Consider the experience of going to see a movie: you enter the theater at a designated hour. You're asked to silence your phones, iPads, and effectively your wandering mind — for the next two hours, you're giving yourself over to the screen and its masters. The lights dim, the music swells, and for better or worse, you're riding this train exactly as your creative conductor saw fit (as are millions of people, just like you).

Now, consider the experience of discovering The Lizzie Bennet Diaries: Did you spot it on your YouTube home page, plucked out just for you by the video giant's trusty algorithms? Did you stumble upon it after admiring Jane Bennet's ensembles on Lookbook? Or perhaps you bonded with Gigi Darcy over a mutual affinity for new wave psychedelic synthpop with a girl power flavor, only to discover she was actually just a well-constructed piece of fiction? Or maybe, you're learning about it for the very first time, from reading this piece. 

How ever that discovery took place, the crucial thing to note is that Bernie Su and Hank Green had little to do with it. They also ceded any control of the order in which you consume the property, or how far you go with the story, or how much you choose to partake in the narrative play. 

And relinquishing that control is a massive feat. As Henry Jenkins explains in "The Revenge of the Origami Unicorn," certain franchises struggle with the desire to "police and preserve continuity;" they see fan-produced content as a "threat" and are pressed to exercise some command over the ways in which their content is consumed.

Of course, it works in the favor of the LBD producers that they have certain liberties afforded by adaptation — the creators aren't as compelled to exercise full control over the narrative, because it wasn't quite their story to begin with. 

Even so, as a viewer, a critic and a fellow creator, I'm in awe of their ability to relinquish control. And I felt it was only right that in the production of this thesis, I took a leap in that same direction. That's why I published this piece on Scalar, a platform that disrupts the linear nature of most academic writing by handing over control to the user.

Sure, I've suggested some linearity with my menu options, and the paths I've constructed. But I want my users to glean from this piece whatever they see most valuable. If it's insights on social immersion that you're looking for, I hope that you were (and are) inclined to jump directly to that path. If you're a Lena Dunham fangirl interested in my critiques and proposals for that show, I hope you dove there first. Or if you're just here to bask in the glory of the non-linear, I hope you'll take a chance to use Scalar's Explore functionality, and roam free throughout the piece. 

In LBD, it was those unexpected moments where characters' paths crossed online that really gave the world its authenticity. In an effort to emulate that lateral connective strategy, the paths of this project cross too. Don't be afraid to hop off one and onto another; I hope that spotting those connections will enhance your trip through the project.

Whatever you choose, I hope that, just as with The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, your experience is fortified by freedom and choice.