Iris Ophelia's day out with friends has turned sour. Her debit card is stuck in the automatic teller machine and she is going to be late. While the situation might borrow heavily from reality, this example occurs in the online world of Second Life, where Ophelia works as an assistant manager in a big computer shop. She had plans to go shopping with her friend Aimee Weber, who designs clothes, plans events and helps companies set up shop in the virtual world for a fat consulting fee.

Second Life, a popular virtual world developed by San Francisco-based Linden Lab, allows people to live their fantasies. Players create human-like avatars that socialise and spend Linden dollars, to buy virtual property and assets.

Ophelia, an avatar created by this author almost a year ago, receives her monthly salary in Linden dollars, which are dutifully spent on shopping and on household items. Today, she owns 31,540 items.

Her friend and mentor in Second Life, Kealiaha Trudeau, believes that it is perfectly fine to live within the world of developers' imaginations. So, in 2006, Trudeau, bought an island that she named Djork. She turned it into a sweeping, palm tree-studded oasis for her friends and Second Life newbies.

Trudeau, along with her friend Lucius Templar, invested $1,300 to build a movie theatre, an art gallery and an amusement park, and also added a shopping centre to beautify Djork island.

The users, or "residents", who visit each month -- and there are thousands of them -- spend time snorkelling, shopping, fishing and learning to belly dance. In January this year, Ophelia and her friend Weber pooled their savings to buy a sprawling five-room beach house in Djork.

Starting out with default Second Life clothing and a mortifying blonde hairdo, Ophelia was soon absorbed in getting herself a new personality. The pigtails that she bought for her avatar were 200 Lindens, or a little less than $1. The glittery stilettos on her small feet cost 400 Lindens.

Most Second Lifers are leery of big marketers and fear that they will corrupt the virtual paradise they have created. Result: Weber's fashion designing business has hundreds of fiercely loyal residents who are more than happy to demonstrate their loyalty with their Linden dollars. (Much of the $600,000 spent each day in Second Life changes hands among residents, not between residents and major marketers.)

Coca-Cola and at least 50 other major companies have spent millions of Linden dollars setting up shop. IBM has created a massive complex of adjoining islands dedicated to recruitment, employee training, and in-world business meetings. Names like Adidas and Sears have shops here. CNET and Reuters have virtual bureaus with virtual reporters. Nobody wants to miss out on this.

But users have built everything on this virtual planet -- and they are a possessive lot. Cool animation that changes your awkward, new-avatar gait into the feline prowl of a supermodel or conjured up the vast, lush Lord of the Rings-style island of Svarga was created by residents. And, what's more, these residents pay for the privilege to build these things in-world!

For many residents, the motivation to create stuff in Second Life is less altruistic. As Trudeau says, "Djork was a way to take my mind off my mother's illness." It was also a way to gather up her favourite things in SL and make them permanent. "Content can be very transient in Second Life," she insists. One day, there's an amusement park near your house and the next day it may have vanished. How? A resident buys the asset and shifts it someplace else.

There is an unending supply of activities, both fee-based and free, in SL. There are prurient experiences too and there is no denying that gambling and sex flow freely in the in-world landscape too. Sexy Beach, one of several regions that offer virtual sex shops, dancing and no-strings hookups, is popular for obvious reasons.