Why is it so hard to find old-fashioned friendship in today's hyper-connected world? One hypothesis: The material goods we use to construct our identities now are so magnificent we come to expect a certain level of quality to inform all aspects of our lives. If you're driving a factory-fresh M6 Coupe, or even just aspiring to, do you really want to hang out with the human equivalent of a 2001 Kia Rio? Friends are status symbols, too—the ideal model is witty, rich, stylish, always busy doing exciting things and yet somehow perennially available to listen to you vent about your crummy life. The ideal friend, in short, is a mix of George Clooney and a golden retriever.
So far, Clooney has shown little interest in becoming anyone's latest MySpace friend, but there are other stars who are more accommodating: They recognize that in an age of abundant content, the most valuable commodity they have to offer is access to themselves. Five years ago, only a few semi-celebs like Star Trek: Next Generation alumnus Wil Wheaton saw the value in self-paparazzing the everyday details of their lives on the web. Today, promiscuous accessibility has trickled upward to the A-list: On YouTube.com last month, Diddy went gold in a public restroom, passionately extolling the virtues of bladder relief while cheering himself on with a variety of whoops and moans as he streamed content into a urinal.
Of course, there's still a power imbalance in this new intimacy between celebrity and fan: Just try to get Diddy to watch your philosophical pee videos. Here's where George can help, though. Not Clooney, another George. This one started out as a text-based chatbot and has since evolved into a "virtual human," an embodied presence on your computer screen who can hold actual conversations with you instead of mere text-based exchanges. When you speak to him, his creators explained at recent British science festival, he can "generate moods and emotions, and employ gesture, expression and overall body language."
Actually, George has a ways to go still; his supposedly contextual remarks are so random at times he makes Britney Spears sound like an Oxford logic professor. Plus, his predatory grin and hairless cranium make him look like a pedophilic light bulb (but with great taste in eyewear). Eventually, however, the super-geniuses who've created him will perfect their monster, and once they do, expect at least a few visionary celebrities to see the opportunity here. For a small monthly subscription fee, virtual Diddy won't just invite you into his restroom—he'll listen to your problems, dispense fashion tips, teach you the latest Madden NFL Vision Cone skills.
A decade from now, in fact, loneliness will be as rare as polio. We'll have more fabulous friends than Paris Hilton. These simulated celebrity buddy doubles will be impossibly funny, endlessly empathetic, preternaturally wise—but also kind of pushy, as they relentlessly vie for our attention. In time, no doubt, we'll find ourselves longing for solitude, the calming balm of friendless isolation, a few uncluttered moments of peacefully depressing quiet. Enjoy your misery while you can.