Obitchuary: AIM

By Jillian D'Onfro Our once perpetually running yellow man has finally forfeited the race. But instead of going out with dignity, AIM gradually faded from our social consciousness— overtaken by texting, Facebook posts, and Google chat.

The AIM craze started before we fully hit puberty. We’d glue ourselves to our families’ desktop computers from the moment we got off the bus until our parents yelled (for the fourth time) that dinner was ready. After all, coercing Smarterchild into talking about sex took a while…

Not to mention the time spent creating the perfect buddy profile. From the headache-inducing color contrasts and the ~sTyLiZeD~ song lyrics, to the cliché quotes and the mandatory shout-outs (luv 2 my gurlies!!!), your AIM profile defined you—at least until ninth grade.

You also had to craft your name, of course. The equation was simple. If you had a favorite band, animal, sport, or celebrity, you simply christened yourself slipknotfan13, funkyxxmunky, soccerqt24, or ushersfuturewyfe.

With your AIM persona solidified, nothing could stop you from exchanging flirty messages with your braced-faced sweetheart or tricking chatroom strangers into thinking that the “A” in your “A/S/L” was higher than 13 years old.

So thank you, AIM, for guiding us through the choppy seas of adolescence and preparing us for bigger and better avenues for Internet exploitation—like Twitter.