De Principius Geekibus
 

I have recently discovered that I can classify the better part of the people with whom I associate as geeks, and, in general, very proud geeks.  I have, therefore, been led to ask myself, “What is the nature of geekdom?  What does it entail?  What are its outward manifestations?  And why, exactly, do I dwell among so many geeks?”  The result of these ruminations shall be my speculations upon characteristics within the various fiefs in the kingdom of the geeks in order to answer these questions.

To date, I have identified four major categories of geeks and manifestations of geekdom (a character trait that we may call geekocity): the social geek, the eccentric, the consulted loner and the isolate.  Of course, these sketch a continuum of quotidian functioning that allows us to identify each species of geek by the nature and frequency of its interaction in society, and I would like to point out here that I attach no normative judgment to any of the above but am merely seeking to better identify the nuances and characteristics that seem to define geeks of all kinds.

Shall we start with the geek in sheep’s clothing?  Yes, geeks who seem harmless and blend into everyday life seamlessly, but whose underlying conversation and self are utterly absorbed with one thing -- their “dork.”  These are the run-of-the-mill or closeted geeks: they appear relatively normal, but scratch the surface of about half of the population and you will find people devoted to one passion, one ideal, one trend or technology, one author, one band- the topic on which they “dork out.”  They will brook no dissent on the greatness of said subjects, nor will these people be outdone in information touching upon these topics.  How many of you or your friends have I just described?

The social geek may not even know that he or she is a geek.  I didn’t know for 27 years that I was, and now that I do, this factor has allowed me to embrace my “dorks” as that which I give to society.  We run-of-the-mill geeks lend some respectability to our kind, and allow other geeks the freedom to embrace their geekocity in any manner they choose.  We are the geeks whom others jokingly name “geek” without realizing the truth of the matter.  We are the geeks who maintain the annals of society by obsessive collection of detail related to our chosen loves.  We are the geeks who disseminate information -- be it in bookstores, libraries, laboratories, music stores, or Game Stop -- and who keep those who live outside the borders of Geekville informed as to the goings-on inside.  Long live the geeks in sheep’s clothing!

Having begun with the innocuous elements of geekdom, I may now wade further into the depths where we find the academics or eccentrics.  They frequent the same places as most non-geeks, with the exception of some bars, clubs and shops whose very lack of specificity or disregard of the geek’s status may repel said geeks.  These are, in fact, the geeks who teach in our educational institutions, write our books, and often are called upon as experts in their fields to either testify or clarify, for the public at large, questions of historical, technical, or cultural significance.  I think that I may point to academe in general as the greatest collection of geeks housed under one heading known to man.  These are the legitimated geeks.

The academics may also be labeled eccentrics because these are the geeks whose very lack of attention to the norms and conventions of pop culture allows their existence.  By devoting themselves utterly to their “dorks” (often at the time of writing a doctoral dissertation) these geeks gain respectability through academic or intellectual prowess, and are thereafter permitted to dwell wholly within the borders of Geekville, venturing outside only while wielding certain symbols of their standing within the geek community.  These symbols may include modes of dress whereby the geek is noted either for spiffiness and precision dress (the bow tie or thinly rimmed spectacles) or plain disregard of dress (pajamas or poorly coordinated clothing).  These telling symbols are often accompanied by the even more powerful talisman of the book or computer whereupon the geek can rely as a safe-passage, bearing him/her through the world of “normals” by exuding the aura of serious study and accumulated knowledge.

From these highly accredited geeks I shall move on to their even more highly specialized but less legitimated cousins, the consulted loners.  These are geeks so steadfastly devoted to their “dorks” that they have little time for society at large; they interact only at a facultative level with “normals.”  These geeks seek interaction only from other geeks and consent to initiate other interaction only upon questions of daily transactions that facilitate survival.  On the other hand, these geeks are often sought out by “normals.”  They are the repositories of arcane and technical details relating to their “dorks” to which the public may only need recourse in extreme circumstances or as though visiting an oracle.

The consulted loner may, like the academic, hold a place of instruction or other badge of legitimated geekocity, but these geeks will not seek to disseminate knowledge of their “dorks” unless said revelation is requested.  These geeks are rendered even less visible by their propensity to sequester themselves for long hours.  When they do appear to the public, they often are notable amongst the crowd only if they bear the marks of their “dorks,” like logo t-shirts or certain symbolic books.  If said mark is lacking, then the consulted loner geek is likely to be mistaken for any other carelessly relaxed person on the street.

Finally, the isolate, the utter extreme of geekdom, is a rare species indeed.  In the life of a geek hunter, even the most astute observer of “dork” evidence may never spy in a true isolate, for these residents of the same Geekville that the academics and eccentrics inhabit are disposed never to leave the limits of that hermitage.  One must, then, imagine stumbling upon such a specimen: the geekologist opens a heavy oaken door that creaks ominously and light streams in, falling upon a pale, bespectacled waif who wears nearly as much dust as the table and books around him/her.  The cloistered geek looks up, squinting, wrinkles his/her nose at the sight of another human, and immediately goes back to the study of the “dork,” utterly ignoring the intrusion of anything from outside the realm of the geeks.

Here we have the full compliment of geeks -- from the geek in sheep’s clothing to that oft-sought, rarely glimpsed isolate -- from that PhD in pajamas to the gamer or comic book expert.  And what have we learned?  That the world requires the surviving and thriving of geeks in order to maintain the balance of knowledge within society.  That the existence of one geek necessitates the existence of another, because a true geek may only subscribe whole-heartedly to one “dork,” and must therefore supplement his/her geekocity with the “dorks” of other similar geeks.  And thus: without geeks, the world would be a very ignorant place indeed.

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