Unbearable to Watch, Impossible to Look Away: The 2020 Election
Last night, my best friends and I crammed on a couch with bated breath and tapping toes through yet another commercial break. The election coverage had been nothing short of exhausting. Still, there was an itch that we were missing out. Should we change the channel? Floated out into the air, and we clicked a few over to a different news station. We were greeted by a barrage of red and blue: a Breaking News! ticker on the bottom reminded us that yet another state was too early to call. We tried to follow what was going on throughout the flashing graphics: every percentage was saturated, every font bolder than the last. I ducked down to text my family. Eventually, we went back to MSNBC. That was hard to watch, we laughed, In more ways than one. I looked up from the respite I had taken in my phone as another ad played. Off to the right, we had the “Kornacki Cam” — a constant look into the process of the one and only Steve Kornacki, who had to be forced into a break from his tireless analysis earlier this afternoon. There’s no time off, I thought to myself, Even in a commercial break we’re still consuming the election.
But how could we not be? Unprecedented times in an year that is beyond description. An election truly like no other. We have been in a quarantine that has been boiling into a pressure cooker for the last eight months, with no end in sight. Even as temperatures drop, outdoor activities and dining remain the one of the safest ways to slow the spread of coronavirus. Inconsistent and varying legislation nationwide has left seemingly every state declaring that only they know what’s best for their citizens. If you’re wrong, well that’s because you’re not from here. You wouldn’t understand. As a country, we have divided and divided, desperately hoping we will be represented by someone who shares our views. Us vs. Them. Me vs. You. Red vs. Blue.
In color theory, especially surrounding web design, red text on a blue background (or the opposite) is known to create a vibrating effect when you try to read it. It doesn’t appear flat. This is because of a process called chromostereopsis — where flat, two-dimensional color images give off the impression of depth. To put it more simply, in positive chromostereopsis, the red appears to be in front of the blue. Our depth perception is tricked to seeing a difference that isn’t there. Watching graphics with that effect — like so many of us did last night — puts strain on the eyes. It is, scientifically, hard to watch.
But what about the channels that had less saturated text? Hey, the alert on MSNBC was yellow, surely that’s a happy color! In most color theory, it is: but even in less draining packaging, the constant barrage of notifications, alerts, and breaking updates is exhausting to watch. Our vision is one of the key ways we react to the world around us, especially when it comes to danger. For centuries, animals have used bright colors or contrast to ward off enemies — think of the neon hues of poisonous dart frogs, or the glaring eyespots on the wings of butterflies.
“A change in texture or brightness in the visual array is associated with something important going on in the scene. In other words, something that draws one’s attention within the scene should turn out to be important … If that draws one’s attention and what is worth looking at turn out to be different properties, then the scene lacks coherence.”
— Kaplan and Kaplan, 1988.
What the two former psychology professors at the University of Michigan are trying to say is simple: we are hard-wired to notice these visual assaults as danger. But what happens if our brains are constantly assuming that, only to look and see no threat in front of us? What happens when it lacks coherence and doesn’t make sense?
Allow me to extrapolate on a few possible scenarios, based on my own experience. One thing that can happen is we grow numb. With relentless alarm bells going off to nothing of note, we grow to drown them out like the rumble of a faulty motor in a long road trip. Only when we stop and turn the car off do we realize that we weren’t sitting in absolute silence. Since nothing is registering, nothing is of note — even real dangers. The sky is falling? Yeah, we’ve heard that one before.
Or the opposite can happen. Every single time we register it as danger. We’re not able to tune it out. No matter how many times it seems to be an inconsequential update, surely, this has to mean something. Looking at it, and this is what something important looks like. But this isn’t important. Why am I still panicked? We struggle to make sense of what’s affecting us, trusting less in our ability to differentiate between real danger and white noise. Everything feels as high stakes as our brains are alerting us to believe. The sky is falling. No, really. It is.
Or maybe, if you’re a weary Brooklyn barista, you doing some digging to make sure your exhaustion isn’t unfounded.
At some point in the Florida coverage, I laid my head on my best friend’s shoulder. I want to nap, I whined. I had been up since 5:30 am to go work, where we served an endless line of voters. The same questions repeated with every customer: How are you? Are you okay? Are you really okay? Everyone wanted to check in on each other one last time before it all. We talked about when we had voted, what’d we would be drinking later that day, or if they were truly brave: how scared we all were, deep down. I feel like I’ve been holding in a breath for the last four years waiting for the worst, one regular confessed to me as she waited for her latte, but I just can’t look away. I feel like I’m going crazy. It feel like it’s just me. I thought of her as stayed up trying to decipher the most recent percentages from the newest county to be worried about. Half-lidded and blood-shot, my eyes remained glued to the screen. It was unbearable. I couldn’t look away.
On every level this election is truly overstimulating. It’s okay if you find yourself more frazzled, overwhelmed, or unable to process like you normally would. Try to be patient and gentle with yourself. It’s truly a lot.
It’s not just you, I promise. I did the research and everything. It’s not just you.
