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I am a lurker. That,??????? ???????? ?? ????? ?????? in Twitch parlance, is what streamers call viewers who come to their channels, park their single viewer count and watch, but rarely ever interact with chat. You see, for me, Twitch isn’t like TV. It isTV. And the best, most essential kind for insomniacs, at that.
Ever since my hormones kicked off around the age of 13, a persistent nocturnal dilemma has plagued me: I rarely sleep.
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They say "I’m in good company," though. Some of my very, very successful personal heroes are also incapable of shutting their minds down at night. Who are these would-be vampires? Try Winona Ryder and Madonna.
So, it would seem that I’m in greatcompany. Except, I’m not. They're not great company. They're the worst kind of company. They're never around when I'm wide-eyed at 2 a.m. Madonna's off the hook cuz, obvs, she's touring. But Winona, what's your excuse? Imaginative ribbing of the rich and celebrated aside, I'll tell you who is there for me in the wee hours: streamers. Streamers that occupy the less occupied end of Twitch's streaming spectrum.
They are my blankies. They are my comfort food. They are my warm mug of milk. They are, effectively, my Ambien.
Yes, I’m talking about those unknown human beings who happily host themselves on the Amazon-owned streaming platform for the delight of … tens, sometimes a couple hundreds of viewers, if they’re lucky. They are my blankies. They are my comfort food. They are my warm mug of milk. They are, effectively, my Ambien. And I say that with love.
Not too long ago, I lost my mother to brain cancer. And with that, I lost the last tenuous threads that tethered me, albeit incredibly briefly, to the dream world. I’m sure you can imagine how grief mixed with exhaustion might play out healthwise. I’d check the clock. Note that it was about the time I should be slipping into my sheets, and, instead, turn on my PS4 Pro, fire up the Twitch app and browse through what used to be known as the IRL category — it’s now been rebranded as Just Chatting, which, ugh, that name. But it’s essentially the same: Streamers share their real lives from either the outside world or the inside of their homes. I’d then scroll alllll theeee waaaaay to the bottom of the list and select whichever streamer’s thumbnail struck a chord with me.
It was during this period of time that I first stumbled upon a unique streamer by the name of itsmeimALEX, with an equally unique premise: a bizarro, crudely animated, Mario Paint-esque talk show featuring the male millennial version of MTV’s Daria, his puppet sidekicks, and a mysterious Tilda Swinton-like character peeping through a window. Yes.
What made itsmeimALEX’s channel such must-see TV for me was the simple fact that, in addition to the chat roll running along the right side of the screen, I could call in. Yes.
So I did. But my nerves got the best of me and I was, loathe though I am to admit it, crap at live Twitch interaction. A few nights later, however, my friend, who’d come to stay over and keep me company while I mindlessly ate a jar of dulce de leche with a tablespoon and ranted on and on about the wonders of Twitch IRL, fared far better when she called in under the assumed name of "Rachel" — jokingly pronounced with a hard "ch." Rachel, with background prompting from yours truly, stayed on the line for about 30 minutes, entertaining not only the surprised but totally game host with her put-on brash, take-no-shit New York ‘tude, but also the four or maaaybeee five other people lazily lurking in chat. It was, to put it mildly, a laugh riot that injected a dose of much-needed mania into the otherwise laconic chat. In fact, at one point, Rachel and I had to go into separate rooms just to contain our good-natured laughter.
Come morning, when Rachel had awakened and joined me for a well-deserved breakfast of deli-made bacon, egg, and cheese, I found out that I’d made a convert. She was now all infor Twitch, specifically late-night, low-viewer-count Twitch. She even signed up and created her own streaming handle right then and there. The magic, it would seem, was in the intimacy.
Since that time, I’ve discovered and followed over a dozen or so low-viewer-count streams, painstakingly curated by my perennial sleeplessness. These folks have kept me company throughout past Thanksgiving eves and days I’ve spent away from family; they’ve provided me with an escape from the mental anguish that is job-related stress; they’ve consoled me on those nights when I look over and don’t see a partner inhabiting my barely used bed (if I’m going to "sleep" anywhere, it’s going to be my couch).
There’s Coconut_Prince, a trucker-hat wearing, West Coast-based variety streamer — that means his format can incorporate pretty much whatever he likes: art, music, video games, just chatting — with the kind of soothing bass-y voice you wish your therapist or masseuse had. In fact, Coconut_Prince sometimes labels his streams under the brain-tickling ASMR banner, owing to the dulcet tones of his marry-me-now Californian drawl.
On a recent art stream, he lovingly toiled away in Adobe Illustrator designing the Prince from Katamari Damacy, an avant-garde, PS2-era video game, while a just-audible-enough lo-fi house music playlist kept the tempo in the background. Never once did I attempt to speak up in chat, though I was tempted when he solicited advice on what colors he should use to make his art pop. No. Instead, I kept him on my TV while I did half-hearted stretches on my floor mat, occasionally unlocking my smartphone to glance at trending Twitter. His viewer count, on the handful of times I checked it, fluctuated between 27 and 32 viewers.
Then there’s Starbitzychan: A quirky, blonde (when she feels like it) Japan-based, Midwestern Just Chatting streamer who can either be found holding court with her loyal chat from her bedroom HQ, which is a veritable Sanrio-inspired den of star stickers, stuffed animals and glitter galore, or out on the labyrinthine, overstimulated nighttime streets of Tokyo.
The magic, it would seem, was in the intimacy.
Star, as she is affectionately known, burps A LOT — some might even say professionally. In fact, it’s kind of her personal brand and it’s incredibly endearing. But don't let the gross-out humor fool you, Star gets paid to burp on camera. It's why companies like LiveU Solo, a streaming tech company whose logo is prominently displayed on her streams, sponsor her channel. Consider this exchange: After finishing a song — it may have been an Evanescence track (ssshhh!) — all by her lonesome at her regular karaoke joint, Star let out a weak burp or two and swiftly confessed that she was “so out of burp practice.” And then quickly followed it up, exclaiming, “Oh, that tastes awful!” Sure, it might not be your cup of tea, but this is why chat and I love Star.
Star’s also unique in that she speaks Japanese well (I would know. I studied it for years.) and, unlike other more well-known Japan-based streamers, engages authentically and thoughtfully with locals. To join one of her streams is akin to being a plus-one to wherever the night’s adventures might lead. It’s the cheapest form of overseas travel. There’s never really any plan. And that’s what makes her channel work.
On a recent visit to a neighborhood izakaya — a kind of small Japanese bar — she downed a tomato and shōchū cocktail (think: Japanese bloody mary) and taught the friendly bartender how to say “slainte” and “prost,” which means “cheers” in Irish and German, respectively.
That night I watched, as I always do, from a distance, toying with several witticisms I’d never dare drop into chat. I was mostly content to know that in the solace of my dusky mental twilight, I had company. Good company. Great company.
Topics Twitch