Internet Slang and Anonymity

–A WaPo article on online identity

A few days ago, The Washington Post published a wonderful article by Drew Harwell, technology reporter. It centers around Soya no Sohi, a biker who tweets using FaceApp, changing his gender and age. Soya (whose real name is Mr. Nakajima) is a fascinating, vivacious, and upbeat individual, and it’s no wonder that fans love him all the more now that he’s revealed his true self. The article is a great exploration of identity and how we project ourselves on social media, examining the issue from multiple angles, be it gender, age, relationships, or cultural/societal norms. It’s a unique and positive look into social media and AI, standing apart from recent dystopian takes on tech and our future.

I was honored to play a small role in this article, and through Drew’s kindness, even be recognized in the byline. I interpreted the online interview with Mr. Nakajima, and translated additional information and general communications. The hardest part of this process was something I never expected: translating tweets.

Short, Unconventional Messages

Two characteristics set Twitter apart from other social media platforms: anonymity and brevity. And I think these go hand-in-hand.

There are many Twitter users, like journalists, authors, politicians, and other public figures, who use their real names. Because social media is part of their personal brand, they tend to be measured in what they write: purposeful, cautious, and often in complete sentences (there are exceptions, like those who write inflammatory tweets to stay in the public discourse).

But users who remain anonymous have no obligation to write in a formal manner that follows conventional grammar rules. While online writing is already short, I think tweets that are restricted by character count are more prone to slang, abbreviations, and emoji (which are not only fun but also save valuable space). This is where translation becomes a challenge.

Emoji and Kaomoji

Soya’s tweets are filled with cute emoji and kaomoji (Japanese emoticons which, unlike the western equivalent, we can appreciate without tilting our heads!). Here’s a tweet right after the WaPo interview:

When I translated this tweet, I marveled at how emoji have totally become a universal language (in fact, this NPO uses emoji to allow children from different countries to communicate with one another). They needed no explanation.

The kaomoji were a different matter. These little pictures are meant to defy words, but I wasn’t sure if they were visually clear to everyone. For the three kaomoji here (5th line, 6th line, and last line), I wrote notes saying: “shows a sigh of relief,” “shows nervousness (looking left and right, sweating and panicking),” and “shows happiness.”

Then there was this tweet, which Soya had posted right after Mr. Nakajima’s appearance in a Japanese variety show in March. While I felt bad reducing tiny, adorable pictures into blunt, boring words, I explained them like this:

(/ω＼*) Covering face in embarrassment; feeling flattered

(*´▽`人) Blushing and putting hands together in gratitude.

While the other kaomoji might be easier to understand, I was certain the one below (from this tweet, after Mr. Nakajima deliberately revealed his real face in the handlebar mirror) needed an explanation:

(ﾉ≧ڡ≦)☆

I initially started writing “sticking tongue out mischievously; slapping one’s own head after admitting to mistake.” But realizing that a lengthy explanation on the “tehepero” manga trope was probably too much information in this context, I settled with “kaomoji meaning ‘oops.'” (Again, what a boring way to describe this cute face!)

From Slang to Slang

The article incorporated the tweets of other Twitter users too, to gauge their reaction to Soya’s big reveal and what they think about Soya in general. Aside from pictures, the trickiest thing to translate was laughter.

In Japanese, laughter is shown even in somewhat formal contexts (e.g. magazine interviews) with 笑, the kanji for “laugh.” Because that character is read as “warai,” that was abbreviated to “w,” and that’s now become more common among the younger generation when they text each other. A few years ago, that evolved even further among some hardcore netizens, who now use the kanji for “grass,” or 草 (because the letter “w” looks like grass growing on the ground).

Some tweets only had one “w,” which I translated as “LOL.” Other tweets with multiple w’s (like this one, referring to Soya’s handlebar mirror tweet and joking that Soya’s dad was accidentally included in the photo) were translated as “ROFL” to signify a bigger laugh. Thank goodness there wasn’t a wider variety, because those are the only two laughter slangs I know (“LMAO” seemed inappropriate for obvious reasons–and I honestly don’t know if that’s a bigger laugh than ROFL)!

Just for fun, I tested how AI translation services like DeepL and Google Translate might translate these tweets. DeepL ignores all the w’s (probably seeing them as typos), and Google Translate just includes the w’s as is. “Grass” remains “grass.” It is ironic (but a relief for professionals like us!) that humans are still needed to understand internet slang.

Of course, there are other elements that are lost in translation. Soya refers to herself with a feminine pronoun. She also occasionally mixes in the local Ibaraki dialect (as in the tweet below, thanking followers for reading the WaPo article), and that’s probably another factor that makes her so lovable and approachable. It’s unfortunate that there’s no way to convey the spirit behind these tweets aside from clunkily adding a side note to straightforward translations.

The Courage to Tweet

Working on this WaPo project made me rethink my relationship with Twitter. I first got an account a decade ago, when I was a graduate student studying journalism. We all learned how to market ourselves on social media, which was especially important because the media landscape was rapidly changing, and jobs at media companies were decreasing.

But I just could not get into Twitter. I had difficulty chiseling what I wanted to say into a perfect haiku of 140 characters (as was the limit until a few years ago). And more importantly, I found the Twitter space scary. Every post was open to the public. People didn’t have to show their faces or their real names. I felt–and still feel–much safer on Facebook, where I’m only connected to people I know and trust.

In the WaPo article, Drew quotes researchers and points out that in the past, many people “with ‘stigmatized social identities’ . . . saw online anonymity as a way to act like themselves without fear of offline consequences.” He continues: “It wasn’t until the rise of giant social networks like Facebook — which used real identities to, among other things, supercharge targeted advertising — that this big game of pretend gained an air of duplicity.”

This made me realize how lucky I am to have an in-person community where I feel at home. It’s a luxury, and I shouldn’t be whining about leaving my comfort zone online. And either way, we all create online identities to an extent. I chose my profile photo out of others that I didn’t think were as good. Even when blogging about my weaknesses or struggles, I try to reach a positive conclusion. It’s possible to find a good balance between being authentic and not revealing every flaw.

I’m very much inspired by Soya and Mr. Nakajima: full of energy, always upbeat, and not afraid to try new things. During the interview, Mr. Nakajima said: “Unless you start, you’ll come to regret it. People will say, ‘I’ll do this once things settle down or once everything is in place.’ But by the time everything is in place, your life will end.”

That really spoke to me. I hope I can be more courageous and post more frequently, be it through this blog or social media, rather than overthinking everything.

At the very least, it’s comforting to know what to do if I make a mistake. I’ll simply post this:

(ﾉ≧ڡ≦)☆