Digital Fantasy Forever

On AI-Generated Paracosms

Many children have imaginary worlds. An unspoken impact of digital technology, like the internet and, now, generative AI, is their ability to extend the imaginary world well into adulthood.

Her name was Marie and she followed me everywhere. We had countless phone conversations on the kitchen landline, laying on the cold beige ceramic, twirling the once-white phone cord between my small fingers, as I waited for my aunt to finish cooking. The nearby adults humored me and asked if she would join us for supper. She always declined. Marie was my imaginary friend, a character borne out of my infantile imagination, pure chimera made of 100% Ruby-sourced fairy-dust. Marie lived in her own intricate world: she had a job, colleagues, a morning commute, details probably inspired by the television I watched and the free daily newspapers that I read. We developed an intimate friendship and exchanged secrets. I’m sad to say that I don’t remember when she left. Just that one day, I no longer had an imaginary friend.

I engaged in what psychologists call a “paracosm”, i.e., a “prolonged fantasy world usually originating in childhood”. Think of the children in C. S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia who escape their reality and enter a world with a mythical talking lion, a terrible storied conflict, and a unique intricate folklore. According to a 2016 study from the University of Oregon, approximately 15% of children report having imaginary worlds which they usually inhabit to rehearse interactions and “orient themselves in reality”. Like most childhood behaviors, paracosms tend to end as children age. The rehearsal of life is slowly overtaken by life itself, a transition facilitated by teachers, coaches, and family.

Still from the Chronicles of Narnia

Paracosms were once limited by the strength of our imaginations and our ability to immerse ourselves in these worlds. These powers were potent but, nonetheless, limited. Growing up, quotidian items were imbued with an infinite flexibility. One day, my mother left her pocket mirror on the kitchen table and I took it to summer camp with me. The small contraption was a black plastic bivalve with reflective interiors. Commonly used as an on-the-go way to check one’s makeup, in my hands, it became a secret spy communication device, allowing me to connect with the other agents in my vicinity. Suddenly, it become a filter through which I could see portals to other dimensions where evil was to be defeated. At that age, my mind was overrunning with imagination, and I could easily immerse myself in fantasy play. An unexpected consequence of digital technology, specifically the internet, is the augmentation of our capacity to inhabit our fantasy worlds, the digital extension of paracosms. For instance, adult members of fandoms can engage in hours of real-time fantasy, connected with other fans, supported by extended immersive experiences such as Second Life and other 3D worlds as well as durational digital role playing in text-based forums or in game environments. The pace, the scale, and the availability of these technologies have made escape into alternate worlds much easier.

Still, there were limitations, the worlds were proprietary, the avatars templated, the whole experience often lacked true customization. With generative AI, the gap to customization is narrowing. One can truly live in their own digital fantasy world. Want to have Batman as an imaginary friend? Simple! Create your version of Batman in MidJourney, upload it to an avatar text-to-speech platform powered by a large language model and rapidly you can be in constant conversation with your favorite character.

AI-generated Batman

For even more idiosyncratic fantasy, apps like Replika and Digi allow users to train, through conversation, customizable friends and romantic partners powered by AI. These apps are often presented by their makers as a path for improvement for individuals who want training in becoming more sociable or less awkward. The hypothesis is that they practice conversation with the AI, improve their skills and therefore their IRL interactions. My own research with Replika users shows that they state increases in self-confidence and feelings of happiness, which positively affect their “real life”. In that sense, digital fantasy is truly paracosmic, as training and rehearsal have often been the function of paracosms with children. For instance, psychiatrists Delmont and Shirley Morrison, in their book “Memories of Loss and Dreams of Perfection,” mention that paracosms are “a coping mechanism for children who suffer an early loss” and that “it is in that world that they process and understand their loss”. Similarly, children like me rehearsed social interactions with imaginary friends, before performing them IRL on the playground.

Children, however, are forced into IRL by educators in the context of kindergarten and elementary schools. Activities and classes force them to interact, to perform in vivo. The loss of the paracosm is a natural part of growing up. But when children are forcefully removed from paracosms, things become more difficult. The removal from fantasy can lead to psychological distress and increased anxiety.

We see this happening already with adult Replika users, who, when an update changes the behavior of their AI romantic partner, react strongly. The problem with adult paracosms is that they have no natural end, there is no educator to push, no recess with forced activities, no pull towards the other. They rapidly become insular worlds for one. Adults in the US, according to the latest statistics from the Surgeon General, are increasingly alone, and the loneliness seems to only further the entrenchment in the imaginary world. We can see these new tools as rehearsals for IRL interactions, but looking at the stats: will these interactions ever come?

Reddit user explains his disarray after a change in the Replika algorithm

Freud reminds us that “[fantasy is a kind of] screen-memory, representing something of more importance with which it was in some way connected”. The 3D avatar on the screen is an ersatz for a person, the digital expression of a repressed wish for physical togertherness.

How do we build tools that can help adults rekindle the child-like wonder of fantasy without them being adversarial to their real lives? In the words of film studies scholar Professor Jeffrey Sconce, “when is fantasy too much fantasy?”