Taste
Candy by esther (2016ish?)
The moment I dipped my toe back into the world of social media, I felt it—that familiar tug, the quiet, insidious pull of something deeper than mere distraction. It wasn’t just about scrolling; it was about being pulled into a world curated not by my own tastes, but by an algorithm designed to flatten everything into the same, palatable mush. A week on TikTok was all it took. I created an account for my dog, an innocent endeavor, but it wasn’t long before the views started climbing. And with them, the pressure. The notion of being a "momager" loomed over me (lmao), an absurd but real expectation. I couldn’t bear it.
There was a moment, perhaps several, where I caught myself. What was I doing? What was this pressure? Where did it come from? The content I saw was a reflection of something sadder, a mirror held up to the hollowing out of culture. It wasn’t just about the hours lost; it was about the soul-sucking emptiness that remained. I felt zapped, drained, like a part of me had been stolen in exchange for those fleeting moments of dopamine, those little red hearts, those digital affirmations.
And it struck me—how easily one could be trapped in this digital quicksand, how quickly a week could turn into a month, a year, a life defined by the metrics of validation from strangers. I was on the verge of addiction; I could feel it. The way my thumb moved on its own, the way my mind craved the next hit, the next like. Before I knew it, I was tethered to a value system not of my making, but of the algorithm’s design.
Chayka’s "Filterworld" speaks to this—this flattening of culture, this erosion of true taste. Algorithms, in their quest for efficiency and engagement, strip away the richness, the serendipity of life. They present us with a homogenized world, a world where our desires are not our own but are spoon-fed to us by faceless codes. Generation Z, more than any other, is ensnared in this web, their identities and self-worth increasingly bound to the digital echoes of validation (so are millenials, too). And with this comes a rising tide of mental health issues—alienation, anxiety, a diminished sense of self. How can one know themselves when they are constantly being told what to like, what to be?
In this context, the physical world—the tangible, the real—becomes ever more vital. There is something irreplaceable about human connection, about the unpredictability of the real world, that algorithms cannot replicate. I am not against social media; it has its place. But my God, if people only knew the extent to which their lives are manipulated, from what we wear, to what we eat, to what we find desirable—perhaps we would begin to reclaim our own tastes, our own sense of self. (There are other areas of influence I have omitted that deeply affect us in similar ways like movies, TV, influencers, fashion, advertising, etc., because it would mean I would have to write a book for which I do not have the stamina. And let me be fair here, I too am influenced by everything everyone else is. I am not self-righteous to say I’m unaffected by the same things.)
Ever since I was a child, the question has haunted me: Why do I like what I like? Why do I behave the way I behave? Of course, academia offered answers, books filled with theories. But there is something more, something happening now, a homogeneity in tastes that feels manufactured, artificial. In an interview with Ezra Klein, Chayka spoke of this—of how true taste is something you can feel when someone walks into a room. It is distinct, it is theirs. But how do you cultivate this in a world that conspires to flatten everything into sameness? In his conversation with Klein, Chayka illustrated this point by discussing Blue Bottle Coffee, a brand originally inspired by the aesthetics of Japanese cafes. However, due to the algorithmic influence on design trends, you can now find cafes with similar minimalist, Scandinavian-inspired decor in cities around the world, from Mexico to Asia to Europe. This mirroring effect has led to a strange feedback loop where Japan, the originator of the style, starts replicating what it perceives as a global trend, which was, in fact, its own aesthetic. This example highlights how algorithms contribute to the global homogenization of culture, erasing the distinctiveness that once defined regional styles and tastes.
While social media has its place, it’s crucial to be aware of the ways in which these platforms shape our desires and behaviors. By stepping away from the screen and into the richness of the physical world, we can begin to rediscover what truly matters and resist the flattening pressures of algorithm-driven culture.
This is the world we live in—a filterworld, where our value is increasingly tethered to the digital, to the ephemeral. But there is hope in the physical, in the authentic, in the messy unpredictability of human life. It is here, I believe, that we can begin to reclaim our souls, to cultivate true taste, to become who we are meant to be, beyond the reach of the algorithm’s flattening grasp.
August 19, 2024
There was a moment, perhaps several, where I caught myself. What was I doing? What was this pressure? Where did it come from? The content I saw was a reflection of something sadder, a mirror held up to the hollowing out of culture. It wasn’t just about the hours lost; it was about the soul-sucking emptiness that remained. I felt zapped, drained, like a part of me had been stolen in exchange for those fleeting moments of dopamine, those little red hearts, those digital affirmations.
And it struck me—how easily one could be trapped in this digital quicksand, how quickly a week could turn into a month, a year, a life defined by the metrics of validation from strangers. I was on the verge of addiction; I could feel it. The way my thumb moved on its own, the way my mind craved the next hit, the next like. Before I knew it, I was tethered to a value system not of my making, but of the algorithm’s design.
Chayka’s "Filterworld" speaks to this—this flattening of culture, this erosion of true taste. Algorithms, in their quest for efficiency and engagement, strip away the richness, the serendipity of life. They present us with a homogenized world, a world where our desires are not our own but are spoon-fed to us by faceless codes. Generation Z, more than any other, is ensnared in this web, their identities and self-worth increasingly bound to the digital echoes of validation (so are millenials, too). And with this comes a rising tide of mental health issues—alienation, anxiety, a diminished sense of self. How can one know themselves when they are constantly being told what to like, what to be?
In this context, the physical world—the tangible, the real—becomes ever more vital. There is something irreplaceable about human connection, about the unpredictability of the real world, that algorithms cannot replicate. I am not against social media; it has its place. But my God, if people only knew the extent to which their lives are manipulated, from what we wear, to what we eat, to what we find desirable—perhaps we would begin to reclaim our own tastes, our own sense of self. (There are other areas of influence I have omitted that deeply affect us in similar ways like movies, TV, influencers, fashion, advertising, etc., because it would mean I would have to write a book for which I do not have the stamina. And let me be fair here, I too am influenced by everything everyone else is. I am not self-righteous to say I’m unaffected by the same things.)
Ever since I was a child, the question has haunted me: Why do I like what I like? Why do I behave the way I behave? Of course, academia offered answers, books filled with theories. But there is something more, something happening now, a homogeneity in tastes that feels manufactured, artificial. In an interview with Ezra Klein, Chayka spoke of this—of how true taste is something you can feel when someone walks into a room. It is distinct, it is theirs. But how do you cultivate this in a world that conspires to flatten everything into sameness? In his conversation with Klein, Chayka illustrated this point by discussing Blue Bottle Coffee, a brand originally inspired by the aesthetics of Japanese cafes. However, due to the algorithmic influence on design trends, you can now find cafes with similar minimalist, Scandinavian-inspired decor in cities around the world, from Mexico to Asia to Europe. This mirroring effect has led to a strange feedback loop where Japan, the originator of the style, starts replicating what it perceives as a global trend, which was, in fact, its own aesthetic. This example highlights how algorithms contribute to the global homogenization of culture, erasing the distinctiveness that once defined regional styles and tastes.
While social media has its place, it’s crucial to be aware of the ways in which these platforms shape our desires and behaviors. By stepping away from the screen and into the richness of the physical world, we can begin to rediscover what truly matters and resist the flattening pressures of algorithm-driven culture.
This is the world we live in—a filterworld, where our value is increasingly tethered to the digital, to the ephemeral. But there is hope in the physical, in the authentic, in the messy unpredictability of human life. It is here, I believe, that we can begin to reclaim our souls, to cultivate true taste, to become who we are meant to be, beyond the reach of the algorithm’s flattening grasp.
August 19, 2024