The Craving for Self-Commodification: From Empowerment to Complicity

Another Luddite rant, take it or leave it.

Who is it for? A selfie without an audience is like music with no one to hear it… Except, I hear it, don’t I?

Here are some things I think about all the time:

How do I want to position myself in the future that is already here? If capitalism is a game I can stop playing, what happens after? What is there outside the game? Can you opt in and out as many times as you want?

Is it even possible to be a non-participant in the surveillance state but still… See family? Have friends within it? Travel? Occasionally visit cute cafes and scan QR codes to see the menu?

And, if you are the only one to opt out, do you have to leave all the connections behind?

As I’ve stepped back – and forth – and back and forth from social media, it has felt that way at times. FOMO bubbles up. Insecurities too.

Will they forget about me? How much life and connection might I be missing out on?

But I suspect it is, mostly, the illusion of connection I am missing. Faced with the unsettling blankness that remains when illusion pulls back, I ask the next question:

What do I want to paint there?

~

How did it start? Is that the right question?

Or, how did I become a willing participant in my own oppression-by-smartphone?

It started imperceptibly, as most regimes do. It was practical, the seductive promise of an easier connection with faraway friends and family. From a social use of Facebook to a travel blog-turned-Instagram account to daily content—it was a short jump.

That was all back when it still felt like we had our hands on the controls. Then suddenly, ten years later, it is the avatar who holds the reins:

Faces work better than landscapes.

The algorithm loves your skin.

Consistency is key (read: don’t forget about me, please).

Dish out more FOMO than you’re served. Every interaction is a metric—humanity, relationship, love can all be quantified, counted, and displayed proudly to employers, sponsors, clients at the end of the month.

A meal I never posted. Does a pancake, with no evidence, still taste as sweet?

At first, it feels like empowerment.

Economic, because we are all made entrepreneurs; we own the means of production. Except, the product is us, and we haven’t even read the terms and conditions.

Social, because we can maintain connections all over the world. The real and artificial merge in one big, happy online family. Except, the realest connections, the ones right here, suffer, our attention waning by the day.

Intellectual, because now we can see for ourselves, media democratized, straight from the source. Except, no, no… The algorithm decides. Truth and lies go viral side by side, and nowadays you can’t watch a single video and trust your own eyes.

No, maybe it wasn’t empowerment after all. The pervasive personal brand a cute little distraction for the masses: sell your courses, your online transformations, your causes and marches and merch and cupcakes and onlyfans and heart-centered cacao and video rants and authentic souls.

Make your thousands, while they sell your data to the highest bidder for millions, build dossiers on every individual, track your location for the police, or McDonald’s, or Uber—whoever wants to know the most.

A distraction for us, while the ones who are really in control profit and profit and profit. Something so much darker, I fear, lurks around the next corner. And the corner is here; the future is at the door. Are we really going to blithely usher it inside without checking ID?

Are you who you say you are, bright, hopeful autonomy?

Skin + gym. One for the hungry hungry algorithm.

And through it all, we smile at our front-facing cameras.

“I am not afraid to admit…”

“How I made 6 figures in 6 months…” (I certainly never did.)

“One day, in your thirties, a still, small voice will tell you to burn down your personal brand. It is very important that you listen.”

“Things I’m not falling for…”

I’m not falling for this. Feel my fingers itch as I drink my morning coffee, even though it’s been months since I dragged myself 95% of the 'gram and the 'tok and the 'book and the 'tube.

The goddamn craving endures for my own commodification—to willingly hand over my attention, my human thoughts and dreams, poetry and insecurities in exchange for a few hits of dopamine. And this from someone who does not have an addictive personality (I don’t think).

Like so many, I have maintained for so long that the tech is neutral; what matters is how we use it.

Now? I’m not so sure.

~