Much of my job, there and everywhere else I have worked, has amounted to wading every day into the internet’s sprawling garbage lagoons in search of eye-catching chunks of floating trash that I might show to other people on the off chance that it might amuse or disgust them; I did not always enjoy the smell, but I’d worked enough other jobs to know that there were worse places to spend your day. It was jarring, as I became the ubiquitous face of the spammily cretinous new regime, to find that I was myself now part of that chaos—it was my face and voice, decontextualized and unbidden, pouring out of that pipe. I couldn’t stop it, but it doesn’t stop. So I chased myself around the page, suddenly much more noise than signal.From ‘The Year in Pivoting to Video’ by David Roth (Hazlitt)
We no longer identify with the “little people” looking up but with the powerful people looking down. It’s a forced perspective. We’re still surveilled but this time, by the glowing lozenges we cradle in our palms, the ones that keep our heads bowed and shoulders aching.
…the Romantic philosophers, poets and artists understood the sublime subversion of looking up. During the rapidly industrialising 18th and 19th centuries, they sought profound thrills in primal experiences of nature. They reimagined the upward gaze as an escape into another dimension of feeling – away from the relentless forward momentum of modernity.
From ‘We spend so much time staring at our phones. What do we miss when we don’t look up?’ by Mel Campbell (the Guardian)
Apple recently announced the AirPods Pro – shiny new wireless earbuds with some attractive new features. But they can’t be repaired, and are an environmental disaster waiting to happen. They also raise troubling questions about our inability to be silent with our own thoughts.
White Apple headphones have become a visual cliché in urban environments. For many years they were wired, but more recently the wireless kind have risen to prominence. AirPods are expensive, easily lost, and disposable, which makes them a uniquely obnoxious form of conspicuous consumerism. Wired headphones work perfectly fine – or at least they did until phone manufacturers started eradicating the headphone jack – so if you can afford to pay the minimum £159 sticker price of AirPods then you’re signalling that you’re willing to splash out this kind of money on a convenience that’s also a status symbol. Personally I can’t think of anything that screams ‘I conform!’ more than plugging Apple adverts into my ears, but maybe that’s just me.
The AirPods Pro take things a few steps further:
- They are dramatically more expensive, at £249.
- They feature ‘Active Noise Cancellation’, designed to further immerse you in whatever Gripping Content™ you’ve decided to consume, eradicating just that bit more evidence that you’re living in the physical world.
- They’re ‘even more magical’, which is Apple-speak for ‘we can make you give us money’.
My main objection to AirPods is that they are disposable products with a severely limited lifespan. Ifixit recently completed their teardown of the AirPods Pro, and gave them a repairability score of zero. Unlike your phone, which is bad enough but can still theoretically be repaired, AirPods are mostly held together with glue and can’t be opened without destroying them. This means that when (not if) the batteries fail, they become environmentally dangerous technoscrap. These products are destined to end up in the ground in their millions, perhaps forming a geological layer along with all the other technoscrap, rather like the fossilised shoes left behind after the Shoe Event Horizon dreamed up by Douglas Adams.
On a less tangible level, I’m also troubled by active noise cancellation. AirPods Pro are not, of course, the only headphones you can buy with this feature, but when combined with the other downsides it merely serves to sweeten the sauce. Many humans in the 21st-century western world cannot suffer being alone, and will do almost anything to drive away the little slivers of solitude that punctuate daily life. The voices and ideas of others suffuse every moment of consciousness. We look at our smartphones the instant we awake. When walking to the bus stop or waiting in a queue, we plug in headphones and silence the world with music or a podcast.
Look – I love music as much as the next person, and often carry headphones with me so that I can drown out the world from time to time. But wireless earbuds are more convenient to leave in all the time, so why would people ever want to take them off (until they need charging, that is)? Why not leave them in from breakfast until you get home, saturating every instant with music and chatter, keeping precious boredom at bay, preventing a single scrap of genuine solitude from creeping through the defences?
Maybe that sounds attractive, but solitude is important, and we’re starved of it. I’ve been leaving my headphones at home a lot more over the last year, forcing myself to be alone and bored, because that’s when my mind lights up and I know who I am again. But on-demand distraction feels good in the short term so that’s what the brain craves.
Add active noise cancellation into the mix and you make it really easy for the AirPods Pro wearer to pretend that the external world doesn’t exist at all. Gripping Content™ is served to you on a bed of silence, the world just a drab, grubby background behind the hyper-saturated rectangle of your smartphone.
The real world may not be as exciting as Spotify or the latest podcast, but it’s real, and this is where we live. The less time we spend here the less we’ll care about it. We should check in more often.
I’m not even going to get into the other aspects of AirPods I find creepy and dystopian, such as the always-listening Siri voice assistant (luckily, Siri is mostly useless). And it isn’t all bad. The AirPods Pro do have an adjustable fit, which may make it less likely that one will drop out of your ear and be lost. I guess that’s something.
Look, if you have spent £249 on wireless earbuds that are destined to end up in landfill because they can’t be repaired, leaching toxic chemicals into the earth, then you’re not only signalling that you have more money than sense – you’re signalling that convenience is more important to you than the world in which we all live. That not only is today more important than tomorrow, but tomorrow doesn’t even exist. You’re also signalling that you’re easily controlled by Apple’s siren call of consumerism. Did purchasing them make you feel good? But it’s a momentary hit of pleasure in the void, isn’t it, until you feel the need to consume more – or until the AirPods Pro 2 come out and the old ones go into a drawer, maybe for 3 years, maybe for 20, but eventually they’ll come out of the drawer and end up in the ground. Or maybe you’ll decide to be an earnestly conscientious consumer and use your AirPods Pro until they fail, which will be in about two years because the batteries are minute and can never be replaced. And then you’ll open your wallet again because convenience soon becomes need.
How many pairs of AirPods will you get through in your lifetime before Apple announces the ability to embed them permanently in your head, so that you’ll never have to endure silence, or your own thoughts, ever again? Does that idea make you feel uncomfortable – or excited?
AirPods are death. They are a symbol of corporate control, of the annihiliation of the self and the annihilation of all life. Don’t buy them. Tell your family and friends not to buy them. Enjoy music, podcasts, whatever, but also take a few moments each week to be alone and without entertainment – you never know what thoughts will come to you in the silence.
…all these tubes and buttons and machineries neither come into the world with us, nor will they follow us out, nor do they matter supremely while we are here.
Then came darkness and, worse still, silence which pierced my ears like a sword. The Machine hums! Did you know that? Its hum penetrates our blood, and may even guide our thoughts.E.M. Forster, ‘The Machine Stops‘ (1909)
Apologies for linking to Medium, but there’s a good piece by Simon Pitt called ‘Computer Files Are Going Extinct’ on the subject of platforms taking over more and more of what we do (and, also, digital enclosure in general). Here’s a quote for you:
The file has been replaced with the platform, the service, the ecosystem. This is not to say that I’m proposing we lead an uprising against services. You can’t halt progress by clogging the internet pipes. I say this to mourn the loss of the innocence we had before capitalism inevitably invaded the internet. When we create now, our creations are part of an enormous system. Our contributions a tiny speck in an elastic database cluster. Rather than buying and collecting music, videos, or other cultural artifacts, we are exposed to the power hose: all culture, raging over us, for $12.99 a month (or $15.99 for HD) as long as we keep up our payments like good economic entities. When we stop paying, we’re left with nothing. No files. The service is revoked.
I know, I know – people find files annoying. Writer and former developer Matt Gemmell wrote a blog post back in 2015 called ‘A farewell to files’, and I remember reacting to it strongly at the time. People find files annoying because they have to manage them and put them in folders and think about them. It’s become so tempting to just say ‘sod it’ and use one of the many library-based, cloud-based platforms that are available today for managing your stuff: Evernote for notes, maybe, and Apple Music for music, and Google Docs for work things. The lords of the cloud would like us to stop managing our own affairs and to hand everything over to them, but this is a staggeringly bad idea.
When you stop using files and start using one of these platforms, you hand control of another portion of your life over to a corporation whose motives may not align with your own. Even if you’re ok with how that corporation does business now, and even if the software does what you want at this precise moment, the future is the future. When everything’s a service you don’t own anything. The cost could increase beyond what you can afford (which recently happened to me with Dropbox; I am no longer a Dropbox customer). The company’s business model could pivot, or greater public scrutiny could reveal their true colours (Google). They could just get too big and profitable and stop giving a damn about the tools you rely on for your livelihood (Apple is doing this right now to the Mac). They could go bust entirely.
That’s the bigger picture, but within the scope of the original post, a file is something that you own, which (ideally) resides on a local storage medium that you also own. You are responsible for backing it up, sure, but – unless it lives primarily in the cloud – you also have full control over it. Nobody can take that away from you.
I have .txt files on my computer that have survived since the early 1990s. They work just as well now as they did then. Meanwhile, I have an Apple Notes database from 2015 that’s corrupted beyond repair, a Lightroom library that’s now so slow that it won’t open on my top-of-the-line iMac, an iTunes in the Cloud library that sometimes syncs if it feels like it, and a Trello account that completely disappeared for no apparent reason. I have twice attempted to use iCloud Photos and twice my photo library has ended up hopelessly corrupted. iTunes is the only one of these services I still use – and I have all my music stored locally as well as in the cloud.
If you want to store a thing on a computer, store it in a goddamned file. Upload it to the cloud for convenience if you need to, but make sure the canonical copy is somewhere you control, on a local storage device, and backed up the old-fashioned way. The cloud is wonderfully useful for collaboration and synchronisation but it would be a mistake to trust it entirely.
The platform-driven computing environment we live in now is not progress. We’re told it’s progress by the corporations who stand to profit from us trusting them with all our stuff. The cloud-based world is more expensive, less reliable, more complicated, and sometimes forces us to change platforms for any number of arbitrary reasons. The only real advantage is convenience.
Anyway, I encourage you to read the original article in full. The death of files has repercussions far beyond the narrow objections I’ve raised here, from chronocentrism to increased dependencies and other issues. Perhaps most importantly of all, it mentions the intangible sense that we’re losing touch with the data we create – ‘my own little world,’ says the author.
The first might be considered an extremist tactic, but he does make an interesting point:
Where you are is partially defined by where you are not. When you’re somewhere, you’re not somewhere else. But when you use your phone, you’re everywhere.
Smartphones have made travel easy, but they have also eroded that sense of travel, because when you carry a smartphone you carry your own collection of other places around with you – and it’s easy to slip away there if you get bored or anxious.
My own experiences have confirmed that travel does feel richer and more rewarding when I don’t have an internet portal in my pocket. Partly that’s because I have to be more intentional; partly it’s because I notice and experience more, and interact with more people. It’s been a long time since I travelled anywhere without taking photos, though. I’m not sure I’d go that far (although I do favour a real camera over a phone camera).
To carry no phone at all is an uncompromising, purist stance, and probably has more drawbacks than advantages. But, as someone who has found the experience of travelling with a basic dumbphone very positive, count me officially intrigued.
In ‘Travel without social praise’, the author wrote:
We go places we think would be impressive to other people. We take photos that will make our life look wonderful when we share them. We want that praise — that social reward.
Do we really want to do this thing, for its own sake? Or do we just want the praise?
This is something I thought about a lot in July-August 2019 when I hiked the Pyrenean Haute Route. Several times, I asked myself whether I would still do this big walk if I could never tell anyone about it or publish my experience in any form. I had assumed (hoped) that the answer would be an immediate ‘yes’, but to my surprise I found my honest response was more nuanced than that, and came with qualifiers and provisos. It took a week or two for my reply to become a firm ‘yes’ with no ifs or buts.
I actually asked one hiker I met a few times this exact question. His response: ‘Hell no. I do it for the ‘Gram. I’ve gained thousands more followers this week alone. What would be the point if nobody ever found out about this epic shit?’
I thought about that a lot too.
Weeks later, I thought about the words of Robert Frost in his poem Mowing:
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
As an older millennial myself, this is something I’ve long wondered. A recent piece on the Guardian, bearing the title ‘We millennials have more ‘friends’ than ever. So why are we so lonely?’ adds an interesting perspective.
Here’s a pertinent quote:
Having grown up with (and to at least some extent been shaped by) social media, millennials have been especially vulnerable to its worst psychological effects, such as creating an illusory impression of connection and the sense that everyone else is living an impossibly rich, varied and active life.
Before I begin, let me stress that I can’t speak for all millennials here. I’m extrapolating from an observed trend.
I’ve spoken to many individuals from older generations who are far more capable of using social media as a simple tool with remarkably little psychological imprint on their overall well-being. Could this be because greater maturity acts as a shield against the attention traps and psychological loopholes social platforms use throughout their design? Do older people have more real friends and richer social interactions in the physical world? Are they just online less than we are? Perhaps a lifetime of being exposed to advertising has had a galvanising effect too.
But I’m not so sure. In my experience, young people are often acutely aware of when they are being manipulated and controlled by the attention economy (which, when online, is almost always). And while some young people undeniably lack a rich real-world social life, I don’t think anyone would claim we’re a generation of shut-ins. No, the difference seems to be in the response.
I’m generalising here, basing my points on circumstantial evidence and personal impressions (although I plan to study this more formally). I’ve observed that older people who are heavy users of social media, and savvy with it, often have a surprising ability to put these platforms from their minds when they aren’t using them. Put another way, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram et al. seem to have less of a hold on older people. The experience can be completely different for some people my age and younger. I think we are incapable of viewing the internet and all the various platforms as just a set of tools. Because we grew up alongside them as they developed, in our heads we think of them as all-encompassing aspects of nature. Like the sea or the sky. Or perhaps as extensions of (replacements for, God forbid?) our own minds and souls.
When millennials struggle with social media’s dark side, our response is often anxiety, overwhelm, numbness, and a constant feeling of jitteriness and being unable to focus on anything. These effects can last for hours or days, even when offline. Even if our phone and computer are switched off. This isn’t just me – I’ve heard the same story from countless people, both my own friends and relatives and people I’ve chatted to online. Hundreds of articles about the phenonenon are only a web search away.
It’s a complicated picture, and I think many factors are at play. The nature of the work that many millennials do, which often relies so heavily on social media in one way or another, must play a role. If our identities are entangled with what we post on social websites – places designed to trap us and force us to do free work for internet corporations – then what does that do to how we perceive ourselves? No wonder young people get just a bit anxious when a carefully curated tweet only gets two likes. We can’t help but see that as a reflection of our own worth. Magnify that to the scale of our entanglement with social media, of our poisononous relationship with likes and metrics, and perhaps we’re starting to see the outlines of the problem.
How do we know what we actually think about anything if we’re constantly being bombarded by the thoughts and opinions of other people – and corporations – at all hours of waking life?
To be clear, I don’t believe this reflects badly on my generation. We are not workshy or feckless. Hell, we often work multiple jobs for low pay in an environment where it feels that everything we do is tied to our own value as human beings. We’re not just dumb consumers of whatever nonsense the internet throws at us either. But we’ve been manipulated by tech platforms since childhood in ways that are only just starting to be talked about – in some cases only just starting to be understood. Methods that far exceed other means of control or corporate surveillance that have existed at any other point in history. That’s got to leave its mark on the psyche. Perhaps every generation has its own unique form of collective damage; maybe this is ours.
This is why I believe it’s important to speak up about these issues and to strive to learn more about them – to, yes, raise awareness, because many people remain unaware. There are greater problems in the world, but the mental health of an entire generation deserves to be taken seriously. The anxiety and overwhelm some millennials feel some of the time in association with social media is a real problem. When I see older people flip out at millennials on Twitter and tell them to ‘get off the internet if it’s bothering you so much’ I think it’s a lot like telling someone with clinical depression to get a grip and start smiling more.
- Three lessons I learned by going offline for a month on the Cape Wrath Trail
- How millennials became the burnout generation
- The deliberate awfulness of social media
- Notes on a Nervous Planet, Matt Haig (Canongate Books, 2018)