Making virtual consumers of us all

Our games are becoming polluted with advertising and the values inherent in them are preaching consu

In his keynote speech at the Virtual Worlds Forum, held in London this October, Lord Puttnam expressed concern at the values espoused by many online virtual worlds aimed at young people, asking: "...are we absolutely sure that this is the very best we can offer young people? ... Do we really want them to think of themselves as not much more than consumers?"

Puttnam's concern stemmed from the number of toy and entertainment firms entering the rapidly-growing market of virtual worlds, with products such as Mattel's BarbieGirls, or Disney's recently-acquired Club Penguin.

Virtual destinations

Puttnam's concern doesn't just apply to the young. Virtual worlds and online games, be they services aimed at young people like Habbo Hotel, virtual worlds such as Second Life or games like World of Warcraft, are becoming more and more popular destinations in which people spend their spare time. It's important to remember that they are "destinations" - the concept of being "in-world" is very different to "being online" for players and users of such services. We are bombarded with enough advertising, online and off every day; why should our leisure spaces be equally polluted? And yet that is the trend that seems to be emerging.

Virtual businesses

Still, Lord Puttnam's fears may not be entirely justified. Young people are surprisingly good at knowing when they are being sold to. There is little to be done if they are happy with being sold to but it's hardly games and virtual worlds that set that ball rolling. And, it's worth remembering that all virtual worlds - however uncontroversial - are businesses: they cost money to make and more money to run. They can recoup that cost through subscriptions, through virtual trade, or by writing it off as an advertising expense, but somewhere, they are going to encourage money to change hands. Online, little is truly free.

Values implicit in games

Doug Thomas, of the University of Southern California, recently expressed similar sentiments to Lord Puttnam in a panel discussion. But while Lord Puttnam's concerns were about virtual worlds being used as marketing tools, Thomas seemed more concerned about the actual content of the games themselves, and the "conflation between consumption and consumerism and citizenship" within them, saying that "...our kids are being taught that to be a good citizen of this world you have got to buy the right stuff."

The point Thomas makes raises an interesting angle: what values are taught by - or are inherent in - the mechanics of these virtual worlds?

World of Warcraft, for instance, tells us that to improve our status, we must "grind" our way up through repetitive tasks. It also tells us that the rewards for such labours are treasure, better equipment, and more beautiful armour. The consumerist culture is at the core of World of Warcraft. There are even sweatshops in China where underpaid workers "farm" in game currency, which is sold for real money over the internet. The exchange rate is currently about eight cents to the virtual gold piece.

And consider Second Life, the poster-child of virtual worlds. It's not a game, but a space that can be whatever the inhabitants want it to be. It gives its inhabitants the abilities to create buildings and objects, and to program those objects with new behaviours. Second Life is a space that encourages creativity first and foremost, and so its economy began as an arts-and-crafts culture: inhabitants buying items each other had made for reasonably low real-world prices.

Lucrative real estate

That culture quickly became trumped by the far more lucrative real-estate market, in which inhabitants bought up areas of land, developed them with impressive buildings and furnishings, and sold them on for profit. A year ago, Second Life's first property millionaire made the cover of Business Week.

The Second Life economy has moved on from real estate, into advertising and marketing. No one quite knows what to do with it but they want to be there; hence firms like American Apparel have established virtual stores to sell virtual t-shirts. As Second Life has become more mainstream, just like the web, television, and radio before it, it has become ever more swamped by advertising and marketing. The slide towards consumerism seems to be one that is hard to escape.

The arguments put forward by Puttnam and Thomas may seem critical, but we should heed them. After all, both are very aware of the many positive aspects of virtual worlds. What they are calling for is greater media literacy about the places we play online. That seems to be a reasonable request, given that the values of any society stem as much from its inhabitants as its rulers.

With greater understanding of the medium, inhabitants will be able to better interpret and shape the values of their online communities. That can only be a good thing.

This game could save your life

Medics are learning to treat blast victims by using video games.

TruSim, the serious games branch of leading game developer Blitz Games has linked with learning solutions design experts VEGA Group plc and several UK universities to devise Triage Trainer, a game which simulates the effects of a city-centre explosion, to help doctors decide how best to treat casualties.

Different casualties are randomly generated each time the game is played; their condition deteriorates during the game in real time with accurate displays of respiration, circulation, skin colour and behaviours, demonstrating the potential of games technology in healthcare training.

This article first appeared in the 17 December 2007 issue of the New Statesman, Christmas and New Year special 2007

Biteback and James Wharton
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“It was the most traumatic chapter of my life”: ex-soldier James Wharton on his chemsex addiction

One of the British Army’s first openly gay soldiers reveals how he became trapped in a weekend world of drug and sex parties.

“Five days disappeared.” James Wharton, a 30-year-old former soldier, recalls returning to his flat in south London at 11pm on a Sunday night in early March. He hadn’t eaten or slept since Wednesday. In the five intervening days, he had visited numerous different apartments, checked in and out of a hotel room, partied with dozens of people, had sex, and smoked crystal meth “religiously”.

One man he met during this five-day blur had been doing the same for double the time. “He won’t have been exaggerating,” Wharton tells me now. “He looked like he’d been up for ten days.”

On Monday, Wharton went straight to his GP. He had suffered a “massive relapse” while recovering from his addiction to chemsex: group sex parties enhanced by drugs.

“Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army term”

I meet Wharton on a very different Monday morning six months after that lost long weekend. Sipping a flat white in a sleek café workspace in Holborn, he’s a stroll away from his office in the city, where he works as a PR. He left the Army in 2013 after ten years, having left school and home at 16.


Wharton left school at 16 to join the Army. Photo: Biteback

With his stubble, white t-shirt and tortoise shell glasses, he now looks like any other young media professional. But he’s surfacing from two years in the chemsex world, where he disappeared to every weekend – sometimes for 72 hours straight.

Back then, this time on a Monday would have been “like a double-decker bus smashing through” his life – and that’s if he made it into work at all. Sometimes he’d still be partying into the early hours of a Tuesday morning. The drugs allow your body to go without sleep. “Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army expression,” Wharton says, wryly.


Wharton now works as a PR in London. Photo: James Wharton

Mainly experienced by gay and bisexual men, chemsex commonly involves snorting the stimulant mephodrone, taking “shots” (the euphoric drug GBL mixed with a soft drink), and smoking the amphetamine crystal meth.

These drugs make you “HnH” (high and horny) – a shorthand on dating apps that facilitate the scene. Ironically, they also inhibit erections, so Viagra is added to the mix. No one, sighs Wharton, orgasms. He describes it as a soulless and mechanical process. “Can you imagine having sex with somebody and then catching them texting at the same time?”

“This is the real consequence of Section 28”

Approximately 3,000 men who go to Soho’s 56 Dean Street sexual health clinic each month are using “chems”, though it’s hard to quantify how many people regularly have chemsex in the UK. Chemsex environments can be fun and controlled; they can also be unsafe and highly addictive.

Participants congregate in each other’s flats, chat, chill out, have sex and top up their drugs. GBL can only be taken in tiny doses without being fatal, so revellers set timers on their phones to space out the shots.

GBL is known as “the date rape drug”; it looks like water, and a small amount can wipe your memory. Like some of his peers, Wharton was raped while passed out from the drug. He had been asleep for six or so hours, and woke up to someone having sex with him. “That was the worst point, without a doubt – rock bottom,” he tells me. “[But] it didn’t stop me from returning to those activities again.”

There is a chemsex-related death every 12 days in London from usually accidental GBL overdoses; a problem that Wharton compares to the AIDS epidemic in a book he’s written about his experiences, Something for the Weekend.


Wharton has written a book about his experiences. Photo: Biteback

Wharton’s first encounter with the drug, at a gathering he was taken to by a date a couple of years ago, had him hooked.

“I loved it and I wanted more immediately,” he recalls. From then on, he would take it every weekend, and found doctors, teachers, lawyers, parliamentary researchers, journalists and city workers all doing the same thing. He describes regular participants as the “London gay elite”.

“Chemsex was the most traumatic chapter of my life” 

Topics of conversation “bounce from things like Lady Gaga’s current single to Donald Trump”, Wharton boggles. “You’d see people talking about the general election, to why is Britney Spears the worst diva of them all?”

Eventually, he found himself addicted to the whole chemsex culture. “It’s not one single person, it’s not one single drug, it’s just all of it,” he says.



Wharton was in the Household Cavalry alongside Prince Harry. Photos: Biteback and James Wharton

Wharton feels the stigma attached to chemsex is stopping people practising it safely, or being able to stop. He’s found a support network through gay community-led advice services, drop-ins and workshops. Not everyone has that access, or feels confident coming forward.

“This is the real consequence of Section 28,” says Wharton, who left school in 2003, the year this legislation against “promoting” homosexuality was repealed. “Who teaches gay men how to have sex? Because the birds and the bees chat your mum gives you is wholly irrelevant.”


Wharton was the first openly gay soldier to appear in the military in-house magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

Wharton only learned that condoms are needed in gay sex when he first went to a gay bar at 18. He was brought up in Wrexham, north Wales, by working-class parents, and described himself as a “somewhat geeky gay” prior to his chemsex days.

After four years together, he and his long-term partner had a civil partnership in 2010; they lived in a little cottage in Windsor with two dogs. Their break-up in 2014 launched him into London life as a single man.

As an openly gay soldier, Wharton was also an Army poster boy; he appeared in his uniform on the cover of gay magazine Attitude. He served in the Household Cavalry with Prince Harry, who once defended him from homophobic abuse, and spent seven months in Iraq.


In 2012, Wharton appeared with his then civil partner in Attitude magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

A large Union Jack shield tattoo covering his left bicep pokes out from his t-shirt – a physical reminder of his time at war on his now much leaner frame. He had it done the day he returned from Iraq.

Yet even including war, Wharton calls chemsex “the most traumatic chapter” of his life. “Iraq was absolutely Ronseal, it did exactly what it said on the tin,” he says. “It was going to be a bit shit, and then I was coming home. But with chemsex, you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

“When I did my divorce, I had support around me. When I did the Army, I had a lot of support. Chemsex was like a million miles an hour for 47 hours, then on the 48th hour it was me on my own, in the back of an Uber, thinking where did it all go wrong? And that’s traumatic.”

Something for the Weekend: Life in the Chemsex Underworld by James Wharton is published by Biteback.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 17 December 2007 issue of the New Statesman, Christmas and New Year special 2007