{"id":19,"date":"2020-08-10T14:28:00","date_gmt":"2020-08-10T14:28:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/35.172.64.10\/?p=19"},"modified":"2023-08-31T21:45:55","modified_gmt":"2023-08-31T21:45:55","slug":"on-asynchronous-communication-the-value-of-chat","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/liverickson.com\/blog\/?p=19","title":{"rendered":"On Asynchronous Communication & the Value of Chat"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

The concept of \u2018time\u2019 as a resource has come up in several conversations that I\u2019ve been a part of recently, and a recent discussion led me to think more deeply about time\u2019s role in communication. Last year, I gave a talk at SkillsMatter <\/a>exploring social technologies and online communication. You can break down technological communication services across a couple of different axes, but today I\u2019m going to write a bit more about (a)synchronicity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In particular, I\u2019ll explore the role that time plays in how we communicate, and in the ways that technology consciously or unconsciously changes the nature of those conversations. And, to take that a step further \u2013 I\u2019ll start to address why it matters for mixed reality experiences. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let\u2019s start by defining our spectrum. It may be easy to think about synchronicity as a binary \u2013 something is either \u201chappening at the same time\u201d or \u201cnot\u201d. In practice, the amount of time that we\u2019re waiting for an asynchronous event to fire plays a huge role in defining the context<\/em> of how we receive a message, and, therefore, the message itself. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Say I get a text message from my partner, telling me that they\u2019re about to get in line at the grocery store. It\u2019s sent via text, so I may or may not see it right away. We live about five minutes away from the grocery store \u2013 it\u2019s very likely that my partner would get home before I see the message, especially if I\u2019m doing something where my focus is elsewhere \u2013 for example, the shower. <\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Time is an important part of that interaction \u2013 if I need something from the store, and I get that message immediately after it\u2019s sent, I can ask my partner to pick it up (maybe I\u2019ll call them if I really<\/em> need it, so I choose to opt for a synchronous form of communicating that). But if my partner returns home before I see the message, then that message is now essentially useless information to me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is value in time, and delaying the process of sending or receiving information to another person. It\u2019s interesting to note, then, that technology seems to be aggressively nudging us into constant synchronicity \u2013 always on their platform, ready to receive and respond in the blink of an eye. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

To that point \u2013 synchronicity is not bad!<\/em> But a balance is necessary. Our brains did not evolve for constant, incessant communication threads where we have no time to sit and think our own thoughts. Yet, left to companies like Facebook, that is what we would do \u2013 enable push notifications for every message, every \u2018like\u2019, every comment, every time your friends shared something themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, back to this spectrum of time. Some forms of communication these days expect synchronicity \u2013 perhaps your work day feels increasingly busy, but with less substance \u2013 because you spend so much time responding to Slack, whose design encourages synchronicity. Or, maybe your company has a culture where email is preferred, which tends to be a bit slower than platforms like Slack, Microsoft Teams, and Discord. It\u2019s weird<\/em> when you ping-pong emails back and forth like it\u2019s an instant messaging (IM) platform, right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the past, the synchronous vs. asynchronous divide was more easily differentiated. You could signal an availability for synchronous chatting with an IM client, or you could choose to give yourself and your intended audience the gift of time to respond with email. You were generally choosing to be present, on the phone, or on the computer \u2013 it wasn\u2019t the consistent presence that we have today with our cell phones, which can alert us to everything under the sign to be notified for. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Coming back to balance \u2013 I think we\u2019ve gone too far down the side of synchronicity. When we are synchronously communicating with the various parties in our lives, every moment of our day, we are losing time, especially when these behaviors are subconscious and lacking intentionality<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Right now, mixed reality is in an interesting spot \u2013 it is a tool for connecting us in a more present, synchronous way \u2013 but the hardware is isolating and still just complicated enough that you know you are investing time into the experience when you put on the HMD. That\u2019s the problem with virtual world technologies \u2013 for the time being, at least, there isn\u2019t a way that we can find a happy place between purely synchronous and stretches of time between interactions. The cognitive load to switch contexts of being in a physical environment and trying to be (at least partially) present in a virtual one is overwhelming \u2013 even when that virtual \u201cenvironment\u201d is a stack of camera feeds. Most mixed reality platforms don\u2019t tackle this spot, so what has emerged is a hybrid platform such as Discord taking on the bulk of the \u201cin-between\u201d communications for virtual worlds. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could write for a while on this topic, but I want to bring it back to a very particular type of communication: the chat stream. Specifically, I want to shed some light on the oft-underutilized functionality of text chat in online platforms. I\u2019ll start with a short story<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Once upon a time, I worked at a virtual reality startup. This company\u2019s platform allowed you to communicate as avatars via voice chat and explore magical worlds created by users. However, the platform did not allow you to text chat with people as a native function of the application. There was no way to chat between different virtual worlds; the chat apps that did exist were user-created and subject to the platform\u2019s ever-changing APIs, and, probably the most fundamental \u2013 the people in charge just didn\u2019t believe in text chat as a necessary feature for a virtual world, so it wasn\u2019t built.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Yes, text chat inside of VR spaces is hard. It\u2019s probably not going to be a preferred method for input for quite some time \u2013 but to write it off entirely erases a huge potential of complementary, rich forms of communication. It also is a key feature for accessibility, and for many people, chat is far and away a more comfortable way to engage with a group virtually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Recently, I\u2019ve been on a lot of video calls. I\u2019m guessing many of you have, too. While a subset of this is likely related to the intentionality of these calls and experience that the hosts have on moderating virtual meetings, I\u2019ve observed that the calls where the chat is actively monitored and addressed as an equitable form of participation are more nuanced, diverse in their participation, and open.<\/strong> Twitch, an online game streaming platform, has embodied this practice to an extreme, essentially forcing an asymmetric, slightly asynchronous flow of the communications between the streamer and their audience. And it works<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Coming off a Zoom call where chat wasn\u2019t<\/em> equitable, I started thinking about why H<\/a>ubs<\/a>, the platform I work on at Mozilla, feels more equitable in chat by default, even when the intention of moderation isn\u2019t explicit. I\u2019ve come up with a few hypothesis, which I\u2019m interested to learn more about and understand better: <\/p>\n\n\n\n