Meet the Real Me

An intimate tour of my (bonkers) algorithm.

Welcome to the midweek letter, a rotating assortment of personal writing, interviews, recommendations, AMAs, giveaways, and other fun things.

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I sometimes reflect on the time when I’d never heard the word “algorithm.”

The term dates back to the 9^th century, when it was coined by Persian mathematician Muhammad ibin Musa al-Khwarizmi, also known as “the father of algebra.” But algorithm-the-buzzword really hit its stride in the current century, with a voracity rivaled only by the spotted lanternfly [NYMag link] on every surface in NYC. (Apologies for the local reference, but fellow New Yorkers, I know you feel this.)

I have typically been wary of algorithms, or Algie, as I’ve collectively dubbed them. Like a lot of folks, I don’t relish the idea of anything or anyone tracking my activity, let alone predicting my preferences or behavior. I am disturbed when Algie is right (how dare you show me an ad for tacos four minutes after I mention them!) and just as irritated when it’s wrong.

Over the course of one frustrating season, every device I encountered presented me with a parade of engagement rings, despite the fact that I was involved with a wildly noncommittal person. This was followed by months where it displayed a vast array of maternity items (with taglines like, “Still you, just pregnant!”) when I was very much not expecting. Now it’s on to peddling supplements for perimenopause. Life cycle according to robot.

Like an overbearing relative, the algorithm loves to tell me who I “should” be versus who I actually am. But lately! Well, I’m starting to think it gets me…

The first sign was this human dog bed, which one can elect to share with a canine (or not). I have never seen anything more perfect in my life. What does this say about me? That I spend copious amounts of time on the floor? (Indeed, I am sitting there as I type this.) That I have sloth-like tendencies? That I sometimes feel jealous of my dog’s plush accoutrement? Guilty as charged.

Next up was this stool that looks like a giant, partially consumed corn on the cob. I was confused by this — not only the recommendation, but the fact that such an item exists. Is it functional (or merely decorative)? Is it meant for seating at a barbecue? An eatery? Someone’s living room? Are there food furniture friends out there to make it a complete meal?

The answer to all of these questions is a resounding yes.

While I am not currently in the market for an irreverent food perch, I was frankly flattered that Algie thought I might be, not unlike when it sends me listings for homes I could never hope to afford. Maybe one day.

Next came this wonderfully voluminous octopus dog costume. My dog would be deeply unamused by this, but that didn’t stop me from maniacally giggling and texting it to at least three people.

But the pièce de résistance was this chicken purse. What is going on here? Is it an odd cousin of the JW Anderson pigeon clutch? Who is this for? Children? Poultry enthusiasts? …me?

The upshot: Algie thinks I am bonkers, and I am here for it.

To be fair, it still has its moments of confusion. I was recently presented with this quality “chainmail coif medieval knight renaissance mask” and assured it could arrive within two days. Who, pray tell, needs a chainmail mask? And moreover, who needs it urgently? (But if that person is you, it has very good reviews.)

While Algie-the-marketer failed at its chief aim — I have no plans to purchase any of these items — it succeeded in something much deeper, which is capturing a part of my essence. Not to mention that it provided some much-needed moments of levity.

As anyone who’s ever dabbled in online dating can attest, people are often NOT as they present themselves. Hell, half the time we may not even have a clear image of ourselves. While I hesitate to think the algorithm has us all pegged, maybe it’s on to something. (And maybe the next dating app should present each person alongside an assortment of what’s been marketed to them lately. Would make for an interesting social experiment…)

Anyway, I’d love to hear your stories. What kind of nonsense has the internet tried to sell you? Have you, too, succumbed to purchasing random items that crash into your life mid-scroll?

And if you’re in the market for a chicken purse, well, you’re welcome.

Thanks so much for reading! See you Sunday. x