An Open Letter To 'Iamamiwhoami,' Whoever You Are

Our writer's obsession with the viral campaign is getting unhealthy, in Bigger Than the Sound.

Dear Macabre and Strangely Masochistic Evil Geniuses Behind the "Iamamiwhoami" Viral Campaign:

You're killing me. Seriously, you are. I know that may be difficult to hear, what with the albumen and mud in your ears, but I need to say it. I think you might have to end this, not because I've grown tired of you, or because I love you any less. Quite the opposite, in fact. I love you too much. I am neglecting my job, checking your YouTube account 15 times a day, spending my nights cooking up long-winded theories about your true identity and attempting to crack your bizarre numeric codes. It's getting unhealthy. And it needs to stop.

See, ever since you came into my life back in December, with a 55-second video featuring spooky forests, dangling appendages and one particularly gruesome live birth, I've been obsessed. Admittedly, I'd been down this road before (twice), but this time was different. I followed you through two more videos, each a little stranger than the last. I Googled stuff like "Dendrophilia" and "Whale Sharks" to understand you better. I did research about the cultural significance of Jordgubbstårta and Vanuatu in vain attempts to figure out just where you came from. I printed out a copy of the alphabet, numbered it, then tried to figure out just what those numeric messages meant. Were you trying to tell me something?!?

For a while, I thought you were Goldfrapp. Then, the Knife, MGMT, Aphex Twin, Trent Reznor, the Golden Filter — they all came and went. Shoot, for a while, I really believed you were Christina Aguilera (and I guess I still kind of do, even though Christina's rep has insisted otherwise). Eventually, I realized it didn't actually matter who you were, because no matter the answer, I would be let down. Such were the heights of my mania. I just knew I needed you in my life, for reasons I probably didn't want to admit. It was starting to get sad.

And now, it seems like you're delighting in tormenting me. You haven't uploaded a new video in more than a week. You haven't made any attempts to contact me, despite the fact I keep writing stuff like this about you. I am reaching out into the void. I am grasping at ether. I am eternally coming back empty-handed.

I can't keep doing this. It needs to end. So, sadly, I think I'm breaking up with you, "Iamamiwhoami?" if only to preserve my sanity. You have become — in my estimation, at least — the most maddeningly engrossing viral campaign of all time, chiefly because you don't seem to be in any particular hurry to end. You post videos at your leisure. You offer no explanation or solid clues. You are selfish and self-centered. And I get the feeling that this could go on for a while.

And really, I deserve better than this. Say what you will about Panic! at the Disco, but at least they had the decency to end their viral campaign swiftly. Trent Reznor too. With them, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. With you, there's just more tunnel. So it's over between us. It's not you, it's me. And I'm sorry.



PS: Of course, if you decide to post another video sometime soon, please forget everything I just wrote, and know that I'll be with you every step of the way. I'm negotiable. I'm not too proud to come crawling back to you. Even if it means crawling all the way to Vanuatu.

Questions? Concerns? Hit me up at