It’s yet another day in 2020, and I’m attending a Zoom champagne tasting, because that’s something that happens now. The caviar and champagne — sent to my home a day prior — are waiting on the kitchen table. Glamorous brand representatives, PR people, and fellow food journalists log on one by one. We’re about to taste our first bubbly, but as soon as I uncork the bottle, a golden cascade of foam hits me in the face for all to see. Champagne gushes upward, covering my nice Zoom-appropriate shirt, trusted old sweatpants, laptop, table, and kitchen floor. A second before I hit the mute and camera buttons, I catch a glimpse of the PR lady’s quizzical stare. My face in the gallery view grid goes dark.
Even without champagne exploding in your face, Zoom “events” — celebrations, launches, and other gatherings once experienced in person — are hands down incredibly awkward, no matter what. They are never, and were never, not awkward. It’s time we admit that they were never fun—we just wanted them to be fun.
It took me some time to arrive at this realization myself. In the very beginning, when Covid-19 sent us home to quarantine, there was something a little exciting about attending a virtual happy hour or two, be it with college friends or co-workers you never saw anymore. But our adrenaline was running high and all of it was new. We were trying.
Pretty quickly, the novelty wore off and “Zoom fatigue” was born. After a full workday of calls, we realized we didn’t want anymore of it. When done repeatedly, Zoom calls have been scientifically proven to be physically and mentally exhausting.
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Soon enough, no one was enjoying them, yet they kept coming. Over the course of 2020, I went to Zoom weddings, panel discussions, launches, and even a writing workshop or two. And like many others, I had the Zoom birthday experience when my mother surprised me with a well-intentioned yet excruciating virtual gathering with friends all over the world on a single event link. As I walked, unsuspecting, into her study, people who wouldn’t normally be in the same room stared at me, embarrassed. The whole thing felt surreal.
After my friends — plucked from different time zones and speaking different languages — clumsily sang me “Happy Birthday” on top of each other, I stared at the sectioned screen, helpless.
Now what?
Slight panic set in. If this was a real party, I’d introduce them. We’d talk simultaneously, interrupting each other. We’d eventually become closer, if even for a night. The screen, unavoidably, flattened these possibilities. The faint memory of how things were, the thought of how this event could have been, in different circumstances, muddled the joy of seeing everyone’s faces digitally.
In 2021, allow me to never attend anything on Zoom outside of business. I beg of you.
Also, allow me to question the very nature of a Zoom “event” and why they’re so horrible. We’ve suffered enough this year. What’s a little pondering?
In a memorable Vox article last year, writer Rachel Sugar asked: What even was fun anymore?
In a pandemic, this became unclear. In the Before Times, often, events were where our fun happened. Whether invitation-only or spontaneous, with close friends or a bunch of sexy strangers, an event, the internet tells me, is “a thing that is happening” and a “public and social occasion.” Actions like talking, laughing, making and avoiding eye contact, sipping a drink, and having a snack are inevitable parts of the equation. Vibes — a concept beloved by everyone from the Beach Boys to Ariana Grande — are another part, from the look and feel of a place to the lighting and what remains in the shadows. Then there’s palpable energy, tension, anticipation, curiosity—what is that person wearing?—and, of course, the meaning and content of the occasion.
That’s why it’s clear that a Zoom event aims to keep the meaning of the word intact — a thing that is happening — but strips everything else away. The vibes. The actions. The atmosphere. The promise of the word “event” itself conditions us to feel excitement — everyone will be there! It’s a gathering! — only to be disappointed. At first, this is why we thought a Zoom event could be somewhat fun. But we learned that the definition was nothing without the rest of it.
Recently, a friend was thrown a work baby shower on Zoom; all of her co-workers changed their background to baby blue, dotted with “Congratulations!” proclamations. This one-dimensional action (Zoom’s blog is bursting with similar ideas on creating “community” and “experience” for virtual gatherings) gave the whole thing a cute, uniform look. It also highlighted the artifice and shallowness of these gatherings—performative rather than truly emotional.
On the day of the champagne fiasco, I spent an hour cleaning up. Should a grown-up technically know how to open a bottle of bubs? Probably. Is it fun or festive to open your own champagne and pour it in solitude? Definitely not. I’m cautiously optimistic about more communal bubbly consumption in 2021 and less of everything else on Zoom that doesn’t serve as work or friendly catch-ups. Want to share your screen and walk me through a new project? Sure. Want to have a one-on-one happy hour? Okay (but probably just on FaceTime). Otherwise, I’ll see you at a future occasion that deserves to be called an event.
