Over the years I've devoted numerous columns to various aspects of online identity. A column from almost five years ago referred to Kurt Vonnegut's Mother Night and the notion that
We are what we pretend to beBut perhaps it's less a question of pretending, and more of representing. Rather inevitably this brings us to questions of whether we possess an essence independent of the means by which we approach, or represent, that essence. Am I, for instance, my jazz collection? The fact that to a certain extent I am might explain why I've happily parted with certain records that I no longer listen to. This isn't, however, because I found that I no longer listen to them. Many, if not most, of those I've kept are also hardly ever listened to. Those I've parted with express, and display, a different taste than that which I eventually developed. I'm somehow fearful that someone who might review the records on my shelf, and find those there, would get an inaccurate impression of my tastes.