Many outside of the Dartmouth community wonder: what actually is “facetime?” Though difficult to explain, and perhaps impossible to define, facetime is a sacred ritual for many undergraduates; indeed it was even a purported fascination of former President Dickey, who as a professor at the College devoted countless hours of study and lecture to the act. Simply speaking, facetime is the act of being noticed in a public place around campus, usually appearing “cool” or “busy.” Its roots come from the historical events of commencement, where graduating seniors carry the canes of their secret society as a sign of their allegiance—it is said too that the cornerstone of the original Dartmouth Hall was inscribed with the Latin phrase Video Vidi Visum Quod Exsisto Seen, which roughly translates to the ancient maxim, “to see and be seen.”    

An anonymous poll of current Dartmouth students found that sixty-seven percent, or roughly two thirds, attended certain events, worked on First Floor Berry, ate at Collis six times a week, went to the gym at four, or planned alternate routes to class in order to get facetime. But all these figures are meaningless if one doesn’t first consider the context of this peculiar institution. Facetime presupposes that there is a Dartmouth “scene” to be a part of—and if you’re spotted, you’ve “made the scene.” The essence of facetime has its philosophical roots in the inherent vanity of Dartmouth students. It’s just basic math: what else could happen when there are four thousand preening high-achievers engaging in constant political socialization, whether out of ambition or interest, on such a small campus? In this light, it makes sense that to some, it truly matters what chair you have, what direction you face, where you do your psych reading, where you play pong.

But though Dartmouth students like to be seen crushing the treadmill before dinner at Homeplate (at 6:30, not 6 for optimal facetime), not all of us are facetime devotees—some are even bitter about the merits of Dartmouth’s second favorite pastime, as Karen Iorio ’10 notes. She went on record with TDI, stating that “while people think facetime is a surefire way to boost their social standing, I can safely say, as a recovering facetime addict, that getting facetime is about as helpful to your social life as spending your entire four years here in your room playing World of Warcraft.” Ouch. But what if Karen is right? What if, since the days of Wheelock’s infamous cornerstone, Dartmouth students have been lead astray in their pursuit of acknowledgement, attention, and public persona?

Perhaps contrary to Iorio’s testimonial are the comments of an anonymous ’11 who remarked to TDI that facetime “changed my life, giving me the self-confidence to be who I truly want to be.” Not heart-rending, but not exactly irrelevant either. In preparing to write this piece for TDI, this author had to come to know his subject a little better; let’s say he “tested the water”—standing in line at Novack after tens for a cup of coffee hoping to bump into that girl from last night; making rounds on the green on a warm afternoon a few weeks ago; holding down table on a big night; etc. But all these social objectives did little to reveal the mythical power of facetime that has enraptured students of Dartmouth, young and old, since the nascent days of Wheelock. Was there really nothing behind the aura?

All things considered, facetime is a fickle game. Whoring oneself out for the fleeting attention of passersby can often result in “negative facetime”. Yeah, you know who you are: “that guy,” always wearing sunglasses and monopolizing a table far too big for you on Collis porch, smoking a cigarette and sipping Dirt Cowboy while cracking open your reader for Soc’y 23: Social Deviance. We see right through your machinations—you’re not there for the weather. It’s not even sunny. You’re a shameless social ladder climber, and your game is facetime. 

So what does facetime say about Dartmouth’s insecurities? Why do people take it so seriously? Clearly, facetime is a function of our status-obsessed Ivy League culture, the only system that could appropriate real accomplishment in academics, sports, and the arts as secondary to achieving a desirable space to chill out. And in fact, the real achievers probably don’t study on First Floor Berry or play pong four nights a week or “do their reading” on Collis porch; they’re probably at home, working their asses off. Because, after all, “to see and be seen” is a shallow philosophy on life, and despite Dartmouth’s rich facetime history, some traditions deserve to go by the wayside. So long, facetime; we’ll see you in hell…or the basement Greenprint station in Carson which certainly offers a compelling simulacra of hell. And it’s, uh, always a great place to get noticed during finals…