As I clicked “checkout” on the swimsuit for my upcoming vacation, I thought I was making a simple purchase — but the algorithms were already at work. Before I knew it, my Instagram was flooded with ads of beach hats, slippers and even matching necklaces with SANYA inscribed on them.
Despite my scowl, I scrolled past the ads and influencers peddling their latest wares. Resisting the sales pitches, I mentally screamed, “Don’t tell me what to do,” yet the materialistic madness persisted.
I mindlessly opened my browser to cross-check the cost of a perfume I impulsively splurged on at the mall as a Valentine’s Day gift for myself recently. Soon after, men wearing luxury brands began appearing in my “most compatible” list on Hinge.
Intrigued by this algorithmic coincidence, I struck up a conversation with one of them, only to realise that he was a brand-obsessed Delhiite who believed that DLF Chhatarpur Farms was his “hometown”. Sir, with all due respect, Chhatarpur farmhouses are not separate from the city of Delhi. Left with no energy to argue, I instantly unmatched and uninstalled the app.
Disappointed and annoyed, I sought solace in the sanctuary of Spotify, stumbling upon a podcast discussing the art of “dating intentionally”. I put on my walking shoes to go for a walk. But thirty seconds into the podcast, the host began promoting her merchandise, all of which was conveniently available on her Instagram handle.
It felt like a cruel prank and I felt like I was trapped in a trial room with mirrors all around reflecting back my desires, insecurities, and aspirations. The algorithms seemed to know what I wanted before I even did — a relentless reminder that consumerism had infiltrated every corner of my digital world.
Talking to my friends (other 20-somethings as addicted to the internet as I was), I realised that this algorithm-induced isolation is a collective experience.
In an era where we’re more connected than ever before, it’s ironic that the World Health Organisation has declared loneliness to be a pervasive threat with a mortality effect equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. But in a collectivised society like ours, loneliness and isolation often go unrecognised as real problems. According to the Global State of Connections report, a staggering quarter of the 4.5 billion people surveyed admitted to feeling “very lonely” in recent times. This alarming statistic highlights the paradox of our digital age: While we strive for connection, the abundance of options often leaves us feeling more disconnected than ever.
Knowing that the digital algorithm captures my entire personhood by tracking my food, shopping, eating, reading and texting preferences, I decided to give online dating a chance. As promised, I was provided with an endless catalogue of potential partners, each one a mere swipe away.
It was like being in a simulation — an AI-based trial room where I could browse through options for my perfect outfit. You don’t like the pineapples on pizza? — swipe left. Mountains > beaches? — swipe left. If you don’t like this outfit, try out the other one. My preferences and desires were essentially distilled into a series of data points and calculations.
The market wants you to think you’re an equal player in the game. But, behind the facade is a homogenous pool of individuals, all dictated by our location, class, politics, religion, and caste. Your list of “most compatible” people is refined each day based on your preferences — but don’t expect any ground-breaking surprises.
Amidst this sea of choosing profiles with the most flattering photos and travel stories, it’s easy to lose sight of yourself and what you originally came for: A genuine human connection. The pursuit of finding the perfect partner becomes an endless cycle of swipes and rejections, devoid of any emotional depth. It’s all about finding a perfect “match,” one who will go best with your ultimate #relationshipgoals and satisfy an image of yourself. The marketplace thrives on your aspirations and works best if you’re constantly searching — fazed, confused and wrapped in self-doubt.
Imagine secure and happy people everywhere eating ice cream, enjoying long walks and not looking at their screens. That is not profitable for anyone — especially not for the brands paying big bucks to ensure we remain glued to our screens.
In a world where the market profits off our insecurities and desires, investing in genuine human connection is our only saving grace.
The writer is a public health professional working at the intersection of women’s health and artificial intelligence
