The Selfie Stick’s Passport

Traveling through Eastern Europe this past May, I was exposed to many firsts. From inhaling paprika-infused goulash to butchering Hungarian phrases, my trip overflowed “foreign.” However, putting these multicultural experiences aside, the most exotic behavior I witnessed was not a new tradition, but it surrounded a new cultural artifact. Along the Danube, outside the Berlin Wall, and even within Matthias Cathedral, I narrowly dodged three foot long steel pipes as people adamantly and meticulously placed them for the best shot. They were not weapons in the traditional sense, but they were ammunition all the same.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I remembered one of my good friends from high school purchasing a selfie stick as a mockery of itself. She used it satirically, while perhaps coincidentally receiving quality photos. Neither the stick nor the act of holding it up to snap a picture was to be taken seriously. However, walking around Prague’s old town square, you could see the determined intent in every selfie stick user’s eyes. This was no mockery, and “photobombing” their pictures was, regrettably, discouraged.

But why the selfie stick? Understandably the normal selfie option is out: the lighting, the double chins – a poor man’s hassle for those able to dole out $9.99. But which burning pain point does the selfie stick relieve that across the world tourists wield them with resolve? I noticed the using parties usually consisted of one or two members. This makes sense. If desired, a person going stag would have to ask surrounding people to take a photo of him or herself. In order for a couple to get one together, they would have to do the same.

I understand the desire to have a photo of you and your significant other, especially on a memorable trip or honeymoon. But surely they could achieve their mantelpiece portrait by asking a fellow tourist? Is our resistance to social interaction so strong we need titanium to replace it? However, by actually observing peoples’ use of selfie sticks, one begins to comprehend its existence. No one would set up the contraption independently, tethering a pole to his or her camera to take a single photo. What follows instead is a parody of their need for a perfect photo. The users will wander around the tourist attraction while facing the exactly opposite direction. Meanwhile their camera dutifully bobs in front of them, taking rapid-fire shots at the press of a finger. Tourists aren’t shirking human interaction wholesale. But it would be impossible to ask surrounding people to take as many pictures as the selfie stick, without inconveniently confronting the extent of one’s narcissism. The selfie stick, on the other hand, is a judgment free accessory.

Some tourist attractions with limited space now specifically ban selfie sticks—and you know when that happens, it’s almost always too late. Nowadays it’s a rarity to see museums ban photography outright, let alone cell phone use. I traveled abroad two years prior without coming across a single selfie stick. Therefore, I found this radical shift from gag gift to serious travel accessory both deeply comical and substantially unnerving. Because of the latter, I hope the selfie stick is a merely a phase preceding subtler endeavors.

In the meantime, let this serve as a PSA. I will personally take your photo multiple times if that deters you from purchasing a selfie stick. And to those abroad attempting to avoid airborne tripods: good luck.