I am the algorithm
converting anons to friends, one post at a time
At the core of the human condition lies a powerful craving - the desire for influence. We’re all just metaphorical car-warranty-telemarketers, ringing unknown numbers in hopes that someone - just someone - might sign up to believe what we believe. We write newsletters, publish books, exhibit art in galleries, tweet incessantly, make photographs, share food reviews, produce musical records, stand on top of tables, beat our chests and yell: believe me, I have something to say.
All this, for the elusive feeling of being profoundly understood by another soul.
So then why do we work so hard to feed arbitrary algorithms that live in the dumpsters behind Silicon Valley gas stations? Why aren’t we engaging digitally like we used to, with the core impetus being something alike the transitive property of connection?
It was a time before we discovered the truth behind social media, before we realized we had willingly submitted ourselves to the world's largest data-mining facility, before we learned of the devious deeds of the overlords who controlled it, before we discovered the mental health side downsides, the brainwashing, the fake news, the election-swaying, the hate speech, the trolling and the divisions it has caused in society.
It's hard to say when the wheels started to fall off. Maybe the Cambridge Analytica scandal? The Capitol Hill riots? Perhaps it was the moment social media sold its soul to the algorithm? Or when the only metric the top brass began to care about was “time spent”?
The common misconception is that we create and publish into silent voids - whereas in reality, we strive to fill voids within ourselves and then, in others. I’ve been victim to the same ‘I write for myself’ affirmation trap that Ghalizha speaks of, but at some point I began to value the people behind the metrics. Behind every like, follow, subscriber count, and engagement stat, is an actual person locked in a screen. A person whose attention and emotional investment we are vying to capture, one digitized impression at a time. And sometimes this pursuit veers into vapid "engagement farming" - the mindless chase for empty tallies devoid of substance. But that’s not how my algorithm works.
My algorithm has a hunger for influence, not in the way of quantifiable metrics and analytical growth, but in the location of kindred spirits whose lives I can tangibly enrich through sharing my art, ideas, and truth. Each new follow or comment isn’t a number for my algorithm, but rather a potential gateway to the rarest of connections - ones which reverberate across the voids between human souls. I create, I express, I engage, propelled by the hope of breathing new perspectives into the minds and experiences of others. My algorithm is something like a rat beneath my toque blanche or an encrypted code script of heart strings.
The thing is - influence is an individualistic endeavor, until it’s not. Our unique identities, stories, and algorithms are stored in human hard drives, but failure to share these distinctive threads is to leave them lingering as unread drafts. What’s the point of having an opinion if not to share it with the world and expect pushback from anon? Developing a devout following may seem at odds with asserting one's individuality, but I would argue it is the ultimate realization of it. And through that transition, from an individualistic endeavor to a collaborative one, converting anons to friends, is where we find immense power, in gathering the 1000 True Fans with whom our beliefs and perspectives hold civilizing influence.
Sometimes, the engagement metrics on social media platforms simply act as tangible, quantitative ladders to increase reach. These numbers might have monetary values for those who are salaried as influencers, riding on the backs of brand deals and ads to pay bills or reach arbitrary fame. Some folks, like Blake or Baron, have become experts in the art of disguising their profession within their art. But for me and my algorithm, these metrics provide structure to an otherwise qualitative and convoluted journey towards connection. Forgive me if that means celebrating the collection of 100+ souls who now subscribe to this newsletter.
I imagine the 12 people who liked my last post as companions gathered in my warmly decorated living room, sipping on homemade lassis and intellectually laughing at unintelligible memes and reworking my failed metaphors. And the 6 people that commented get to be on aux, but only if they exlusively play my monthly playlist. These people and all the others that I connect with, feed my algorithm. Digitally, they are just profile pictures and numbers but in reality, they are embodied calculations that amplify the reverberations between my soul and those around me.
My algorithm is the reason I create. It’s the reason I yearn for connection and shared truths. It exists to bear influence - to author new realities, challenge idiots, spark revolutions. My algorithm is an ever-evolving, infinitely complex calculus of the soul, computing new ways to fill my metaphysical living room with cool people.
I am the algorithm, you are what it craves, goo goo g’joob.
S/o to Anthony for feedback on very rough drafts.
quote unquote
“I want to talk about everything with at least one person as I talk about things with myself.” - Fyodor Dostoevsky
“You can't be everything to everyone, but you can be something to someone.” – Andrew Davis
“When you speak to everyone, you speak to no one.” – Meredith Hill
“Power is a tool, influence is a skill; one is a fist, the other a fingertip.”
- Nancy Gibbs
I’ve been spending a bit more time on Substack Notes and a bit less time on Instagram/Twitter nowadays, prompting the resistance towards “Big Algo”. [I chuckled hard when I coined that term] — I’m also incredibly happy to see new folks here, subjecting themselves to this unparalleled wit. It’s worth your time, I promise.
As always, if this piece resonated with you or fed your soul in any way, please like, comment, and share - it helps my algorithm.
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I really enjoy the living room concept. It can feel that way when you have people truly engage with something you write. I feel like I could throw a banger of a party with my subscriber list.
The Dostoevsky quote, and this piece as a whole, reminded me of a line from Proust that David Sasaki wrote in his newsletter once when we first got connected on substack: “Reading is that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude." When we write and publish things, we’re screaming into the void hoping that miracle will materialize.
Great piece. One of my favorites you’ve ever put out.
I believe that like attracts like. I also believe that those who seek true artistic connection online find those like-minds. Such as mentioned in this article, creating a human algorithm.