6 min readDec 14, 2023 09:38 AM IST
First published on: Dec 12, 2023 at 11:34 AM IST
Quick question — if you were to pick a restaurant to eat out at now, how would you go about it? Chances are that somewhere in the middle of sorting through your dietary, budget and cuisine preferences, an essential step would be to check the ratings of your options on Zomato or Swiggy.
“Optimise” is a slightly off-putting word that self-help gurus and LinkedIn bros have shoved down our throats, but optimisation of cultural experiences has never been easier. People now have unlimited access to platforms built on the premise of helping us optimise our viewing, listening, eating, and reading choices, to guarantee a good experience. We all know someone who would only pick a restaurant rated 4.8+ on Zomato. We only watch movies that have over 75 per cent on Rotten Tomatoes, and we only read books recommended by certain “Bookstagrammers”, or those rated 4.5+ on Goodreads.
This October, the Kerala High Court directed the state government to create a protocol for cases of malicious “review bombing” — a sustained effort by groups to criticise a film online and cause a dip in its ratings. The issue’s policy and technical nuances are murky, but one thing is clear: ratings matter. Of course, they do. With the endless options of films, books, restaurants etc. available today, ratings and reviews become an easy way to ensure that we make the “right” choice.
This urge to optimise our cultural choices is understandable — we don’t want to waste time or miss out on the latest cool thing. We want to watch the best movie out of the five released this week, and go to the best restaurant in town. Wanting to have a good time is not a bad thing, because who wouldn’t want to go into a movie knowing it is good, or go to a restaurant assured that the meal will be delicious?
The problem is this: When we go into an experience being told that this is what is good, this is five stars, then our ability to question whether we actually find it good diminishes. We may think we’re “optimising”, but we’re only leveraging the aggregated opinions of other people to inform our understanding of what “good” art is, instead of forming our independent opinions. Platforms like Letterboxd and Goodreads, and reviewers online are valuable, but shouldn’t be our primary source of evaluating the “goodness” of a product, because the ratings we treat as gospel are so dependent on algorithms, sponsorships, and dominant views. And while it sounds plausible to follow multiple reviewers online to ensure diverse input, platform algorithms will almost always put you in an echo chamber — buying into others’ judgement instead of forming your own.
The system of ratings also makes it harder for niche creative endeavours to enter the mainstream. The five-star books, films, restaurants, etc, are preferred by patrons who have preconceived notions about them, and continue to become popular; meanwhile, indie movies, non-Bookstagram-famous books, and smaller restaurants struggle to find takers. The opportunity cost of chasing stars is us missing out on the underrated gems that we could’ve enjoyed even more than the popular alternatives.
And why do we try to optimise, when we all know that ratings are a flawed measure of value? Most five-star experiences are likely good and fun, but ask yourself — is your favourite film a five-star, award-winning, superhit movie? Or is it a regular three-point-five-star film that just happened to find you at the right time? Is your comfort food a dish from a top-rated restaurant, or is it something that reminds you of home? The reason a piece of culture impacts us is often because of our own experiences — so why do we restrict ourselves to ratings derived from the experiences of others?
To reach a thoughtful understanding of our likes and dislikes — what we can call “taste” — we need to make our peace with occasionally watching a boring movie or eating something we don’t like. It is an injustice to keep trying to protect ourselves from “bad” experiences, only to stick to an aggregated standard of “good”. Developing our taste is an adventure — and we progress when we explore far and wide, try some off-beat things, maybe have some bad times, and surprise ourselves with what we end up liking.
It may be more beneficial for us if we stop optimising, and let art take us where it will. Pick up a book in a bookstore because it has a cool title, without looking it up on Goodreads. Watch a film because the story looks interesting, not because it’s highly rated. Ask a local about their favourite restaurant and eat there, instead of trying to find the city’s “best” one on Zomato. Our relationship with culture shouldn’t be of optimisation but of openness — an openness to finding out more about ourselves within the pages of a non-bestselling book and the frames of a three-star movie and the bites of a non-five-star dish. Like all things worth doing, the development of individual taste comes with occasional difficulty. But it will leave you richer in stories, wiser in discernment, and more confident of your own opinion. And maybe the real stars are the experiences you’ll have along the way.
The writer specialises in pop culture and works at Stumble, the culture vertical of Kommune
The system of ratings also makes it harder for niche creative endeavours to enter the mainstream (File Photo/Pixabay) 
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