The phrase “uncanny valley,” which comes from robotics, means the disturbing gap between something we expect to see and something that almost—but not quite—fits those expectations. When we can see immediately that a robot is a machine and not a person, it doesn’t look creepy. If it has a few humanoid features but is still an obvious robot, then it feels reasonably familiar, and we’re okay with it. As it gets closer to looking human and might be mistaken for a real person, that’s when it falls into the uncanny valley. Even when we know it’s harmless, we feel subconsciously threatened anyway—as if we’re looking at a foggy, scary mental landscape of dizzying heights and jagged peaks.
(Creative Commons image via flickr)
Last month, my husband and I went on a road trip to Florida. During one of our stops to get gas and use the facilities, a woman came out of the ladies’ room looking quite agitated.
“There’s a man in there!” she hissed, in a tone that someone might have used to warn about a rabid beast.
I stopped in the doorway for a moment, taken aback, as she hurried away. Not hearing anything out of the ordinary, I went inside. There was only one other person in the restroom, inside a stall with a closed door, who stayed in there until after I left; so, I can’t say what prompted the warning.
Because I regularly row, which is a sport that has many tall and muscular women, I don’t pay much attention when I see a woman of such proportions. I tend to assume she is probably an athlete, rather than speculating on whether she might be transgender.
As far as I know, I’ve never been a target of such speculation myself. I look more athletic than most middle-aged women, but I am short and have narrow shoulders and small hands, so it seems very unlikely that anyone would perceive me as masculine.
Still, it’s always disconcerting to be reminded of how easily one might find oneself in a less-welcomed group, just because society’s prevailing winds have shifted. That said, I don’t mean to criticize or blame people for reacting in fear when something sets off their uncanny-valley threat detectors. Fear of the Other is, and always has been, part of human nature, going back to the ancient world’s tribal warfare. Whether that will ever change—who knows.
When I went back to the car, my husband had just finished pumping the gas, and we got on the road again. For us, it was just a rest stop.
