Imagine rushing to campus for another 8:30 a.m. class, unaware that a strand of your hair has fallen while you’re on the TTC. Before you know it, a stranger has picked it up, reconstructed a detailed 3D portrait of your face using your hair’s DNA, and put it on display in a gallery. You never consented to this likeness, yet your genetic identity has been pieced together, analyzed, and made public. This is exactly what Heather Dewey-Hagborg, artist and biohacker, explored in her provocative (and pretty creepy) project Stranger Visions (2012–2013), where she forces us to think about the implications of genetic data and the troubling reality of our non-existent privacy.
At first glance, Stranger Visions might seem like an ordinary series of portrait sculptures. However, the artist never actually saw these eerie faces. Instead, they were created using forensic DNA phenotyping, a technique involving the extraction of genetic information from seemingly mundane items like chewing gum, cigarette butts, and stray hairs that she found in public spaces such as waiting rooms, sidewalks, and bathrooms in New York City. Dewey-Hagborg analyzed the genetic markers from these samples to predict physical traits, creating approximations of people she never met.
Stranger Visions is just one of many projects in which Dewey-Hagborg critiques the limitations and biases of phenotyping technology. She emphasizes that the portraits are speculative representations, not precise reconstructions, shaped by probabilities rather than certainties. Many scientists, including Dewey-Hagborg, have pointed out the flaws of forensic phenotyping. In her article, “Sci-fi Crime Drama with a Strong Black Lead” in The New Inquiry, Dewey-Hagborg emphasizes the dangers of this technology, particularly how it can perpetuate racial stereotypes and lead to inaccurate conclusions, especially in criminal investigations. It is worth mentioning that just two years after the launch of the project, the American company Parabon NanoLabs introduced their DNA “Snapshot” service, which Canadian police have since used.
In a follow-up project, Probably Chelsea (2017), Dewey-Hagborg collaborated with Chelsea Manning, the former U.S. Army intelligence analyst and whistleblower who exposed classified military documents. While Manning was incarcerated, nearly all publicly available images of her were taken before her gender-affirming care. The public lacked access to an accurate representation of her identity, and her visibility was highly limited. Manning sought to change this and sent Dewey-Hagborg her cheek swabs. Using the same forensic techniques, Dewey-Hagborg created thirty distinct yet plausible portraits of Manning, giving her “a public face” and “presence.”
Another project, T3511 (2018), takes an intimate turn, maneuvering into a “biological romance.” This piece explores an artist’s evolving feelings for an anonymous saliva donor, known only as T3511. The artist obtained the donor’s saliva through her academic email, claiming it was for research purposes. As she analyzed the DNA, the artist fell in love with a person she never met—imagining their appearance, personality, habits, and hobbies, and creating a life story—all based on their genetic material. The story unfolds through a series of intimate voiceover love letters to the donor.
In contrast, Invisible (2014) flips the script, offering a genetic privacy product from a fictional biotechnology company called BioGenFutures. The kit includes two sprays: Erase, which deletes 99.5% of DNA left behind on surfaces, and Replace, which takes care of the remaining .5% by introducing DNA from fifty different sources to create so much noise that it confuses forensic analysis. The project was not just an art installation; the spray kit was also a working product with a commercial aspect. On her website, Dewey-Hagborg also asks: “If DNA evidence can be hacked, forged, and planted like any other evidence does it deserve its elevated status?”
Dewey-Hagborg’s work forces us to face the hard truth about our genetic data: once it leaves our bodies, it is fair game. Subject to surveillance and manipulation. Unlike passwords, you cannot change it, yet it is constantly shedding into the world, leaving behind fragments of your identity. But who owns and has rights to your DNA once it leaves your body? And perhaps even more pressing—who controls your genetic footprint?