Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture

Kyle's writing, in all its venues, has meant a great deal to me for a very long time. He gives words to the thoughts I didn't think could be put to paper, and he does so with care, reflectiveness and a deep perceptiveness. This book feels like the beautiful byproduct of so much of his writing over the past few years, weaving together observations and experiences about the internet, culture, art, design and human beings. Sometimes, the conclusions he arrives at feel somewhat obvious: for instance, we should be more intentional about how we curate our own taste. But this “obviousness” betrays a radical, humanistic reminder: we are what we consume and if we do so a little bit less online and with some love, maybe we too can be the better for it.

Someone has finally articulated this nagging feeling I've been having for some time. The algorithmic anxiety that comes from living in the teeth of technology. How identity has been replaced by consumerism driven by algorithms that influence the music I listen to, the movies I watch, the vacations I take, and the next must have item I need to buy whether it's Allbirds, a Stanley Mug, or Taylor Swift tickets.

There is a flattening of taste, a statistical averaging of desires that is elevating mid content to stratospheric heights. It's keeping us glued to the apps by staying away from anything that might challenge or confound us. It's dispensing with anything that would require nuanced consideration in favour of the pre-packaged and instantly understood.

We have such a herd mentality. Nothing draws a crowd like a crowd, and so it's not just the consumers but the creators chasing virality that influences and flattens content. Songs are necessarily shorter to monetize within Spotify, movies become focused on meme opportunities over thoughtful writing, everyone is seeking the same shot from the rooftops of Santorini Greece or the shores of the Amafi Coast which drives even more tourism to the same spots. And around the globe, coffeeshops have adopted the same aesthetic of subway tiles, reclaimed wood furniture, rusty plumbing, and hanging lamps with exposed Edison bulbs in a High Brooklyn lumberjack vibe that is instantly recognizable whether you're in Seoul, Copenhagen, or Reykjavik.

Sure this can be a bit of a baggy read at times but it's a necessary reminder to cultivate your own individual taste, to be aware of how the algorithms are subtly influencing what we consume and how, even in the act of consuming it, we are considering how we will present it to others. Of course you are unique, just like everybody else.