A Farewell to XOXO
In August, I did something I hadn’t done in a while. I attended a conference in my personal capacity rather than for work. I flew out to Portland on my own dime to attend my first XOXO, which ironically was the final event. XOXO was both a conference and a festival, celebrating people who make things on the internet.
The conversation at XOXO 2024 largely centered on both the sheer joy and the hardships of creating online, and the timing for me was perfect–I was just starting some PTO and trying to get back in touch with the time that making things online was joyful… so I feel like I fit right into the conference themes, intentional or not. (I also listened to great talks, played board games and video games, exchanged tea, nerded out over zines, stickers, stationary, and keyboards, and met people in person over casual conversation and then realized I knew them or their work from the internet.)
When it comes to conferences, I have been blessed with an abundance of riches. I have absorbed more than my fair share of cutting edge research, nibbled on a seemingly infinite amount of hors d'oeuvres, and had so many intense conversations extending to the wee morning hours that I literally have a multi-day recovery routine when I get home. I am continuously blown away by all the amazing people I get to meet, and am grateful that the conference karma gods continue to smile upon me.
At XOXO, I traded my all-black attire for the whimsical and colorful and creative. The discussions were not in hotel suite parties or bars, but around park benches, surrounded by a sea of food trucks. Not once did I retreat because the music was too loud, but I noticed that people were taking off to recharge, which was very much accepted. XOXO was diverse, inclusive and warm. I did not miss the posturing and cliquishness that permeates so many events.
Conferences, generally speaking, can also be challenging. In addition to the sleep deprivation and overstimulation and exhaustion they can produce, they can be intensely alienating for people who feel as if they’re at different stages in their careers, don’t quite fit in with everyone they’re seeing, or who struggle with many issues conferences rarely accommodate. People with mobility issues or hearing difficulty (as just a few examples) often find themselves struggling at events others seem to be enjoying. For years it was an uphill battle to even get organizers to agree to a code of conduct, and even when there were CoCs in place, they were often largely inadequate and inconsistently enforced.
XOXO was different from other conferences I've attended in some significant ways that I wanted to write about--not to spread FOMO, but because it was so radically inclusive in ways that I think others could learn from. I know I have.
The first thing I noticed about XOXO started before I arrived. Instead of fighting hundreds of folks for tickets that sold out in mere seconds, I had to fill out a survey to enter the lottery, like everyone else. Independent artists and people from underrepresented backgrounds were prioritized, already changing the makeup of the event. I imagine it’s a lot easier to create a welcoming environment by being thoughtful about who you invite than by trying to address the homogeneity of a conference after people have already experienced it and passed the notes on to their friends.
The second thing I noticed about XOXO 24 was the COVID policy. Not just that XOXO had one, but that it was so extensive: masks required indoors (good ones, not cloth or surgical masks), talks simulcast outdoors where there is better ventilation, and the front rows of the tents required masks to protect the most vulnerable among us.
I'll admit that I typically don't mask at events anymore. I have escaped COVID at large conferences in part, I'm convinced, because I avoid loud crowded parties– but that's due to personal preference, and has nothing to do with wastewater statistics. Even though I don’t mask outdoors myself, I appreciate this policy because I met a lot of amazing people at XOXO who would not have attended without these policies in place.
The third thing I noticed was how clear and easy-to-use and beautifully designed the website was. That was refreshing and a harbinger of things to come. The vibe at the event was the vibe on the website.
XOXO’s radical inclusivity was not just about the thoughtful curation of attendees or about photo consent lanyards or gender pronoun pins or the COVID policy and promise not to roll it back. It wasn’t just about the vegan and vegetarian and gluten-free food options, or the non-alcoholic beverage options, or the free, credentialed on-site childcare, or the diverse lineup of speakers, or the crisp and clear communication. It wasn’t the reserved seating for folks with mobility devices or mobility issues, the real-time captioning, or the reserved seating for those who are deaf or hard of hearing. It wasn’t just the code of conduct or the fact that it was enforced or Creative Commons-licensed and available on GitHub. It was all those things and more.
I haven’t been around XOXO long enough to learn how these practices came to be, but I imagine it starts with deeply listening. So many times there are deep issues that organizers of events don’t even know about because attendees don't feel safe to share. XOXO volunteers listened in spades and often either made changes in real time or explained why they were unable to do so.
Setting a warm, inclusive, friendly, creative tone for the event created verdant ground for amazing things to happen. The talks were creative, vulnerable, and optimistic. People talked about the best and worst times of their lives, both on stage and in independent meetups and in casual conversation around picnic tables (which were all numbered so we could find one another).
There have been a lot of conferences where I’ve left feeling better connected or like I was better at my job, or have even inspired long-term projects, but there are very few moments at conferences where I felt like I had some hints on how to be a better person. So while I wish I lived in Portland and was close personal friends with organizers Andy and Andy and would get invited to all the game nights (or whatever), what XOXO left me with was an increased desire to hold myself and my projects up to XOXO’s ideals. How many times do I forget to fill out the alt text when posting an image, or forget to paste it so it’s available even to people who have bounced from a toxic billionaire-owned platform? What color palettes could I use that would be more accessible for people who are color blind? In what ways do I set up events that cater to people who are already vocal and privileged, and what steps can I take to change that?
The desire to be independent from corporate powers, find quiet and small and friendly places on the internet but without leaving people out, and find ways to connect on a hostile internet, all were palpable at XOXO. We were united by our love of a free an independent internet, community care, and a dream for online spaces free of harassment and coercive control by billionaires, or, as writer, researcher, and XOXO speaker Erin Kissane put it, a desire to "fix the fucking networks."
I have often felt like my criticism of the worst parts of tech falls upon flat ears, but at XOXO I felt like this diverse and vibrant gang of misfits, artists and creators and game designers and writers and makers, with all of our awkwardness and confusion, our creativity and curiosity, our ability to rage fiercely and love deeply–if anyone can fix the mess we’ve collectively made, my money is on this community, as broadly as we want to define it.