Mirror, Mirror, on my Screen
Reflections of our selves in the algorithm
Last fall, Instagram starting showing me pornstars.
I don’t watch porn. The industry is highly exploitative and the habit is bad for the brain’s reward systems. Nonetheless, when scrolling, I found myself stopping and watching reels of attractive women talking about sex. Some deep, lizard-brain instinct told me that it was important to stop and watch. Sex sells. Why else would I mention pornstars in the first sentence of this post, instead of something more mundane?
Within a day or two the algorithm thought it had my number. Every time I opened the app I was bombarded with reels of artificial women, talking to each other and bizarre looking podcast hosts about the various sex acts they perform on and off camera. At this point I understood what had happened and tried to reverse course. If I simply ignored the content it would go away, I reasoned. The app wanted my attention above all else, and if I denied it that then it would be forced to change. Slowly but surely the pornstar interviews were replaced by my regularly scheduled programming - mostly rock climbing, woodworking and people hurting themselves while being reckless. As my brain adapts to ignore the fake breasts on my screen, so the algorithm adapts to my brain.
By optimizing their algorithms for maximum attention, social media companies have unwittingly started an interesting experiment. Each user has a personalized feed, chosen not by the user but by the algorithm. What we see tomorrow depends in part on our online actions today. The content we interact with (and how we interact with it), the messages we send and the people we choose to follow all play a role in what the algorithm chooses to show us. Thus, every time we open Instagram, we are seeing not just individual posts but a reflection of our selves as a whole. Today I’ll argue that this is neither inherently good nor bad, but has the potential to be either. By understanding more about the algorithm I believe we can make it serve us, rather than the other way around.
Using social media is, ironically, a solitary experience. Sure, we’re connected with our friends; we share memes and news and use it to build community. But most of the time we spend on it is spent alone. Perhaps you use Instagram on a bus or a train. You’re surrounded by people, yet you are deep inside your own world. We all know the experience of getting sucked into our phones in a social setting, only to look up minutes later entirely detached from the conversation. This self imposed solitude is largely a negative effect of social media, disconnecting us from our neighbors as we strive to connect with the whole world. However, it presents a unique opportunity. Because we often scroll when we’re alone, or act as if we’re alone when we scroll, the algorithm observes us not as we present ourselves to others but as we truly are.
This honest look at ourselves through the algorithmic lens is important because it serves as a basis for a healthy relationship with the media we consume, both social and traditional. I’ll draw a comparison here with underage drinking. I am the oldest child in my family, and my parents were firmly opposed to me drinking during my teenage years. Naturally I did it anyways, stealing beer from our fridge and going to strangers’ houses to get drunk. Now by the time my sister, the youngest, began to show interest in alcohol, my parents had shifted their stance. My sister would have a drink with dinner, and sometimes host her friends at home with the stipulation that nobody drives home. She is generally more open about her alcohol use with my parents than I ever was before becoming of age. Now which of us would you say had a better relationship with alcohol as an adolescent? Surely my younger sister, because she could afford to be honest with my parents, and consequentially herself.
I believe a large portion of our happiness derives from the proximity between who we are and who we say we are. Who we say we are is increasingly presented to the world via social media, as we share content that makes us look exciting, well liked and virtuous. The more aligned real life you is with the version of you that you present to the world, the happier you will be. This is surely not the entire happiness equation - someone who is destitute and lonely, and freely admits these characteristics, will not suddenly encounter happiness. But generally speaking, the less we have to hide and fake to be the person we want to be, the less stress we import into our lives. Herein lies the value of the algorithm.
By zeroing in on a single resource - attention - Instagram algorithms map out one’s interests, preferences and biases. Not the ones we purport to hold, but the actual values indicated by how we allocate our attention. I don’t watch porn - but the all-knowing algorithm saw that I was briefly intrigued by what a pornstar had to say and tried to capitalize on that fact. The cold, objective look of the algorithm shows us where we fall short of our lofty values. It’s okay to fall short. We’re all human. The beauty of this model is that it gives us room to grow. When the content we consume does not align with the values we claim to hold, we have an opportunity to look inwards and identify where we are leading the algorithm astray. Because attention does not lie - people do.
A recent push for transparency has shed light on the actual dynamics governing the Instagram algorithm. Instagram describes their algorithms as using technology to personalize our feeds and make the most of our time. They use both individual data - likes, clicks, lingering time - and cohort data - the accounts you follow and your demographics - to determine what content will be prioritized. It is no wonder that political echo chambers form under these selection dynamics. Dominant algorithms are clearly effective at analyzing and capturing our attention, and have grown in their power as TikTok and reels have taken over the social media landscape. This trend - which is most comparable to watching TV - has shifted the industry from ‘social’ towards ‘media.’ This makes it more important than ever to safeguard our attention and consume with intention.
Does the content you consume align with the values you hold? Why do you participate in social media - for the social or for the media? Would you be hesitant to share the contents of your feed with your friends and family? If so, why? These are important questions to consider as we try to find an appropriate place for social media in our lives. To be clear, I think the algorithmic commodification of attention is a net negative, and is a force that I try to minimize in my own life. But it is here, for better or for worse, and I intend to use it to my advantage.