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.
On-air challenge
Every answer is a word, name, or a familiar phrase in which the first syllable is pronounced “fair” — in any spelling. (Ex. Locale for an exhibition –> FAIRGROUND)
1. Long stretch on a golf course
2. Alternative to Celsius in temperatures
3. Alaska city just south of the Arctic Circle
4. Boat that transports passengers across a river or body of water
5. Monarch in ancient Egypt
6. Medical term for the throat
7. Revolving ride at an amusement park
8. “Cinderella” or “Hansel and Gretel”
9. Small, domesticated animal related to the European polecat
10. Historical Jewish sect in the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles
11. County of northern Virginia that’s adjacent to Washington, D.C.
12. Actress Morgan
13. Louis who leads the Nation of Islam
14. Chemical secreted by the body that’s a stumulant to others
15. Fond goodbye
Last week’s challenge
This week’s challenge comes from Jim Francis, of Kirkland, Wash. Think of a famous female singer (8,4). The first syllable of her first name, the second syllable of her first name backward, and last name forward again are all verbs associated with human desire. Who is this singer?
Challenge answer
Courtney Love
Winner
Larry Birkenmeyer of Glenview, Illinois
This week’s challenge
This week’s challenge comes from Mike Reiss, a longtime writer and showrunner for “The Simpsons.” Name a classic song with a two-word title. Drop the first letter. Add an R after the new first letter. The result will be the names of two countries one after the other. What song is this?
If you know the answer to the challenge, submit it below by Thursday, June 4 at 3 p.m. ET. Listeners whose answers are selected win a chance to play the on-air puzzle.
Jean Smart.
HBO Max
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HBO Max
This review of the Hacks series finale includes spoilers for the episode.
It also discusses suicide.
The truth — my truth — about the fifth and final season of HBO Max’s Hacks is that I would have left it at the end of the penultimate episode last week. Deborah’s show in Central Park, improvised after she was thwarted in her efforts to play Madison Square Garden, was a triumph. The story has always been, after all, about Deborah and Ava together, outdoing the expectations other people have for them and outfoxing the people who try to thwart them. So being embraced by a huge outdoor crowd, surrounded by people who love them, was just the right ending. Not too heavy for a comedy, not too idealized and neat.
In this week’s series finale, you get a much more melodramatic story. The earlier hints about Deborah’s health problems mature into the news that she has cancer, but she has decided to forgo treatment and travel to Switzerland to undergo an assisted suicide. She also wants Ava to go with her. Ava is furious and panicked, wanting Deborah to choose differently, but Deborah’s mind is made up. In the end, encouraged by Jimmy to respect Deborah’s decision, Ava appears at the airport, and the two go to Paris for a final vacation before they travel on to Zurich. They laugh and walk, and Deborah gives Ava her first taste of Parisian bread. They shop for skin care, they go to the Louvre (which Deborah buys out just for them), and they debate Van Gogh. They even go dancing.
Perhaps I was naive to never believe the show was going to end with Deborah’s suicide. Perhaps it might have ended that way. But it doesn’t. (Here, I am tempted to say, “Of course it doesn’t.”) After Ava fights Deborah, concedes, fights her again, and concedes again, Deborah suddenly (very suddenly) realizes she still likes writing jokes, and she decides to write a new hour with Ava and begin cancer treatment instead of going to Zurich and ending her life. “Happy Days Are Here Again” plays as they walk together in Paris, and then later in Vegas. The end.
I’ve always been of two minds about Hacks: the scene-level writing is impeccable, the jokes have a high hit rate, and the performances are utterly singular, but I’ve always found the plot choices frustrating. By Season 4, the basic story was repeating over and over (they feud; they make up; they feud; they make up). But even then, the jokes were still working, and the performances were exceptional.
Similarly, in this finale, the scenes in Paris are not only great to look at; they are very funny and wildly charming. Even in a short, slapstick bit where Deborah cracks herself up by making Ava try to learn stick shift driving a boxy little rental car through a roundabout, the kicker line from Ava, “Why am I in the rough draft of a car?” is just a straight-up great line. These are gorgeous scenes between the actresses (who are co-leads and always have been; do not let the Emmys deceive you), and they are a great gift to the many people who have loved Hacks over its very successful run. These characters are soul mates, and it is delightful seeing them, once and for all, on the same side.
But the flip side is this: When you incorporate a story about illness and death, especially very late in a show’s run, and especially if it resolves abruptly, it can seem maudlin or manipulative. Death is just a big bat to swing in a comedy series, and there’s a good argument that Hacks just didn’t need it. There is plenty of emotional heft in the history of Deborah and Ava, and in the stories of their careers, without a death scare. And because it was a death scare, some things got awkward, like … Why did D.J., Deborah’s daughter, play no role in any of this? Certainly, Deborah might not want to tell her, but when begging Deborah not to die and pulling out all the stops, would Ava not have talked about her family? Might “please don’t leave me,” touching as it was, have been accompanied by “or your daughter”?
It’s not that the Hacks finale was bad, not by a longshot. (Though the Jimmy/Kayla triumph where they re-enter Latitude to literal applause was perhaps a bit pat.) It’s the capper to a very successful and very good show, which has been richly rewarded with awards and seems highly likely to rack up a few more this fall. But it did, in the end, feel a bit like a hat on a hat, like they didn’t quite trust what’s been built between those two characters enough to pack a wallop without the Grim Reaper stalking the episode. But perhaps it would not have been a Deborah Vance production if it weren’t just a bit over the top.
If you or someone you know may be considering suicide or is in crisis, call or text 9 8 8 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
This piece also appears in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. Sign up for the newsletter so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.
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Lifestyle
‘Wait Wait’ for May 30, 2026: Our Endless Summer with Tiffany Haddish, Lucy Dacus, and more!
Lucy Dacus of Boygenius performs at the Outdoor Theatre during the 2023 Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival on April 15, 2023 in Indio, California. (Photo by Emma McIntyre/Getty Images for Coachella)
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This week, we celebrate an early start to summer by revisiting our interviews with Tiffany Haddish, Taimane, Becca Mann, and Lucy Dacus!
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