On Taste, or I’m Too Old for Discoveries

It’s hard to overestimate the scale of the change that we as a society of over-consuming and technologically-enslaved junkies had came through in the last twenty or so years. We are still way over-consuming and even more technologically-enslaved than ever, but the way itself we consume and depend on technology had changed drastically.

I’m old enough to remember the off-line years—or at least the times of the dial-up Internet—the long lost era before we became spoiled by the short period of the total and instant availability of everything. I remember how I was reading and re-reading gaming magazines, fantasizing and imagining playing all of these video games that I can’t buy—not only because dad won’t give me the money, but because some of them were pretty hard to find in the stores. I remember how the only way of discovering some new music was by verbally socializing with breathing people, hanging out within some tight subcultural circles, and even daring to buy CDs blindly.

Those were dark hellish times. I also remember the period of enlightenment. When the Internet became fast enough to be useful. The great digital frontier was blooming with useful information of all sorts. It was a wild and dangerous time—this barely regulated dominion of technological anarchy could have rewarded it daring travelers with basically everything imaginable—all of the games, all of the music, all of the books—everything, but it also demanded caution—far too easy was straying from the path and into the woods, where gray wolves patiently awaited. Viruses, trojans, porn disguised as The Incredibles movie… This is how the steel was tempered.

Guides and niche experts of all kinds had been the most important people on-line. Tech-geeks were grumpy and uncivil but they could have taught you how to remain protected while surfing the web, or what software utility is better suitable for the specific situation. Nowadays, these types are far less talkative—hiding behind the pay-walls of consulting services or defensive palisades of invite-only Discord chats. They still exist, though. Unlike the cultural guides.

It was pretty easy getting lost amidst all the abundance of all this culture one can consume. How one could have been sure that they hadn’t missed on the top 15 instrumental post-rock albums of 2008? Hipsters. They had had all the information: the best black metal song with a banjo solo, the best Jagged Alliance 2 alternative for FPS-fans, «forget about the Battleship Potemkin, the montage in Strike is far more powerful and effective».

These giants of aesthetic taste, these masters deciphers of the artistic intentions, these Megalodons of the prehistoric oceans of content—they had been making the ultimate decision of what was your spare time worth spending on.

But then the Great Algorithm had arisen. And the Internet became less of an ocean and more of a… stream. Casual wanderer needs no more guidance, for the content itself is already streamlined: Spotify tells you what to listen, Netflix what to watch, and Game Pass what to play. The consumption became passive—like way back when the TV had entered people’s homes and one could have just sit back, relax, and get engulfed by the media-flow. Hipsters gradually died out.

And now here I am looking around at these enshittified landscapes and reminiscing about this demonic roller-coaster of discovery and manipulation. Wandering—what the hell was all this crap? What do I really like and what I was made believe that I like? Is this shit getting pushed to my throat is even slightly answering my demand?

I’m pretty sure I still like black metal. But this harsh noise wall thing I probably was manipulated into liking. Still pretty much enjoy Fallout—the first one and New Vegas. But this Original Sin 2 thing—meh, too frantic for my taste. My taste? Here it is! I have a taste! This realization feels like the moment of triumph—fanfares and all. My. Taste. Not someone else’s, not dictated by the Great Algorithm. Just fueled by emotion, thought, experience, and dozens of other random factors combined in a unique exclusive manner. My manner.

Finally, I became too old for discoveries. No more chewing through boredom and getting burned due to the inaccurate advice. Finally, I can relax and enjoy myself without fear of judgment and of missing out. My Zen.

And let the backlog burn.

Ironically, the Internet is rapidly becoming less and less useful for actual search and research. We are constantly bombarded by more and more useless crap. So let the taste—one’s unique and sincere taste—be our ironclad shield.

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