthesis of Reality

Sherry Turkle, in her book Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other (2011), dives into a continuous theme within the contents of this comparative essay and the readings Prosthetic Memory by Landsberg and The iPhone Ehrfarung by McArthur. It is the idea that a progression of media and technologies has aided a prosthesis in the interaction between man and machine in what she refers to as the cognitive process of “tethering”. The machine becomes part of the identity of the individual, making them connected and alone. Both texts included in this comparison do not stray greatly from Turkle’s arguments. Prosthetic Memory and Erfahrung (to shorten) rely heavily on the idea of an expansion of the human. A tethering of external factors that impact how we define human experience. Although the texts initially seem parallel to each other, I would argue that they both give a collaborative account of how media and mediation create a continuation of the posthuman as a tethering to external factors. These two texts, however, differ greatly when discussing the parameters of reality and authenticity when discussing the nature of the human and the now posthuman. 

Landsberg’s text talks about the inclusion of prosthetic memory in the relationship with experience and identity. She illustrates this idea through different movies that relate to individuals who have a composition of memories not belonging to them. The prosthetic memory is defined as experiences never lived. An example is watching a film. A position where experiences become an imposition. She defines memory as the locus of humanity, connecting it to an aspect of experience. For her, memory is not specifically a recollection or authentication of the past but about impacting actions in the present. On this note, media breaks the notion of experience, and as such blurs the line between the memories that are authentic and prosthetic or simulated. 

Landsberg refers to Baudillard’s claim that, because of the proliferation of different media, this dichotomy between the real and simulated has been destroyed to the point that individuals can “no longer distinguish between the real… and hyperreal”. When returning to movies, identification is a critical point for this. She quotes Blumer on the emotional possessive effect with regard to experiencing films. This possessive effect leads to the decentering of lived experience as it intertwines with the emotional connection to fiction, constructing a sense of identity. They “become a part of their own personal archive.”. This connects to Kracauer’s conception of cinema having a bodily component but with a collective aspect. Memories then have circulation and don’t have a single owner, but rather prosthetic memories are circulated by mass media and worn by its consumers. The general argument she establishes is thus a synthesis of the authentic with the prosthetic and inauthentic as the creation of memory. 

McArthur’s text The iPhone Erfahrung follows authenticity in a different scope. As it is a text relating to Walter Benjamin, authenticity is referred to as being part of an object’s aurality. The text follows an analysis of the usage of Apple’s Siri as an explication of the preservation of aura in a mass commercialised form. The aura is regarded as a mystical sense of authenticity, and the posthuman aura created by this technology has created a hierarchical standpoint between the user and the assistant. The user has a feeling of power over technology while simultaneously being in awe of its aurality. Posthuman aura is defined as the coexistence of futuristic technology with human-like interactions. An extension of oneself or, in a sense, a prosthetic experience. Siri maintains this element of aura since its system functions on synthesis and translation rather than reproduction, which would break the aura. This awe and subjugation to the posthuman aura is then disrupted by what McArthur refers to as the auditory unconscious. A sense of critical thought through the ears that undermines the power hierarchy of this prosthetic relationship as being inherently capitalistic and an industrial extension of the unreal. Siri is a prosthetic tool. You utilise it for tasks and interactions that are revealed as regressive to human interaction and development. While prosthetic memories, on the other hand, are used for the development of experience and identity.

Landsberg argues through her analysis, argues that films create these states of prosthetic memories where the consumer connects to empathetic means in the creation of experiences that shape identity. In a sense, it diminishes the idea of the optical unconscious as it breaks through from the analytical sense of an awakened state and enters the stage of emotional possession. One can be critical, perhaps of the meaning and ideologies that are mediated through film, but the consciousness, or as Benjamin puts it, the shield for our deeper selves, is exploited by the emotional experience of prosthetic memories. Although McArthur argues that the optical unconscious has some limitations, she continues the thought of medium permeability into the sensory unconscious, arguing more for the auditory unconscious as a stronger force. One can’t block out shocking images but can easily block shocking sounds in the conscious mind, but while quoting Ryder, the “penetration and surroundability” of sounds creates a relationship of rejection of conscious reflection and an unnoticed internalisation into the unconscious. She exemplifies this with Christmas music that impels you to keep buying, which can be connected to memories, prosthetic or not, that affect decisions, actions and identity per Landsberg.

A shared theme between both texts is the Freudian concept of the uncanny. The uncanny, as described in Prosthetic Memories, is an encounter with something familiar and unfamiliar. Both Landsberg and McArthur agree on the idea that the lack of authenticity removes the uncanny. For Landsberg, the uncanny is connected to the prosthetic memories in the sense that an individual with prosthetic memories doesn’t necessarily experience this, since it doesn’t partake in their identity. Whereas McArthur agrees with this idea in the sense that Siri, through its mythical sense of authenticity embedded in its aura, creates an uncanny relationship with the user through its disembodied technological voice. The uncanniness then connects to Freud’s return of the repressed, as it places the user in a “shock of modern life that has been subsumed under the auditory”. 

A key difference between the texts is the synthesis and parallelism of the real and the unreal. For Landsberg, the different processes of acquiring prosthetic memories are a rejection of postmodern thought, as this relationship creates the absence of experience. Rather, she argues that there is no value in the distinction between types of memories since the expansion of mass media dissolves the divide between the authentic and inauthentic when it comes to memories. Authentic experience then is extended to the point where it can’t be identified for its realness. Although prosthetic experiences perhaps have a different medium in which they are created, they still have the same sensual and physiological impact as the “normal”, and we cannot create a safe position for their distinction. She argues that memories are utilised not for the reflection of the past but for the authentication and usage in the present. The culmination of an identity. When memories diverge from or to lived experiences, issues of identity arise. 

Now, a large counterargument to this relationship is the arguments of McArthur regarding Siri. She compares the relationship between the human nature of the user and the technology in some instances as a hierarchy of power between the user and their “assistant”. This could be interpreted as an extension of the posthuman, where these interactions can be regarded as a new form of thinking of the human experience as a collective between man and technology. However, she offers a counter to this argument when mentioning how simulated human conversation under the guise of authenticity emphasises interpersonal distance. Siri is created in a sort of black box by developers and utilises layers of translation and synthesis that create a feeling of closeness but a distance between the user and the recipient. 

McArthur argues that this relationship between the real and simulated doesn’t merge like for Landsberg but creates a human relationship bound under late-stage capitalism. It is also important to note that, considering the empathetic relationships with this divide in Prosthetic memory, the reality of Siri’s nature does not have the empathetic and sensory component that merges the dichotomy between the real and simulated. The sensory components, such as the auditory, and in terms of their unconscious, allow the separation between them. McArthur makes it clear that the process of interaction facilitates the awareness of the human distance and the fetishisation of the product, as well as the exploitative capabilities for and against the user. Another distinction can be connected to Siri’s lack of understanding of the uncommon or exceptional, where only the ordinary drives. In this sense, it cannot completely immerse itself into the identity of the user, as in terms of memory, human complexity is not ordinary. She argues that this is all a “revelation of the auditory unconscious: the intensely personal cannot be wholly conscripted in the service of capitalism”.

In conclusion, both texts create arguments for the nature of the human and posthuman as a culmination of external extensions that alter identity and experience. Prosthetic Memories argues for the inclusion of the unreal and imposed into the creation of an identity, while iPhone Erfahrung warns about the dangers of blurring the lines between the real and the unreal. What both texts can aid in the understanding of the present is the ability to divide the experiences that we process into our prosthetic memory, and the experiences we critically analyse in our unconscious. With the troubling rise of AI experiences in the visual and auditory have blurred the gap between our interaction with technology and the empathy and application we place on what we consume. Landsberg concludes in a form that is applicable to both texts. Memories cannot be for a self-conforming narrative, and we must have a set of ethics of personhood based on empathetic relations, which I would extend to the real in terms of the human. 

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Escaped Hell by the Skin of my Teeth: Semiotic Systems and Context

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“Uh- Just the usual. Totally wing it, risk life and limb escape by the skin of my teeth.” – Gnomeo & Juliet (2011) 

If one imagines “by the skin of my teeth”, literally, a visceral image can be imagined. Usually, it is not taken as a literal term and is only used as an idiom to describe something else. The saying “by the skin of my teeth” is usually spoken as an expression to describe a narrow escape. However, this idiom is only the latest iteration in the evolution of the term. The original term “I escaped with only the skin of my teeth” was first used in the Bible, in the passage Job 19:20, where he was left with only himself and gained nothing. “By the skin of my teeth” and other idioms pertain to the study of semiotic systems, systems of signs and symbols (language), which can apply Roland Barthes’ concept of denotation and connotation in semiotic systems.

Denotation

In Roland Barthes’ book Elements of Semiology, Barthes describes denotation as the literal; recognizable images that consist of the literal object. Thus, when using the idiom “by the skin of my teeth” as something literal, one may imagine an image like this: 

[imagine a photo of a layer of skin over a set of teeth]

image created by Bridghet Wood

Gross, right? For Barthes, denotation was the first step in a semiotic system of a two part model which describes a transformation of messages (Griffin, 2012).  A denotation is a single-step process from an object to its literal meaning, the signifier to the signified. It is a sign that requires a minimal amount of context to understand. This object is called “an apple” and it is accepted. However, it starts to get more complicated when the literal words start to mean something different. 

Connotation 

Connotations are the second part of Barthes’ two-part model, where the already signified object is reinterpreted as a signifier, which ultimately makes a sign (Griffin 2012). In other words, there are initial signs that are literal, which mean the definitional meaning of the signified, and signs that represent a meaning in the actual-use of life. This is the progression of denotations and connotations. Therefore, when the term “by the skin of my teeth” is used, it is not about gums, but it is about a narrow escape. The different meaning is a result of overlapping perspectives that a semiotic system, of which a community has in common, provides. One cannot differentiate a literal meaning of a term versus an ironic one, unless there is context that provides the knowledge to know how to differentiate the two. 

Systems of Context 

What is the process where detonations become connotations? The Bible depicts the tale of Job, a righteous man that lives a privileged life. It is not until Satan challenges God to test Job’s faith, where Job loses everything. Through the trials, Job has lost his wealth, his health, and his community around him. Job pleads with God that he has nothing left to give. “I am nothing but skin and bones. I have escaped with only the skin of my teeth (Job 19:20).” “Skin” is defined by Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary as “an outer covering or surface layer.” Teeth, notably, do not have an outer layer, and if they did it would be so thin it would be unnoticeable. Therefore, the skin of his teeth meant Job had nothing. 

While there is no event that can be pinpointed when and where the Bible verse of Job became an idiom, there are theoretical processes that could explain how the term’s new meaning came to be. The Henry Ford Museum defines an idiom as “non-literal expression whose meaning cannot be deduced from the true meaning of its individual words (2022).” As it has been stated, the origin of “by the skin of my teeth” originated from Job, and the new meaning means to escape by a narrow margin. So, it can be assumed that a community used that term in the context of an escape where the chances of success had a margin of almost nothing. It must have been a community because as stated in class lecture, a language of one is not a language at all. This is because, if only one person speaks a language then it is not a shared system of communication that is used to mediate signs to others. Therefore,  “by the skin of my teeth” is most likely a term that was popularized by others because of the perpetual use, thus changing the meaning from the origin.

Conclusion

Roland Barthes’ two-part model of the analysis of semiotic systems reveals that denotations invoke the creation of connotations. Communities take literal meanings of signs and use them in the context of their own culture and events, resulting in new meanings. Semiotic systems are systems which are ingrained in a society’s lives, signs and symbols are actively used and manipulated to fit in certain contexts in the pragmatics of a society. The only way to understand those pragmatics is to understand the context of that system. If one is not a part of a system, then they cannot make use of it. However, one does not need to know the origins of a sign or symbol, there just needs to be the context of how it is used in that system. To use “by the skin of my teeth” as an example once more, many people hear this term in daily-life or in pop culture and understand what is being referred to in that conversation. Not as many people know that term had originated in the Bible. Certainly, this illustrates that it is how the term is used in the semiotic system that one is privy to, where it actually carries meaning. Ultimately, showing the evolution of denotations and connotations and how they are used in a person’s everyday life and solidified in the pragmatics of a society.

Citations 

Barthes, Roland. Elements of Semiology. Translated by Annette Lavers and Colin Smith, Jonathan Cape Ltd., 1967.

Exploring the Origins of Idioms. Henry Ford Museum, 25 February, 2022, https://www.thehenryford.org/explore/blog/exploring-the-origins-of-idioms/.

Gnomeo & Juliet. Directed by Kelly Asbury, Walt Disney Studios, 2011.


Griffin, E.M. “Semiotics of Roland Barthes.” A First Look at Communication Theory. 8th ed., McGraw Hill, 2012

“skin.” Merriam-Webster.com. 2011. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/skin (5 November, 2025)

The Bible. International Children’s Bible, 1981.

Feature image is from Gnomeo & Juliet (2011).

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Feeling What We Never Lived: Prosthesis and Prosthetic Memory

Critical Concept Explication, by: Meha Gupta

Feeling What We Never Lived: Prosthesis and Prosthetic Memory

The term prosthesis is derived from the Greek pros-tithenai, which translates to “to add to” or “to place onto.” The Oxford English Dictionary states that it initially emerged in medical literature to indicate the substitution of an absent limb or body part. Over time, it has come to describe any external enhancement that boosts or broadens human ability, eyewear that improves sight, instruments that extend reach, or even language as a replacement for experience. This root idea of adding on is what makes prosthesis such a useful concept in media theory. If every medium functions as an extension of human senses, then all media are, in some sense, prosthetic. When we move from mechanical prostheses to cinematic or digital ones, the “added” component becomes experiential: media allow us to feel or remember things beyond our direct lives.

In Alison Landsberg’s concept of prosthetic memory, introduced in Prosthetic Memory: The Transformation of American Remembrance in the Age of Mass Culture (2004), the prosthesis moves from the physical to the psychological and emotional. Landsberg argues that modern media, particularly film, enable viewers to “experience” memories that they never personally lived. Watching Schindler’s List, for example, can give a viewer an embodied sense of what it might have felt like to live through the Holocaust, even though they were not there. These memories, she writes, are not “false” or “fake” but real emotional impressions formed through mediation. They become part of who we are, influencing our ethics, identities, and sense of history. In Landsberg’s view, mass culture produces empathy through these prosthetic experiences, allowing memory to become collective and connective rather than private and individual.

Landsberg’s version of prosthesis isn’t the only one. Earlier theorists such as Bernard Stiegler and Friedrich Kittler have also used the term to describe the relationship between humans and technology. Stiegler, in Technics and Time (1998), argues that all technology is prosthetic because human life has always depended on externalizing memory and knowledge. Tools, writing systems, and media are all “memory supports” that make culture possible. For him, prosthesis is not a supplement added to an already-complete human, it is what makes the human possible in the first place. Kittler, meanwhile, focuses on machines themselves. In Gramophone, Film, Typewriter (1999), he describes these devices as prostheses of perception and memory: they record, store, and reproduce sounds and images that human senses cannot retain. Where Stiegler emphasizes philosophical dependence, Kittler highlights technological replacement. Both show how the human body and mind rely on external systems of recording and mediation.

Compared to these more technical perspectives, Landsberg’s “prosthetic memory” centers the emotional and ethical. While Kittler and Stiegler see prostheses as tools that store memory, Landsberg sees media as creating new memories. Her version of prosthesis works on the level of empathy, not machinery. It bridges affect and technology, showing that cultural memory is mediated not just by devices but by feelings that circulate through them. In this way, Landsberg extends Stiegler’s argument about externalized memory into the realm of shared experience and social consciousness.

For students of media theory, this term is valuable because it reframes what media actually do. Rather than treating media as neutral channels that transmit information, the concept of prosthesis reminds us that every act of mediation changes how we think, feel, and remember. It ties directly to McLuhan’s idea of media as “extensions of man,” but adds a moral dimension: prosthetic media don’t just extend our senses, they extend our capacity for empathy. In an age dominated by screens and simulation, the line between experiencing something and remembering it becomes blurred. Prosthetic memory makes that blurring visible.

A clear example of this can be seen in contemporary digital culture. Virtual-reality projects like the Holocaust Memorial VR experience or immersive museum exhibits allow participants to step into other people’s histories. Even short-form platforms such as TikTok produce similar effects when users encounter raw, emotional content about war, displacement, or injustice. Viewers may never have lived these events, yet they “remember” them through the intensity of mediated experience. This exemplifies prosthetic memory at work, a technological extension of emotion that influences how individuals perceive global occurrences and their positions within those events. Nevertheless, it also prompts inquiries regarding authenticity and saturation: when empathy is mediated, can it diminish its intensity? Does ingesting excessive prosthetic memories result in compassion fatigue instead of comprehension?

Notwithstanding these conflicts, the concept of prosthesis continues to be a significant metaphor in media theory. It captures how technologies not only extend our bodies but also our minds and emotions. From Stiegler’s technical human, to Kittler’s mechanical memory, to Landsberg’s empathetic imagination, prosthesis maps the evolving relationship between humans and their media. It helps us see that mediation is never passive: each new form of media rewires our ways of knowing and remembering.

Ultimately, thinking about prosthetic memory shows that media theory isn’t just about analyzing devices, it’s about recognizing how those devices shape our inner lives. Media becomes the connective tissue between the individual and the collective, between personal experience and cultural history. They are, quite literally, the prostheses through which we feel what we never lived, and remember what we never saw.

“I realized how often my emotions toward global events are shaped by images I’ve never witnessed firsthand.”

That personal insight would make it feel more dialogical (what Schandorf values).

Tags: prosthesis, memory, mediation, embodiment, empathy, technology

References:

  • Landsberg, Alison. Prosthetic Memory: The Transformation of American Remembrance in the Age of Mass Culture. Columbia University Press, 2004.
  • Stiegler, Bernard. Technics and Time, Vol. 1: The Fault of Epimetheus. Stanford University Press, 1998.
  • Kittler, Friedrich. Gramophone, Film, Typewriter. Stanford University Press, 1999.

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The Self Is Formed Through Technology

Contributors: Lorainne & Maryam

Media is not merely a medium for communication or for sharing ideas, it is an instrument that shapes how we understand ourselves and the world. From the data we collect about our bodies to the memories we inherit through images and stories, technology helps us determine what it means to be human. 

This blog post compares Yoni Van Den Eede’s “Extending ‘Extension’” and Alison Landsberg’s “Prosthetic Memory: Total Recall and Blade Runner” to explore how media act as extensions of our being. Both authors tackle the idea of an authentic, pre-technological self and introduce the idea that identity is always mediated. 

Through Van Den Eede’s philosophical view of self-tracking technologies and Landsberg’s cultural analysis of cinema, we examine how media shapes not only how we perceive the world but how we exist within it.

Landsberg: Memory as Mediated Experience

Landsberg discusses “prosthetic memory,” which is the idea that media, especially films, can give us memories and emotional experiences that we never personally lived through. She uses movies like Blade Runner and Total Recall to show how implanted or artificial memories can still shape who we are and how we act. For her, memory, besides that it’s something that comes from our real lived past, is also something that can be produced by cinema and mass media. These “prosthetic memories” can influence identity, feelings, and even political beliefs. They can make us feel connected to histories or events we never experienced. Therefore, Landsberg argues that the experience we get from media can actually become part of our sense of self and how we understand the world.

Van Den Eede: Technology as Extension

In “Extending ‘Extension’,” Yoni Van Den Eede describes technology as an extension of the human being. He starts with a historical context, discussing early thinkers like Ernst Kapp who viewed tools as externalized organs, and Marshall McLuhan who claimed that all media are extensions of the body and mind. Van Den Eede explains that McLuhan’s view of technology is ambivalent: extensions enhance human capabilities but also bring a form of ‘numbing.’ In extending part of ourselves through technology, we distance ourselves from the bodily or sensory experience that technology takes over and essentially lose sensitivity to that part. McLuhan calls it “autoamputation”, a process wherein technological expansion dulls human perception even as it enables new forms of experience. Van Den Eede suggests that the extension concept can serve as a critical tool for reflecting on the dynamic, interdependent relationship between humans and technology.

Memory vs. Perception – Where Mediation Enters the Self

The first major difference between these two authors is where media intervenes in the subject. Landsberg argues that film, beyond representing the world, writes itself into us through the production of prosthetic memories. She shows that cinema can install memories that “are radically divorced from lived experience and yet motivate his actions” (p. 175). In other words, media becomes experience itself. For Landsberg, the power of prosthetic memory destabilizes the idea that identity comes from some original lived past. She claims that memory is generative, “not a strategy for closing or finishing the past — but on the contrary … propels us not backward but forwards” (p. 176). Her concern is that the trace of the past can now come from media rather than our own lives, which means identity becomes newly vulnerable to design.

Van Den Eede, by contrast, focuses on the level of perception, essentially the way media reconfigures our sensorial relation to the world before memory even forms. He explains McLuhan’s point that technological extensions intensify and unbalance the senses: “Extending the eye, for instance, creates a kind of tension in our visual capacity that is insufferable to us” (p. 158). This sensory overload produces Narcissus “narcosis,” where we “fall in love with the extensions of ourselves in technologies” while remaining unaware that they “really hail ‘from us’” (p. 157). Here, the danger is not really implanted memory. The danger is that our perception of reality itself becomes mediated without us noticing.

Landsberg = media produces identity through memory
Van Den Eede = media shapes the way we perceive before identity is even formed

When we put this together, they both show how media intervenes in the self but on two different levels. Landsberg shows media writes the past into us. Van Den Eede shows media shapes the present sensory field of how we see, feel, and interpret.

Together, they show that media affects what we remember but also what we think counts as reality in the first place.

Authenticity and Identity – We Become Through Media

Van Den Eede points out that the ‘extension’ idea can be misconstrued with the assumption that there is a fixed human self that exists before technology. In “Extending ‘Extension’,” Van Den Eede opens with iJustine’s claim that technology “isn’t just around us. It’s on us. It’s in us. It’s an extension of ourselves” (p. 151), negating the image of a separate human self that technology merely surrounds. He states that the very word extension “already suggests an autonomous, extendable entity to be present before any extension happens” (p. 152). On the contrary, we are not actually independent of technology, but in fact, shaped by it from the very start. 

Van Den Eede does not aim to dismiss the extension idea but rather to deepen it, to show that extension is not just a metaphor but a way of understanding how humans live within technological environments. He states that humans and technologies constantly shape each other, changing together over time. In his example of self-tracking technologies, he shows how devices such as the Fitbit transform how people sense, measure, and interpret their own bodies. Rather than simply extending the user’s natural awareness, these devices reconfigure what awareness itself means. 

Van Den Eede points out that such devices do more than assist a ready-made subject, they help form the subject itself. As he explains, self-tracking mediates the very self it is supposed to represent, so that technologies shape lives and one’s subjectivity takes shape in relation to the technology (p. 166). For instance, the data the Fitbit collects becomes part of how a person perceives and understands who they are. The device turns the body into something to be interpreted through numbers. As a result, the user begins to see their identity reflected in this data, measuring their sense of health, discipline, and even self-worth through technological metrics rather than inner feeling alone.

Both Van Den Eede and Landsberg question the idea of a fixed, authentic self that exists independent of technology. Landsberg questions the idea of identity as something fixed or organic. In “Prosthetic Memory,” she describes “memories which do not come from a person’s lived experience in any strict sense” (p. 175). Through media, such as film, these prosthetic memories ‘construct an identity’ for the viewer, showing that identity can be built from experiences that are technologically or collectively produced. She adds that “whether those memories come from lived experience or whether they are prosthetic seems to make very little difference. Either way, we use them to construct narratives for ourselves” (p. 186). These prosthetic memories blur the boundary between our authentic and artificial experiences. The self becomes a product of shared, mediated emotions and histories. 

Like Van Den Eede’s self-tracking subject, Landsberg’s film viewer is shaped by outside, mediated experiences and technology. Therefore, both writers dismantle the notion of an authentic self beneath technology. As Van Den Eede explains, “one’s subjectivity takes shape in relation to the technology” (p. 166), suggesting that technology doesn’t just add to who we already are, but helps make us who we are. Both authors show that to be human is already to be mediated, and that our sense of self is continually produced through our extensions in media.

The Stakes of a Mediated Identity

In the end, both Landsberg and Van Den Eede show that the boundary we try to protect, the one between the “real” self and the mediated self, no longer exists. We don’t encounter technology after we form a self. We form the self through technology. Our senses, our memories, and our identities already operate through screens, images, sensors, films, and data. And that has consequences.

If media can produce prosthetic memories, then media can also design, curate, and manipulate identity itself. If media extends perception, then media can also subtly redirect the way reality feels without us ever noticing it. 

This means we must stop assuming there is some stable, pure, offline “me” that technology acts upon. Instead, we need to recognize that technology is already inside the self, and that the self is already inside technology.

We should stop asking whether media changes us. It always does. The real question is: Who designs the structures that mediate our perception and memory? And what kinds of selves do those structures quietly build?

If we don’t critically reflect on these technologies, if we move through them passively, without questioning how they shape us, then the risk is not only losing authenticity. The risk is losing the ability to even recognize that we have lost it.

Works Cited

Landsberg, Alison. “Prosthetic Memory: Total Recall and Blade Runner.” Body & Society, vol. 1, no. 3–4, 1995, pp. 175–192.

Van Den Eede, Yoni. “Extending ‘Extension.’” Foundations of Science, vol. 19, 2014, pp. 151–167.

Image credit: Toledo Blade, “How technology is changing our art, our world — and even ourselves,” May 21 2017, https://www.toledoblade.com/business/technology/2017/05/21/How-technology-is-changing-our-art-our-world-and-even-ourselves/stories/20170519185

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Ingold, Conneller, and the Materials of Creation

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If there is one foundational argument in all of Ingold’s Making, it would be the one presented in Chapter 2: Materials of Life. The book explores our relationship with the act of “making” through many mediums, but in this chapter, he focuses on the materials themselves, centered around the idea that it is not a project’s surrounding idea that creates it, but rather, the engagement with both materials and consciousness. In order to solidify this argument further, he cites the work of Chantal Conneller, whose 2011 book An Archaeology of Materials: Substantial Transformations in Early Prehistoric Europe prescribes concepts to Ingold that elevate his argument to a higher level of understanding- namely, the return of alchemy.

Project v. Growth

Before we begin to characterize Conneller, however, we must recap Ingold first. And this chapter can be best illustrated by a graph he provides. Two vertical lines parallel each other- one stands for a flow of consciousness, the other is a flow of materials. Then, the flow of consciousness stops to form an image, while the flow of materials stops to form an object. But instead of letting these stoppages occur and resolve naturally, we have instead formed a new connection, one where ideas and objects feed off the flows of consciousness and materials, instead of letting the natural movement of both create on their own accord. (Ingold, 20)

The diagram of consciousness, image, materials, objects. (Ingold, 20)

This is a view that Ingold and many others characterize as hylomorphism, a theory by Aristotle that creates an object from start to finish with a predetermined purpose, function, and amount of raw material. It is this to which, Ingold states, we are accustomed to- the concept of making as a project. But rather, he proposes a new way of thinking; that is, viewing making as a process of growth, an interaction with the world of materials, an intervention in worldly processes. Instead of having an ouroboros of images and objects reign supreme without paying mind to the matter that constitues them, they should be formed as natural interventions within both- not wanting to know what will occur when consciousness and materials collide, but waiting in anticipation for the result of them doing so. (Ingold, 20) And in order to do that, we need to stop viewing materials through the lens of chemistry, and instead through the lens of alchemy.

About Chantal Conneller

This perspective of alchemy is one that Conneller has focused on for quite some time, in her position as an archaeologist and a professor of early prehistory at the University of Newcastle. With a focus on the mesolithic period, her book An Archaeology of Materials: Substantial Transformations in Early Prehistoric Europe helps to shift the view of materials away from one that fuels an image or its object, but as a unique form of matter with its own qualities and manifestation. Within this book, she argues that materials cannot be understood by one singular, all-encompassing, rigid definition, but rather through the social, cultural, and technical practices in which they are appropriated. (Conneller) And this perspective is one best understood by one who works with materials for a living, one who studies the art of alchemy.

One key example by Conneller is the differences in the characterization of gold- for a chemist, gold is a periodic element and has a form different from its physical manifestation. But for the alchemist, gold is a yellow, shining matter that glows brighter under water and can have its shape transformed- and the definition of gold is applicable to anything that fits the subject criteria. (Ingold, 29) This difference is key to Conneller’s main argument- “different understandings of materials are not simply “concepts” set apart from “real” properties; they are realised in terms of different practices that themselves have material effects.” Just because one material has a specific composition does not mean it is limited to it- instead, the alchemist views the material by “what it does, specifically when mixed with other materials, treated in particular ways, or placed in particular situations.” (Ingold, 29)

Chemical Ignorance

When comparing Ingold and Conneller to one another, parallels start to form- where Ingold expresses skepticism against the loop of image and object feeding into one another, Conneller directly warns against using one context of a material as a universal definition for all others. It is the same point- one conclusion on an idea or material cannot be used as a basis of knowledge for other forms of matter. Both consciousness and materials are vast in their complexity, difference, and position in space and time- no two forms of matter are ever the same. 

And where Conneller proposes a shift to view materials as not singular categories, but amorphous forms that shift with the winds of time and context, Ingold uses this logic as a platform to propose his own shift; a shift that begins to view the act of making as a multifaceted processes that observes and intervenes in the world around us, specific to time and place. One practice, as Conneller observes, is not a basis on which one can interpret and make conclusions upon another. Instead these practices differ immensely in their purpose, their interaction with the world around it, and the final artifact they happen to create. (Ingold, 29) Everything in the act of creation, according to Ingold, is relative to the world around it- Conneller just so happens to agree.

Conclusions

To summarize, ideas and objects cannot blindly survive on their own- an awareness and a centering of creation must be shifted back to consciousness and materials. In doing so, we are giving these materials sentience and life, gifting them a wide-varying, complex definition that shifts with the practice and purpose they are used for. Conneller encourages creators to, instead of viewing materials solely through their form, view them through their process, intervene in their evolution, create with them in the forefront of their mind. Both ideas, like the diagram of creation theorized by Ingold, work in tandem to produce one another- where consciousness and materials collide and swirl to create images and objects, Conneller’s theory of material context supports and validates Ingold’s rally to indeed, shift our thinking by a quarter term- view the act of creation not as a project to be completed, but as an interaction to be mediated and observed.

Sources

Ingold, Tim. Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture. Routledge, 12 Apr. 2013.

Conneller, Chantal. An Archaeology of Materials: Substantial Transformations in Early Prehistoric Europe. Routledge, 28 Mar. 2012.