Lately, I’ve noticed the significant amount of time I invest in listening to anonymous individuals instructing me on virtually every element of my existence. Numerous times daily, I engage my mobile device and initiate Instagram, where an audacious unknown individual promptly materialises to impart advice on my financial management, wardrobe choices, proper workout techniques, effective parenting styles to prevent negatively impacting my offspring, improving my love life, achieving a calorie deficit, circumventing blood sugar surges, and even using coconut oil and vinegar to remove scrapes from my vehicle’s paintwork.
There’s a certain attraction to this bombardment of information, otherwise, the enigmatic algorithms wouldn’t continue to direct it towards me nor would I persist in viewing it. Assuredly, there’s an aspect of me – ideologically lethargic and easily entranced – craving nothing more than to activate an application on my mobile and be instructed on a variety of topics by an ongoing stream of supremely self-assured individuals (predominantly but not entirely Americans).
Let’s not misconstrue, this influx doesn’t significantly influence how I govern my personal matters. My fascination in the ceaseless spectacle of online guidance is rather an aesthetic curiosity than a practical one, I believe.
Moreover, when I’m feeling particularly unapologetic, I can almost persuade myself that this interest in online advice has sociological value, as studying it allows me to delve deeper into the rubble of technocapitalism to gain a more comprehensive understanding. As the filmmaker Werner Herzog once expressed, justifying his own unexpected adoration for reality television, “The poet must not avert his eyes.”
Instagram’s algorithms, having astutely recognised my liking for life guidance dispensers, continue to present me with a constant stream of increasingly radical social media consultants. This morning, I thoroughly enjoyed a video by a business influencer who advocated for every man’s aim to earn €500 per day, consistently. The means to achieve this, according to him, was to own not just one’s own residence, but also four additional homes to generate rent. Though the video was light on practical implementation, I interpreted it in this way.
However, I didn’t watch it for its applicability to my life, just like I didn’t watch the subsequent video for practical benefits. The next video hosted a self-proclaimed “elite sales warrior” explaining why he only hired individuals with six-pack abs for his sales company. His reasoning seemed to be linked to self-regard and commitment.
At times, I question whether the content I watch is being received as it was intended. Rather than seeing it as advice, it seems more suited to be advice-themed entertainment. It’s parallel to comparing professional wrestling and real sports: a rough drama plot where the leading character is a life expert, narrating how to navigate it.
That being said, we are duly submerged in advice. Never before has there been such relentless and diverse counsel. Today’s life, which often revolves around phone screens, feels like a postmodern representation of Hamlet where Polonius continuously delivers a series of progressively nonsensical maxims to a bewildered Laertes. If Polonius were currently amongst us, he’d likely host a successful podcast named ‘To Your Own Self, be Honest’ while owning at least four income-generating properties.
This raises the question – why do we have an overload of advice? Why are we being overwhelmed by a surge of modern-day Poloniuses?
I surmise that part of the charm lies within the amusement value I previously discussed. I won’t be the sole individual who derives pleasure from obeying the instructions of a brashly self-assured American, with the occasional similarly confident non-American thrown in for good measure.
Furthermore, there’s the fundamental issue of modern day tech. The introduction of the smartphone and the rise of online platforms promote the speedy spread and vast broadcasting of suggestions and guidance. Some of these tips, surprisingly enough, can prove quite useful. As a parent, inevitably a fair share of the recommended content that’s presented to me is parenting advice, and I confess to occasionally finding and using helpful information. I’m not completely inflexible when it comes to consuming such content, implying it occasionally transcends its role as mere entertainment.
The core of this trend, however, reveals an interesting irony that could highlight the reason behind this popular phenomenon. It might appear too simple to state, but it remains valid that many of us spend a significantly unhealthy amount of time glued to our mobile screens, devoting most of it to the uptake of meaningless content.
It’s a common sentiment, in varying degrees, that this technological obsession is triggering some kind of intellectual decay individually, which is directly linked to a decay spreading on a broader societal level. One effective method to distract from this growing fear and to alleviate the associated anxiety is convincing ourselves that this very act – this constant idle scrolling and passive absorption of content – could be a strategy for self-enhancement.
If you’re searching for what direction to take next with this, you’re looking at the wrong route. Perhaps the so-called elite sales warrior might have some clarity to offer.