Lifestyle
In 'Filterworld,' only you can save yourself from bad taste
New Yorker writer Kyle Chayka came of age alongside the internet. As a teen, he published his own blog and joined forums for fans of anime and the Dave Matthews Band. He discovered one of his favorite jazz songs — John Coltrane’s full version of “My Favorite Things,” a song originally written for The Sound of Music — driving around at night as a high school student, listening to the local radio station.
Chayka is nostalgic for this time — and the ways, then, that personal discoveries like these were made. In his new book, Filterworld, Chayka says he never would have fallen in love with Coltrane’s song if he’d heard it on Spotify. He says he doubts Spotify’s algorithm would even suggest it, because the song is so long. And that, even if it did, he wouldn’t have learned anything about Coltrane as an artist, because the Spotify interface doesn’t provide the same context that an indie radio DJ does, sharing details between songs. The person behind the song choice, he argues, made his budding interest in Coltrane possible in a way modern recommendation systems cannot.
This is one of many “back in my day” anecdotes Chayka uses to craft his argument that algorithms have “flattened culture” — extending, as he notes, Thomas Friedman’s thoughts on globalization in his 2005 book The World is Flat. Thanks to recommendation generators like Netflix’s top picks, TikTok’s “for you” page, and Spotify’s autoplay suggestions, “the least ambiguous, least disruptive, and perhaps least meaningful pieces of culture are promoted,” Chayka argues. He not only mourns the early internet he knew as a teen in the 2000s, he laments coffee shops designed to be showcased online, viral travel destinations, and brick-and-mortar Amazon Books storefronts that demonstrate the power of algorithms to shape behavior and consumption.
He admits that quality is subjective when judging these things, and instead argues that recommendation systems erode personal taste, which is now molded in the image of algorithms. The book is guided by the argument that the “central dilemma of culture” today is in the choice between algorithms and human tastemakers — bookstore employees, museum curators, and the indie radio DJs he references who share their thoughts and preferences more authentically than automated systems. Though he hedges throughout the book, admitting that “there is no pure form of culture that happens outside of technological influence,” Chayka pines for an imaginary past where a “traditional model of human tastemakers” prevailed, and real people determined how successful books, movies, and music were. He’s right that technology has always shaped culture — but he doesn’t meaningfully engage with the idea that in this “traditional model,” what became popular was also shaped by race, gender, class, and power, just as they are in an algorithmic world.
Taste, he writes, was once a combination of personal choices and popular influence — but now algorithms put more stock into choices of the masses, leading to “lowest common denominator” recommendations based on “vibes and feelings” with mass appeal. Developing taste requires effort and active engagement, but what we see now are algorithms turning taste into consumerism.
Chayka compares, for example, Netflix’s Emily in Paris, which “epitomized the flattening of culture,” and Carrie Bradshaw’s character in Sex and the City: “Bradshaw’s role as a writer made her a productive part of culture: She was constructing a particular personal philosophy of life and love. Emily, by contrast, is simply a professional consumer.” For Chayka, being a writer, like Carrie, is inherently more noble than being an influencer, like Emily. But this sort of oversimplified, easy analysis undermines his reporting in the book about influencers, who share with him nuanced reflections about their careers and their relationships to social media.
Chayka’s arguments about Emily in Paris‘ shallow celebration of consumption, the “blatant clarity” of Instagram poets, and even the algorithmic organization of Amazon Books stores may once have seemed new, but they are now the low-hanging fruit of cultural criticism in the Internet Age. Near the end of the book, when Chayka narrates his temporary break from social media and Spotify, his reflections feel trite, not revelatory: Yet another extremely online Twitter user has discovered the value (and limits) of logging off.
“Curation,” the “imposition of individual human taste,” is Chayka’s antidote to living in a world shaped by algorithmic recommendations. But Chayka’s distinction between algorithms and human tastemakers feels like a false dichotomy. A central point of the book, in fact, is that people today are not only well aware of the power of algorithms, they can’t escape them. He interviews a young woman who wonders if “what I like is what I actually like,” worried that her taste is so shaped by algorithms on sites like Pinterest and Instagram that she can’t trust herself. For Chayka, this feeling exemplifies the “psychic world of algorithms” that “filterworld” has created. The book may be most useful in these sections, where Chayka and his interviewees attempt to make sense of how internet algorithms have shaped their own lives and work.
Chayka is so successful in documenting this frustrating aspect of modern life that his overarching argument — that readers should depend more on word-of-mouth recommendations and cultivate their sense of personal taste through time and effort — feels unhelpful, like a band-aid on a larger problem. He even describes that problem at various points in the book, explaining that algorithms are designed by large tech monopolies with their own aims for profit and growth in a capitalist society. But he seems to forget that even “human tastemakers” work within this system.
This is a shame, because many large tech companies and their algorithms do wield power in insidious, often discriminatory ways. There are fruitful discourses about the future of online infrastructure and the regulatory tools available to curb harmful online data collection and break up monopoly power. But by grounding his argument in “taste” Chayka’s contribution feels more based in “vibes and feelings” than a critical analysis.
“You kinda have this Wednesday Addams vibe going on.”
I shrieked.
I was wearing my best armor: a black dress that accentuated my curves, a striped bolero to cover the arms I’ve resented for years and black platform sandals displaying ruby toes. My dark hair was in wild, voluminous curls and my sultry makeup was finished with an inviting Chanel rouge lip.
I would’ve preferred the gentleman at the speed dating event had likened my efforts to, at least, Morticia, a grown woman. But in this crowd of men and women ages ranging from roughly 21 to 40, I suppose my baby face gave me away.
My mind flitted back to a conversation I had with my physical therapist about modern love: Dating in L.A. has become monotonous.
The apps were oversaturated and underwhelming. And it seemed more difficult than ever to naturally meet someone in person.
She told me about her recent endeavor in speed dating: events sponsoring timed one-on-one “dates” with multiple candidates. I applauded her bravery, but the conversation had mostly slipped my mind.
Two years later, I had reached my boiling point with Jesse, a guy I met online (naturally) a few months prior who was good on paper but bad in practice.
Knowing my best friend was in a similar situationship, I found myself suggesting a curious social alternative.
Much of my knowledge of speed dating came from cinema. It usually involved a down-on-her-luck hopeless romantic or a mature workaholic attempting to be more spontaneous in her dating life, sitting across from a montage of caricatures: the socially-challenged geek stumbling through his special interests; the arrogant businessman diverting most of his attention to his Blackberry; the pseudo-suave ladies’ man whose every word comes across rehearsed and saccharine.
Nevertheless, I was desperate for a good distraction. So we purchased tickets to an event for straight singles happening a few hours later.
Walking into Oldfield’s Liquor Room, I noticed that it looked like a normal bar, all dark wood and dim lighting. Except its patrons flanked the perimeter of the space, speaking in hushed tones, sizing up the opposite sex.
Suddenly in need of some liquid courage, we rushed back to the car to indulge in the shooters we bought on our way to the venue — three for $6. I had already surrendered $30 for my ticket and I was not paying for Los Angeles-priced cocktails. Ten minutes later, we were ready to mingle.
The bar’s back patio was decked out with tea lights and potted palm plants. House-pop music put me in a groove as I perused the picnic tables covered with conversation starters like “What’s your favorite sexual position?” Half-amused and half-horrified, I decided to use my own material.
We found our seats as the host began introductions. Each date would last two minutes — a chime would alert the men when it was time to move clockwise to the next seat. I exchanged hopeful glances with the women around me.
The bell rang, and I felt my buzz subside in spades as my first date sat down. This was really happening.
Soft brown eyes greeted me. He was polite and responsive, giving adequate answers to my questions but rarely returning the inquiry. I sensed he was looking through me and not at me, as if he had decided I wasn’t his type and was biding his time until the bell rang. I didn’t take it personally.
Bachelor No. 2 stood well over six feet with caramel-brown hair and emerald eyes. He oozed confidence and warmth when he spoke about how healing from an accident a few years prior inspired him to become a physical therapist.
I tried not to focus on how his story was nearly word-perfect to the one I heard him give the woman before me. He offered to show me a large surgery scar, rolling up his right sleeve to reveal the pale pink flesh — and a well-trained bicep. Despite his obvious good looks and small-town charm, something suspicious gnawed at me. I would later learn he had left the same effect on most of the women.
My nose received Bachelor No. 3 before my eyes. His spiced cologne quickly engulfing my senses. He had a larger-than-life presence, seeming to be a character himself, so I asked for his favorite current watch.
“I love ‘The Summer I Turned Pretty,’” he actually said.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, it’s my favorite. Oh, and ‘Wednesday.’ You kinda have this Wednesday Addams vibe going on.”
I was completely thrown to hear this 40-something man’s favorite programs centered around teenage girls, and by his standards, I resembled one of them. Where was the host with the damn bell?
Although a few conversations clearly left impressions, most of the dates morphed into remnants of information like fintech, middle sibling, allergic to cats, etc. Perhaps two minutes was too short to spark genuine chemistry.
After a quick lap around the post-date mingling, we practically raced to the car. A millisecond after the doors closed, my friend said, “I think I’m going to call him.” I knew she wasn’t referring to any of the men we met tonight. The last few hours were all in vain. “And you should call Jesse.”
I scoffed at her audacity.
When I arrived home and called him, it only rang once.
The following three hours of witty banter and cheeky innuendos were bliss until the call ended on a low note, and I remembered why I tried speed dating in the first place.
Jesse and I had great chemistry but were ultimately incompatible. He preferred living life within his comfort zone while I craved adventure and variety. He couldn’t see past right now, and I was too busy planning the future to live in the moment.
Still, in a three-hour call, long before the topic of commitment soured things, we laughed at the mundanity of our day, traded wildest dreams for embarrassing anecdotes, and voiced amorous intentions that would make Aphrodite’s cheeks heat.
Why couldn’t I have had a conversation like that with someone at the event?
It’s possible I was hoping to find the perfect replica of my relationship with Jesse. But when I had the opportunity to meet someone new, I reserved my humor and my empathy.
Also, despite knowing Jesse and I weren’t a good match, I thought we had a “chance connection” that I needed to protect. In reality, if I had shown up to speed dating as my complete self, that would have been more than enough to stir sparks with a new flame.
It would be several more weeks before I was ready to release my attachment to Jesse. But when I did, I had a better appreciation for myself and my capacity for love.
The author is a multidisciplinary writer and mother based in Encino.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Editor’s note: On April 3, L.A. Affairs Live, our new storytelling competition show, will feature real dating stories from people living in the Greater Los Angeles area. Tickets for our first event will be on sale starting Tuesday.
Warner Bros. Discovery said Thursday that it prefers the latest offer from rival Hollywood studio Paramount over a bid it accepted from Netflix.
Bloomberg/Bloomberg via Getty Images/Bloomberg
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The Warner Bros. Discovery board announced late Thursday afternoon that Paramount’s sweetened bid to buy the entire company is “superior” to an $83 billion deal it had struck with Netflix for the purchase of its streaming services, studios, and intellectual property.
Netflix says it is pulling out of the contest rather than try to top Paramount’s offer.
“We’ve always been disciplined, and at the price required to match Paramount Skydance’s latest offer, the deal is no longer financially attractive, so we are declining to match the Paramount Skydance bid,” the streaming giant said in a statement.
Warner had rejected so many offers from Paramount that it seemed as though it would be a fruitless endeavor. Speaking on the red carpet for the BAFTA film awards last weekend, Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos dared Paramount to stop making its case publicly and start ponying up cash.
‘If you wanna try and outbid our deal … just make a better deal. Just put a better deal on the table,” Sarandos told the trade publication Deadline Hollywood.
Netflix promised that Warner Bros. would operate as an independent studio and keep showing its movies in theaters.
But the political realities, combined with Paramount’s owners’ relentless drive to expand their entertainment holdings, seem to have prevailed.
Paramount previously bid for all of Warner — including its cable channels such as CNN, TBS, and Discovery — in a deal valued at $108 billion. Earlier this week, Paramount unveiled a fresh proposal increasing its bid by a dollar a share.
On Thursday, hours before the Warner announcement, Sarandos headed to the White House to meet Trump administration officials to make his case for the deal.
The meetings, leaked Wednesday to political and entertainment media outlets, were confirmed by a White House official who spoke on condition he not be named, as he was not authorized to speak about them publicly.
President Trump was not among those who met with Sarandos, the official said.
While Netflix’s courtship of Warner stirred antitrust concerns, the Paramount deal is likely to face a significant antitrust review from the U.S. Justice Department, given the combination of major entertainment assets. Paramount owns CBS and the streamer Paramount Plus, in addition to Comedy Central, Nickelodeon and other cable channels.
The offer from Paramount CEO David Ellison relies on the fortune of his father, Oracle co-founder Larry Ellison. And David Ellison has argued to shareholders that his company would have a smoother path to regulatory approval.
Not unnoticed: the Ellisons’ warm ties to Trump world.
Larry Ellison is a financial backer of the president.
David Ellison was photographed offering a MAGA-friendly thumbs-up before the State of the Union address with one of the president’s key Congressional allies: U.S. Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, a Republican.
Trump has praised changes to CBS News made under David Ellison’s pick for editor in chief, Bari Weiss.
The chair of the Federal Communications Commission, Brendan Carr, told Semafor Wednesday that he was pleased by the news division’s direction under Weiss. She has criticized much of the mainstream media as being too reflexively liberal and anti-Trump.
“I think they’re doing a great job,” Carr said at a Semafor conference on trust and the media Wednesday. As Semafor noted, Carr previously lauded CBS by saying it “agreed to return to more fact-based, unbiased reporting.”
‘The Wire’ Star Bobby J. Brown
He’s Trapped Inside Barn Fire!!!
Listen To Dispatch Audio
Published
Broadcastify.com
Here’s the dispatch audio from the fatal barn fire that killed “The Wire” actor Bobby J. Brown … and you hear dispatchers saying he’s trapped in the building after trying to start an old Cadillac.
TMZ obtained the dispatch audio, which also reveals Bobby’s wife called for help. It sounds like a huge inferno, the barn is 50-feet-by-100 and — by the end of the call — it’s all up in flames.
We broke the story … Bobby died Tuesday from smoke inhalation. The deadly fire started after Bobby entered the barn to jump-start a car. His wife suffered severe burns trying to save him.
Bobby played Officer Bobby Brown on the hit HBO series “The Wire” … and his other credits include “Law & Order: SVU” and “We Own This City.”
He was 62.
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