Yo I am anxiously aware that last year around this time I wrote that my drive to acquire material things had diminished somewhat: I was older and wiser, I had everything I needed, I was repelled by the sheer volume of stuff in the world, blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, the Internet apparently saw that as fighting talk, a challenge impossible to refuse, and in recent months I found myself once again wanting things. Many things.
Perhaps not surprisingly: there are things everywhere, whispering or shouting at us from every screen we look at. “The constant stream of ads on Instagram is exhausting,” my best friend said sadly last week, and she’s right: my eyes are constantly assaulted with offers for miracle products for my mature skin, wellness gadgets, expensive knitwear and greenwashed “disruptors.” of almost everything. I spent a minute scrolling and was offered, in rapid succession, a “calfPRO” (no idea, alarming), kombucha, cleanser, an eco-friendly frying pan, “reminiscent of Celine-era Phoebe Philo sweaters,” and, disconcertingly, the Canadian sea. urchins.
In this new lawless era of social media, there are bigger problems than the relentless onslaught of targeted ads, but in addition to the urgent improvement in critical reading skills the world needs, we must find a way to fight everything the Internet wants. us to buy. If we don’t, we could, to take a random example, end up embarrassedly receiving a candy-colored bra we bought in fugue state after seeing it 800 times in a week on our phone. The bra will apparently be constructed of satsuma netting and cling film and will offer no support to the wearer, instead struggling tirelessly to relocate all of my… sorry, his – breast tissue up to the armpits. It is destined for a landfill, where it will strangle a seabird and then decompose into microplastics to poison generations of our descendants.
Disinfluence is now a genre of online content, in which creators fight consumer culture by explaining how happy they are with a pair of sneakers and a basic shampoo. It’s admirable, but inevitably generic. The enormous scale and granular targeting of the data-driven, algorithmically manufactured discontent industry is such that I believe we must take matters into our own hands. Because who better to disinfluence you than yourself? The only person who knows your desires and weaknesses better than the almighty algorithm is you; Only you can combat it effectively. I’ve been trying to disinfluence myself for the past few weeks and it’s quite a battle: I’m weak-willed and getting more stupid by the minute from the Internet’s nonsense, and the algorithm is relentless. But I have a secret weapon: I know my cowardly and ridiculous desires intimately, which helps me silence them. Now, when I’m tempted, that’s exactly what I do. So:
The perfect reusable coffee cup: Let’s review what happened to the last perfect reusable cup you bought: you left it on a bench on its second outing. Very ecological. You drink too much coffee anyway.
“Paralleltte bars for calisthenics.: Do you really think you can use these pieces of wood to train your tired and crooked body to do a handstand? You have a core reduced to minced meat from giving birth to two large babies and the shoulder strength of a sparrow. This is why no one over the age of 35 should be able to access TikTok (except to understand the very relevant concept of “delulu”).
£500 crow jumper: You think you’ll look like Alexa Chung, Björk, or some other quirky but stylish style icon; You’ll look like Gyles Brandreth. If you’re lucky.
“The last charger you will ever need to buy”: Can we rephrase? “You need the last charger until you leave it on the train like the last three,” is more accurate.
Miracle Cleaner: Unless the miracle is that it comes out of the tube and applies itself, you won’t use it: you’re too lazy.
Disruptive “plant-based” electric toothbrush: Remember that disruptive plant-based deodorant you bought? He still reproaches you rancid from the bathroom drawer. Try to become really disruptive by No buying this credulously.
It’s brutal but, at least in my case, absolutely necessary and almost a full-time job: Canadian sea urchins, you say, rich and creamy, limited availability? Hmm.