Algorithms and the Homogenization of Taste

Does anyone truly know what they like anymore?

Fallon Michael/Unsplash

The last two days have been gloriously sunny and unseasonably warm, so I’ve made a point of going out on afternoon walks to soak it in before winter returns with a vengeance. Usually, I walk in solitude and silence, but sometimes I listen to a podcast.

Yesterday, I listened to Jon Favreau, host of Offline, talk to Kyle Chayka, author of Filterworld. I have not read this book, but their conversation about how social media algorithms are “flattening culture” and making us more boring people was anything but boring!

One comment jumped out at me—that now we tend to experience things digitally first, and physically second. Many of the decisions we make about what to do and where to go are influenced, consciously or not, by things we’ve seen on our social media feeds or elsewhere online.

For example, when traveling, there is a tendency to look up the most highly rated restaurants or coffee shops on Yelp or Google Maps when deciding where to go. The problem is, these highly rated locations all sort of meld into a familiar sort of look and feel, rather than offering the unique experiences that a truly local venue might offer. There’s a generic, safe sense to them, not to mention that they’re often full of other out-of-towners.

What happened to strolling down a foreign street and picking a random spot that piques curiosity? This made me think of Rob Walker’s advice in The Art of Noticing (a delightful read). In a 2019 Guardian op-ed, he urged travelers to “eat somewhere dubious”:

“Instead of choosing the familiar chain, the Internet-endorsed hot spot or the place that simply looks really interesting … choose the opposite. That bland-looking eatery in some ugly shopping mall that has no Yelp reviews? Take in the atmosphere, ask questions about the menu, slyly observe the other patrons… Maybe you’ll brag to your friends about the delicious food you discovered. Either way, you’ll experience a new place, for yourself.”

Me, eating at a non-Yelp-reviewed restaurant in Morocco’s Atlas Mountains

So, I have been wondering:

How much do online forums and the algorithms that drive our social media feeds shape our tastes when it comes to how we decorate our homes, the clothes we buy, the makeup and hair trends we use, the exercises we do, the games we play, the restaurants we visit, even the recipes and food hacks we try?

And even though we may convince ourselves that we genuinely enjoy these things, how often do we mistake a sense of familiarity (induced by repeated exposure) or even safety (by mass approval in the form of “likes” or upvotes) for an actual keen awareness of personal taste? Does anyone really know what they like anymore?

An Algorithm-Induced Monoculture

I must admit that I am sometimes surprised by the homogenization of taste in my little sliver of upper-middle-class Canadian society. So many houses look similar and devoid of personality on the inside; I don’t remember that from childhood, when visiting other people’s houses offered a glimpse into their unique interests and eccentric collections.

It has become common to listen to the same few dozen songs on repeat, buy the same clothes and footwear and branded workout gear, to talk about the same meme accounts and viral TikTok videos and Netflix shows, to read the exact same news stories and headlines that have been “curated” for us by a savvy app. People even go on similar-looking vacations, chasing specific vantage points and photo ops that have been made popular by social media.

Nice but bland: Photo by Lotus Design N Print on Unsplash

And then there’s the infamous “Instagram face,” which I’ve noticed for a long time but never really understood until I read Freya India’s shocking piece on it, about how young women are undergoing cosmetic surgery and all sorts of filler procedures to attain a specific look and facial structure that’s been idealized by Instagram filters. They all want to look the same and they’re willing to go to extreme lengths to achieve it. India describes algorithms as “conveyor belts that transport girls to dark places.”

No doubt, popular culture and opinions have always swayed people’s personal decisions. Design and fashion and beauty magazines have been setting trends for decades, but the reach of these publications was never as extensive as social media’s is now. Their seasonal must-have looks weren’t getting seared into brains multiple times a day to the point of feeling indispensable.

I certainly don’t want to sound like some kind of out-of-touch elitist who dismisses things just because they’re popular (I love my Fjallraven backpack and my Blundstones), but I do think there is value in stepping back from a mass-approved and/or an algorithmically driven culture diet and engaging in a sort of mental detox that lets us figure out what we truly like and dislike.

Don’t Be a Pancake Person

Fretting about algorithms and online forums shaping my taste is one thing, but I worry about it even more on behalf of my kids, who are coming of age in a digital era. I think a lot about how I want my kids to engage with the world. I don’t want them to become the flat, boring “pancake people” described by playwright Richard Foreman who consume passively, always erring on the side of safety.

As I wrote in Childhood Unplugged, Foreman feared “an Internet-dependent population is being drained of its ‘inner repertory of dense cultural heritage’ by outsourcing all information and connection to a vast web that spreads us wide and thin and is accessed by the touch of a button.”

No, instead of pancakes, I want my kids to become metaphorical submarine sandwiches, packed full of textured layers and unexpected crunch with a jolt of sauce. I read somewhere that the goal should be to raise kids who are interested and interesting, meaning that they are interested in the world and others around them, and they are interesting humans themselves because they’re doing real things with their lives.

charlesdeluvio/Unsplash

Algorithms do the opposite. They let us sink into comfortable familiarity. They spoon-feed us the psychological equivalent of pabulum, telling us what we should do and buy and think. Trained to reflect our presumed “preferences”, algorithms present no inherent challenges to our eyeballs and brains.

For example, they provide no opportunities to stand in front of a work of art and recognize that it makes us feel uncomfortable and ask, “Why?” They dare not offer up a news story that challenges our political views. They don’t allow for bizarre, head-scratching encounters that may seem like a waste of time in the moment but end up being great stories. They feed into and create a societal monoculture, and that’s a dull way to live.

Can We Resist?

I don’t have clear solutions, other than to be acutely aware of what these platforms offer and to minimize time spent on them, if not avoid altogether. I tend not to “like” posts on any platform, on principle—a habit that may annoy my friends, and which another friend informed me “makes no difference” because tech companies are already tracking the time I spend on each post.

But I do make deliberate choices like often avoiding online reviews for restaurants, usually in major cities, and instead making choices based on spontaneity or whatever happens to be nearby. Or I will talk to someone who knows a particular town or city to get a personal recommendation for where to stay or eat, instead of Googling it.

My kids and I found an amazing El Salvadoran pupusa restaurant in the back of a house in Kitchener, ON, a few months ago that I’m still dreaming about. And then there was the rooftop bar I found in Essaouira where a pianist sang “Ya Rayah” as the sun set over the ocean and I got tears in my eyes while sipping cocktails with my brother. Oh, and I can’t forget the random cheese shop atop a mountain in Montenegro that we found walking along a goat path. That serendipitous stuff doesn’t come across on Yelp.

Cheese & prosciutto with a view of Montenegro’s stunning Bay of Kotor

These little efforts may not amount to much, but they feel like tiny assertions of my humanity in the face of the algorithmic takeover. They feel satisfying, and I suppose that’s all that matters.

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