06 Feb 2019 - Graham
previously: homelessness
Why, oh why, did I go to the wirecutter for bike light recommendations?
Sure the wirecutter has guided me to many of my favorite things: the kettle, toothbrush, phone, and pens I’ve used every day for years; and the budgeting software that recently changed my whole relationship with money; and even more things I’m probably forgetting because they’re just so optimal.
If you don’t know it already, the wirecutter is a meta-review site - they scour the amazon reviews, the consumer reports, the expert forums, and then conduct up to hundreds of hours of testing to find the very best things to own. They usually provide a few options. It’s not just “the best camera” but “the best camera for beginners,” “the best mirrorless camera,” &c. They promise you’ll “never buy junk again.
But this bike light is horrible. At first I blamed myself: they write reviews for the average person and my tastes are idiosyncratic. I wanted sleek and simple, while they optimized for lumens, mounting hardware, and varied settings. But, wait, who wants an inelegant bike light? I’m not that weird. In fact, Lee M. points out that they often recommend ugly objects. Perhaps they systematically undervalue aesthetics in a misguided attempt to avoid subjectivity? Still, appearances are not my primary objection.
To get us closer to the real problem, set aside the bike light for now. Consider the zojirushi travel mug. It is both elegant and high functioning. They can’t stop recommending it because it really does, “ha, ha” they say with a diabolical grin, keep coffee too hot. Too hot coffee is no joking matter! This evil mug amplifies the pizza mouth dilemma: instead of the normal difficulty of waiting a few minutes for delicious delicious pizza, the zojirushi imposes the impossible undesirability of delaying caffeine.
But did I discard the mug when it burned the roof of my mouth for the dozenth or hundredth time? No, I kept using it for months. If this was the best travel mug, what more could I ask for?
I gave up the mug only after I looked down the long half-moon row of a law school lecture hall and noticed a handsome-than-I dude wearing the same basic grey patagucci quarter-zip sweater, taking notes with the same jetball unistream pen, sipping cautiously from the same damned zojirushi mug. A twinge of jealousy grew into to a loathing that quickly turned inwards. Had I optimized myself into that guy? Had the wirecutter rendered me unoriginal?
I decided then to seek some independence. I would define my own tastes. In 2012, the prescient and wise Ryder T. had warned me of exactly this problem. I dismissed him as a reactionary and I was (mostly) wrong. Back then, after finding my excellent and cheap toothbrush thanks to the wirecutter, I proclaimed devotion to the meta-review. No longer would I surf the web reading unreliable and anecdotal individual recommendations, paid-for-reviews, and blog posts full of barely disguised ad copy. Ryder cautioned that there is no “best” thing for everyone, but I did not heed him.
To be fair, the wirecutter was an improvement of sorts. I have been prone to letting a single source shape my taste. Early in college, I pined for neon shirts and multi-patterned Supreme-branded shoes thanks to streetwear blogs. Then I “matured” and resolved to buy only brown, green, blue, and grey clothes. Put This On led me to unwashed Levi 501s, Pea Coats, and Desert Boots. Later Huckberry sold me outdoorsy-looking lifestyle gear. A meta-review site seemed like an improvement on these partial and particular sources, yet it led me right back to the same conformity.
But it wasn’t only homogeneity that repulsed me. There is also an element of snobbery at the core of the wirecutter’s project.
Sure the wirecutter always offers a budget option, but this is often half-hearted. Take, for example, their very WASPy raincoat recommendations. They recommend the pattagucci first, allow for a difference in taste by suggesting north face, and offer a not-cheap lands end model as the so-called budget option, but they make sure you know that it’s not as nice. The whole set of recommendations feels like an upsell from a high-end salesperson (which they sorta are). If they actually cared about budget, they would have considered less bougie options, like froggs toggs, which are not so breathable but are perfectly water-repellant.
If I find this snobbery awful, it must reflect a version of myself I do not care for. Law school probably exaggerated my snobbery by exposing me to a new baseline of wealth. For example, in my first year I naively believed that literally everyone in the world owned macbooks. But my snobbery goes further back. I should also blame my parents. Our house has always been full of nice things. When we were young, Brennan D. and I wore 100% matching, 100% gap, 100% cute outfits. Then again those outfits were bought on sale with Kate D.’s employee discount and passed on as hand-me-downeys, so my parents cannot be entirely to blame.
The ambient wealth of Falls Church might be most at fault. I remember being embarrassed to go to soccer practice with reused gatorade bottles. I was powerfully jealous of my friends with nalgenes. Of course, I would have misplaced those expensive bottles or gnawed the shit out of them just like I absentmindedly destroyed the ex-gatorades. My parents definitely made the right call. But the other parents’ carelessness towards money was probably what I found appealing.
There is a version of snobbery that appears detached from things and is, in a sense, minimalist. The very very rich can appear careless because they have money to burn and people to worry for them. The rest of us can try to approximate their lack of concern by deferring to the wirecutter. As they say about themselves, “‘Wirecutter-ing your stuff’ means buying things that make life easier and more enjoyable.”
And what’s wrong with that? As I recently, non-ironically said out loud, “I try to not own very much and make sure that is only the best.” It turns out this attitude isn’t actually carefree or minimalist.
In the midst of my fancy government fellowship I bought a $1,000 suit. I imagined it would last the rest of my life, granting me gravitas and promotions. I would only own three suits, and they would each be glorious. Now, mild weight loss and a career shift has rendered the suit useless.
Of course a $1,000 suit is ridiculous. It’s not the best value. I could have gotten something not quite as good for much less. But this $1,000 suit is the logical outcome of trying to own only the best things. The best is elusive, always around the next corner, a ceaseless treadmill. The suit, just like the fancy speaker, the giant yeti-like cooler, and the stylish mac monitor, inevitably disappoints. But even worse, these objects become a source of inertia - commitments to a certain way of being. When I lust for the best things, I am really lusting for a perfectly ordered life.
The fantasy of perfection is difficult to resist. Even as I write this, I find myself asking that dreaded question: “What if?” What if I had noise cancelling headphones? I could use them at the coffee spot where I sometimes have to sit next to basic bros. I could use them on airplanes where the noise from the cheap seats behind the engines makes it hard to focus and may even be dangerous. Wouldn’t my life be so much better with noise-cancelling headphones?
This is a tempting but especially ridiculous line of thinking because I had noise cancelling headphones recently. My life was not very different then, except that I had to worry about them and then feel a lot of guilt (followed by relief) when I lost them. Plus my current headphones are fine. Sure one ear cuts out from time to time, their wired-ness keeps me tethered to my phone, they don’t block out bros or jet engines, and they’re scratched up, but maybe that makes them superior. Because they are sub-optimal I am not burdened by owning them. Then again, don’t be horrified if you notice I have new headphones soon.
It’s not just that the best is hard to measure, as with aesthetics and the ugly bike light. It’s not just that I disagree with the way the wirecutter optimizes, as the infamous zojirushi demonstrates. Or that it is impossible to pick a single best thing for most people, as Ryder T. warned. Nor is it even that the search for the best appears to facilitate discernment, but is actually, as my $1,000 suit taught me, vain and endless. The deepest problem with the wirecutter and the search for the best is the seductive illusion that life itself can be ordered and optimized.
I don’t want the best any more. I want a more disorderly life; one full of growth, change, compromise and surprise. As Brennan D. advises,
There’s a billion right ways to be a person and the few wrong ones are very popular.
Tuneage I’ve been going through a bit of a metal phase. I used to think it was grody. I didn’t care for the messy and violent imagery. But sometimes you need to acknowledge the darkness to appreciate the light. Plus metal pairs surprisingly well with yoga.
Deafheaven / Ordinary Corrupt Human Love spotify Sleep / The Sciences bandcamp
next post: against the wirecutter, part two