Is This Thing On?

Oh, the audacity of expecting people to turn on their cameras at work. What’s next requiring pants? Before the pandemic, we did not get a choice. Your boss saw your face whether you liked it or not. You could not claim a technical issue and spend the meeting sprawled on your couch with your eyes closed or have the meeting on mute while you are watching Real Housewives on Hulu

And yet, now, asking for cameras to be on for thirty minutes sparks debates about privacy and personal boundaries. Where was this fear of being seen when we sat shoulder to shoulder in fluorescent lit cubicles? Did anyone demand privacy when someone stared at their lunch? Did anyone cite personal boundaries when a coworker hovered at their desk asking about reports? Did anyone mute themselves when the boss paused mid meeting for a nod of understanding?

The office was a fishbowl. We lived in it daily, bad hair, messy desks, mismatched socks and all. We joked about rough nights in the breakroom. We performed the full routine of being human at work with awkward small talk, forced smiles, and the dance of avoiding eye contact in the elevator.

So forgive the skepticism when the same people who thrived in office politics, who chatted by the coffee machine and nailed presentations in conference rooms, now claim that thirty minutes of video visibility is too much. This is not alienation. It’s convenience.

Remote work freed us from traffic and dress codes. That was a win. But it did not erase the truth that collaboration works better when we acknowledge the humans behind the tasks. If you thrived in the bullpen, you can survive the brady brunch grid.

This is not about judging your background, your hair, or your home. It is about confirming you are still here. Because seeing people matters.

Remember when we used to actually talk to each other? A nod, a raised eyebrow, just being in the same room reminded us we were a team. Now we react with emojis and hope the message lands. But we are still people, not just voices on a screen. If we can spend hours perfecting a profile photo to look professional but friendly, we can manage thirty minutes of showing up as ourselves.

If someone has a real reason for keeping their camera off like anxiety, neurodivergence, trauma, or cultural beliefs that is valid. We made space for those needs in the office. We should do the same remotely. We gave people quiet booths for calls, shared agendas in advance, and respected time for religious observance. That understanding should not disappear just because we are working from home.

For some colleagues, keeping their cameras off is not about being difficult it is about protection. Protection from judgment about where they live. Protection from subtle racism that shows up in comments about their appearance. Protection from people treating their home like a cultural exhibit.

In a traditional office, when someone made inappropriate or biased comments about a colleague’s appearance whether about their hair, clothing, skin tone, or cultural expression  it often showed up as microaggressions. These might have sounded like:

“Your hair is so... big today.”
“That outfit is really bold for the office.”
“You look so exotic, where are you from?”

While these comments might not have been called out directly every time, they created an environment where people felt watched, judged, or “othered.” Over time, that pressure led many to change how they looked or presented themselves at work  straightening their hair, toning down their style, avoiding cultural dress, just to avoid being singled out.

That is not resistance. That is survival.

Now, they are doing all of that from their kitchen table. The pressure has not disappeared  it has just moved locations. The same code switching, the same self monitoring, the same need to protect their identity  it is all still there, just behind a webcam instead of a cubicle wall.

So when someone turns off their camera to shield themselves from that same scrutiny, it is not about avoiding work. It is about preserving dignity. And making space for that is not special treatment. It is just being consistent with the respect we offered in person.

We did not force anyone to wear holiday hats or remove religious coverings for team photos. We understood. That same respect should carry over to Zoom.

But let’s not pretend that most of the camera off squares are about deep personal struggle. Often, it is just disengagement dressed up in the language of boundaries. It is the same people who once sat through hours of fluorescent lit meetings, surrounded by ringing phones and hallway chatter, now claiming that being visible is oppressive because it requires the same basic presence they used to give without question.

Using the real struggles of a few as a shield for the passive resistance of many does not just distance people it disrespects them. It cheapens the accommodations others genuinely need.

So yes, if you need to be audio only, say so. Advocate for yourself. But if your reason is simply not wanting to be seen for thirty minutes while participating, remember the fishbowl. Remember the breakroom. Remember performing “human at work” for eight hours straight.

No one is asking for a studio setup. Just point the camera vaguely at your face and remind us you are still human. We are not asking for perfection. We are asking for presence. A pixelated, backlit, soda sipping human form. Not a green status light that has been on for three days straight.

And for real, everyone loves when your kid runs past the camera with pants on their head. Or when your cat decides your keyboard is the perfect place to nap. That is not a distraction. That is a reminder that we are all living real lives behind these screens.

Turning your camera on is not judgment. It is not shaming your culture, your chaos, or your exhaustion. It is connection. And in a work world that is becoming more fragmented, that flicker of shared humanity is what holds teams together.

Otherwise, we are just avatars sending GIFs to strangers. Yes, it is awkward. Yes, your top half says “professional” while your bottom half clings to sweatpants. But that is all of us. The bar is low. We are talking has a face levels of effort.

Charm is optional. Showing up isn’t.

So next time your calendar pings and the little box asks you to turn your camera on, breathe. Sit up. Show up. Prove you are more than a three year old profile picture.

Click the button. Be seen. Be counted. Be real.

ღ Chi