“being human is ridiculous”

Anika Meier: SOFF, in 2024 you completed your studies at the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf. We met in person for the first time a few weeks ago at Art Düsseldorf, where we walked through the art fair together. You moved through the fair like a work of art yourself, and visitors responded to you as if you were one—asking many questions. How do you perceive people’s reactions to SOFF?

SOFF: The attention I receive in public spaces is intense. Often, though, I barely notice it myself anymore because I’ve learned to tune out the reactions. It’s only when others mention it that I realize how much I stand out. Being photographed and constantly approached has become part of my daily life. The responses are usually positive—many people express interest or appreciation for my style.

In the past, I held back because the reactions overwhelmed me and I felt I stood out too much. Through my artistic experiments, I’ve broken down those inner barriers. Now, I step out into the world in a way that feels authentic to me and in a way that celebrates life. Attention isn’t my goal—it’s just a side effect.

AM: You’ve been documenting the life of SOFF for several years now in a magazine you design and publish annually. If one follows you on Instagram, it feels like SOFF is a character in a live-action role-playing game. In the age of AI, people look twice and wonder if something was perhaps created with artificial intelligence. How has SOFF evolved—or rather, how has your idea of SOFF evolved?

SOFF: The first magazine was a turning point for me. It marked the moment I began to see the public persona as an artistic format—one that you can consciously shape and position.

I’ve always dressed in a striking way or had a different style from most. During the open studio exhibitions at the academy, I became increasingly bothered by how much attention I received as a person. My artistic work wasn’t completely overshadowed, but it didn’t receive the same level of attention. The balance was off.

Through artistic experiments, I’ve tried to figure out how to deal with this kind of attention—through performances or intentional interactions. One example is the Paparazzi Game: for one week, I wore deliberately eye-catching clothes that I had made myself—this was before I started working with the Skins. I encouraged others to photograph me like paparazzi and to share the pictures on Instagram, tagging my account.

The photo I found personally most uncomfortable ended up winning a “prize.” That way, I reclaimed a bit of control over being seen and photographed—over being documented. At the same time, I pushed an extreme: What would happen to my reality if I expressed myself even more intensely through clothing and presence, and treated that as a form of artistic practice?

The next step was the magazine. It originally started as a joke—as a response to the constant attention. I wanted to create a format that could contain everything I wouldn’t usually consider part of my artistic work: “Instagrammable,” snackable images, photoshoots, chat logs with my mother, or diary entries.

I didn’t overthink it—I just wanted to go all in: to radically place myself at the center of my work.

The magazine ended up selling out surprisingly quickly. The first edition, around 150 copies, was gone within a few days. I received a lot of feedback—and what surprised me most was that it was sincere and thoughtful. I had assumed people’s interest in me as a person was more superficial.

But that reaction showed me that my presence and my content can indeed be connected. Maybe I’m even able to express something through my appearance that I usually address in a more abstract or indirect way in my other work.

AM: Skins? That sounds like a video game.

SOFF: There actually is a game I play—one I’ve developed myself. It’s called Evoluti0N. And I play it in real life. But it also extends into the digital and virtual realms. It’s a comprehensive format that I describe as interdimensional, because it spans multiple layers: the physical world, the digital and virtual world, and, most importantly, the imaginary one.

The physical, so-called “real” human world—which I call Simulati0N—is just one part of the entire game space.

AM: How does this game work? Do others have to follow rules too, or is it just you?

SOFF: At the heart of the game is research into what it means to be human, especially in relation to our shared cultural experience. It’s about identifying the areas in one’s life that don’t feel authentic—patterns of behavior or ways of thinking that arise from alienation or from merely conforming to societal expectations, rather than coming from an inner impulse.

My research takes place through artistic practice. Every time I manifest a new piece of work—whether it’s an image, a video, a text, or an interaction—I earn points in the game.

These points are measured in Gravatons—my unit for presence.

There are interactive interfaces too, such as in publications or participatory works. One example is the Self-Interference Scanner, an interactive installation I presented at Kunstpalast Düsseldorf in 2023. Visitors could actively participate: they entered a room installation where I was present, and I created personalized self-portraits for them. Each one was unique and based on their presence in the space.
Collaborations with other artists or scientists also lead to interactive moments. In this way, the gameplay evolves collectively across different levels.

AM: How would you describe SOFF—as a long-term performance, for example? And how do you position SOFF within discourses like cyberfeminism or other “-isms”?

SOFF: There’s no theory I fully identify with one-to-one, but the concept of the nomadic subject by Rosi Braidotti is a key reference point for me.
She describes identity as fluid and interconnected, and says that the common denominator of all the self-images we create is vital force—life energy. I relate to that in the sense that presence is fundamental to me for forming different identity bodies and generating new self-images.

I view my life from different perspectives. Sometimes I identify as an entire planet—connected with the Earth around me and the people who share it. Other times, I see myself as a collective of cells, reduced to a single human body.

SOFF: All of these self-images exist for me simultaneously and equally within my overarching sense of self. And SOFF is the connecting, all-encompassing medium of my being—a kind of water in which these different perspectives can coexist.

AM: In the exhibition Virtually Yours: Your Body, Your Image, you’re currently showing an excerpt from your large-scale series Media of Representation. At the top of each work—which resembles a browser window—is the phrase: being human is ridiculous. What do you mean by that?

SOFF: That’s a phrase that has accompanied me for a long time, and one I keep rediscovering for myself. It’s a kind of foundational attitude—a lens through which I view my own perspectives and continuously challenge them. I think humans take themselves far too seriously. We still maintain a shared culture that believes in a single truth, where worldviews are often rigid and static.

For me, it’s essential to claim—and stay aware of—the freedom to redefine your worldview, your behaviors, and your self-image at any time. With every thought, every decision, one should remind oneself that there are always other possibilities—and that we’re always only seeing a fragment of reality.

Everything I experience and express takes place within the frame of my personal perspective—internally, as a narrative I create for myself, or externally, through sharing experiences with others. It’s important to me that this context is always present in my thinking.

Most people I talk to about this phrase have an immediate and strong reaction—often a very clear association. Some agree right away and say, “Yes, that’s true,” referencing things like environmental destruction, war, or a general sense of alienation in everyday life. Others feel provoked and respond: “Especially in today’s world, we need to stand for the opposite—for more humanity.”

The phrase being human is ridiculous is definitely polarizing.

I also have an ongoing image series with the same title, being human is ridiculous, which I create in collaboration with various artists. At the start of each collaboration, I always ask the same question: “Why do you think being human is ridiculous?” I find that this question really challenges a person’s entire character—whether in their thinking or in how they express themselves.

AM: And how does this tie into the Media of Representation series?

SOFF: Media of Representation basically documents my gameplay—if you want to think of it that way. You can imagine them like screenshots from the game. They show me in different moments of my life: at an event, with an installation I’ve built, doing research, visiting an exhibition—but also at home.

These are snapshots, and each image, each screenshot, each experience comes with a metadata display. It includes the title of the image—or memory—and the subject of the memory: in other words, what it’s really about.

When we remember something or retell a story, the image we recall is often shaped by a particular value we assign to it. For example, when I think about my grandmother’s apple pie, it’s not really about the pie itself, but about the nostalgic feeling of safety and comfort.

That’s why it’s important for me to document exactly that: What is this experience really about? What takes center stage? And in what format was I present?
If the image shows a publication I created, then I’m present in that memory as the publication—not as a human avatar.

The ten works from the image series currently on view in the exhibition portray me in different contexts. They also pose the question: In which medium am I present, and in which medium am I being represented?

Photography in particular constantly raises that question—and it’s becoming increasingly relevant: Is photography a constructive, creative format? Or is it merely a documentation tool for the subject, which is actually the main focus?

AM: You also show very private moments—like scenes from your apartment, which is furnished as if it were part of the SOFF Multiverse. And you told me recently that people stare at you on the subway and wonder whether you’re a robot. You seem to embody the mental image people today have of AI.

SOFF: In 2023, apps like DALL·E became mainstream, and “AI” entered public discourse in a big way. That’s also when the media began all those discussions. Around that time, I was showing my magazine during the open studios at the Kunstakademie. For it, I welded a magazine stand into a wearable dress and mounted it on wheels so I could move around with it. I was also wearing sunglasses. And it was wild—about 40% of the visitors who walked past me thought I was a robot.

Then someone posted on Instagram, very matter-of-factly: “The artificial intelligence SOFF was the highlight of the open studios.” I had to laugh so hard, because it was so far removed from what AI actually is. But it was all about the image: a bald woman with near-symmetrical facial features—something that, at the time, was strongly associated with AI and still is today. I encounter this idea from others quite often.

I think it’s not just my ornamental style that triggers digital associations, but also the visual reference. If we think, for example, of the film Ex Machina—or the humanoid robot Sophia—both are female-presenting AI robots, bald, with symmetrical features. That image of AI as a bald woman seems to have embedded itself deeply in our collective imagination.

I often feel a sense of awe from others, especially when they haven’t spoken to me yet. But I know that usually changes as soon as I start talking. People tend to relax and are able to form a more personal, emotional connection with me.

This sense of “dehumanization” that people often associate with my appearance—this kind of coolness—fades somewhat. Still, I feel like no matter where I am or who knows me, a lot of photos are taken. At Art Basel, for example, during the preview, it was intense. I could hardly move without being stopped and asked for a photo. That was probably my most extreme experience of public attention so far. It’s not quite as intense at Art Cologne or Art Düsseldorf.

But even when I’m just out on the street, completely outside of an art context, the same thing happens: I get photographed, approached, or stared at. And honestly, that’s been a liberating experience for me. I’ve struggled for a long time with the art context and the format of “art.”

AM: Why is that? You studied at an art academy, so you’re officially a trained artist.

SOFF: Anything labeled “art” is automatically perceived differently than something that just happens in life. If I, as a woman, walk down the street naked and screaming, I get reported—it’s considered “crazy.”

But if I say it’s a performance piece, people watch with respect, and afterward there’s a discussion about feminism. Suddenly, it’s taken “seriously.” That difference—the power of the format—bothered me for a long time. Because I wanted what I do to be seen for what it is, not as something artificially set apart.

I want it to be understood as part of life. And that’s why it makes me happy that my appearance is perceived similarly across very different contexts.

AM: SOFF, thank you so much for the conversation!