Ocular Overload
For many of us in the US, the pandemic arrived in earnest in March of 2020. Only a few weeks later, despite being a society that had gotten itself used to screen time, we began to remark upon and complain about Zoom fatigue. It turns out that starting into software rectangles nested inside hardware rectangles is not the way to improve upon the hustle-and-bustle of the 5:30 commute.
For a while, Zoom fatigue was an observation. Then it was something to remark upon. Soon it became a phenomenon. Next it became something to complain about. Before long, it was an omnipresent reality, a cloud (pun intended) hanging over us that just “was,” even as we wished it away. Back when we had the agency to decide when to use Zoom (and other cloud-based video solutions), we were a tribe that adored its ease, simplicity, lifelike interactions, and occasional replacements of airports and hotels. When we ceded that agency to a novel virus, we didn’t love the platform so much anymore. More accurately, we loved that it was there, but we abhorred having to use it again and again and again.
As spring gave way to summer, and as it became obvious that the pandemic would be measured in quarters and years rather than weeks and months, something occurred to me. Prior to 2020, hadn’t we coped just fine as a society with conference calls and by picking up the phone? Hadn’t we ignited dialogue, stirred conversation, empowered debate, and driven decisions without having to stare at each others’ faces and torsos? Wasn’t there a time in the not-so-distant past when we controlled the technology instead of having it control us?
For the record, we had. And there was.
Here’s the thing. “Zoom fatigue” is a lazy label. The term we’re looking for is Ocular Overload.
Ocular Overload
The figures vary widely, but there is near-consensus that nonverbal communication accounts for at least half of how others perceive us. Since the dawn of time, people have communicated even when - or especially when - they’re quiet. During a conversation, the brain focuses partly on the words being spoken and partly on dozens of non-verbal cues.
Because homo sapiens evolved as social animals, perceiving these cues comes naturally to us, takes little conscious effort, and lays the groundwork for connection. But a video-based interaction almost completely ignores these all-important ingrained abilities, instead demanding sustained and intense attention to just spoken words and leading to cognitive exhaustion.
Multi-person screens magnify this exhaustion. Gallery View (aka Brady Bunch-style) challenges the brain’s central vision, forcing it to decode so many people at once that no one comes through meaningfully. For some, the prolonged split in attention creates a perplexing sense of being drained while having accomplished nothing. The brain becomes overwhelmed by unfamiliar, irrelevant stimuli while searching fervently but fruitlessly for non-verbal cues.
Silence is another challenge. Normally, silence creates a natural rhythm in conversation. However, when on video, this natural rhythm is often mistaken for a technology problem or a lack of interest. Or, worse, people just don’t ever stop talking, and there’s no honest time for reflection. One 2014 study by German academics showed that delays on multi-party conference calls shaped our views of people negatively; even 1.2-second delays made people perceive the responder as less friendly and less focused than people who spoke up sooner.
So, even as we subordinate communications mechanisms and styles that have evolved over tens of thousands of years, we’re asking more of our eyes than we ever have. Signal focus. Show interest. Demonstrate presence. Look. Look. Look! We’re asking our eyes to fight against 70,000 years of evolution in the space of a few weeks. It doesn’t make sense, and it never will. (And this is all before even addressing the topic of whether we’re giving to or getting from the meeting what we need.)
Go For a Walk. Pick Up the Phone.
What’s so great is that the fix is remarkably easy. We don’t like to hear it, because we don’t like the idea of reverting backwards. But the simple truth is that we’ve got to unglue our eyes from the screen and get back to digital dialogue as we knew it in 2019.
Set limits for yourself on video. Save it for one-on-ones, small meetings, and times when there’s a deep discussion to be had or a critical decision to be made. The rest of the time, you don’t need it. There is ample research to suggest that being on a phone call with someone makes you at least as able to read and emotionally connect with someone as when you’re on a video call.
In my recent conversation for the Breakthrough Builders podcast with Ximena Vengoechea, UX researcher and author of “Listen Like You Mean It,” she reminded me that, often, “a phone call without video might actually be a better option. What happens is that you're paying more attention to the auditory piece, and you can actually hear someone smile over the phone. You can hear someone thinking over the phone. And you can be mobile!”
None of this is to say that turning off video and doing more phone calls is the panacea that will restore our productivity, connection, and health amidst the pandemic. It’s a call to action for those of us in the 70% of workers who want flexible work to continue after the pandemic to not be seduced by the false belief that, somehow, staring at each other is a substitute for being present with one another.
Let’s stop giving Zoom such a bad name. (Would you want “fatigue” to be in the top search results for your brand?) And let’s stop giving our eyes such a raw deal. Though the future of work will indeed be defined more by what’s new than by what was, it’s safe to say that getting back to our natural ways of conversation and dialogue is a better move than staring into the box hoping that, maybe this time, the experience will go from tiresome to terrific.