Photos: Past, Present and Future

I was at a family reunion this past week. While there, my family did what families do at reunions: We looked at family photos.

In our case, our photographic history started some 110 years or so ago, with my great-great grandfather George and his wife Kezia. We have a stunning  picture of the couple, with Kezia wearing an ostrich feather hat.

George and Kezia Ching – Redondo Beach

At the time of the photo, George was an ostrich feather dyer in Hollywood, California. Apparently, there was a need for dyed ostrich feathers in turn-of-the-century Hollywood. That need didn’t last for long. The bottom fell out of the ostrich feather market and George and Kezia turned their sights north of the 49th, high-tailing it for Canada.

We’re a lucky family. We have four generations of photographic evidence of my mother’s forebears. They were solidly middle class and could afford the luxury of having a photo taken, even around the turn of the century. There were plenty of preserved family images that fueled many conversations and sparked memories as we gathered the clan.

What was interesting to me is that some 110 years after this memorable portrait was taken, we also took many new photos so we could remember this reunion in the future.  With all the technological change that has happened since George and Kezia posed in all their ostrich-feather-accessorized finery, the basic format of a two-dimensional visual representation was still our chosen medium for capturing the moment.

We talk about media a lot here at MediaPost — enough that it’s included in the headline of the post you’re reading. I think it’s worth a quick nod of appreciation to media that have endured for more than a century. Books and photos both fall into this category. Great-Great Grandfather George might be a bit flustered if he was looking at a book on a Kindle or viewing the photo on an iPhone, but the format of the medium itself would not be that foreign to him. He would be able to figure it out.

What dictates longevity in media? I think we have an inherent love for media that are a good match for both our senses and our capacity to imagine. Books give us the cognitive room to imagine worlds that no CGI effect has yet been able to match. And a photograph is still the most convenient way to render permanent the fleeting images that chase across our visual cortex. This is all the more true when those images are comprised of the faces we love. Like books, photos also give our minds the room to fill in the blanks, remembering the stories that go with the static image.

Compare a photo to something like a video. We could easily have taken videos to capture the moment. All of has had a pretty good video camera in our pocket. But we didn’t. Why not?

Again, we have to look at intended purpose at the moment of future consumption. Videos are linear. They force their own narrative arc upon us. We have to allocate the time required to watch the video to its conclusion. But a photo is randomly accessed. Our senses consume it at their own pace and prerogative, free of the restraints of the medium itself. For things like communal memories at a family reunion, a photo is the right match. There are circumstances where a video would be a better fit. This wasn’t one of them.

Our Family – 2019

There is one thing about photos that will be different moving forward. They are now in the digital domain, which means they can be stored with no restraints on space. It also means that we can take advantage of appended metadata. For the sake of my descendants, I hope this makes the bond between the photo and the stories a little more durable than what we currently deal with. If we were lucky, we had a quick notation on the back of an old photo to clarify the whos, whens and wheres.

A few of my more archivally inclined cousins started talking about the future generations of our family. When they remember us, what media would they be using? Would they be looking at the many selfies and digital shots that were taken in 2019 and try to remember who was that person between Cousin Dave and Aunt Lorna? What would be the platform used to store the photos? What will be the equivalent of the family album in 2119? How will they be archiving their own memories?

I suspect that if I were there, I wouldn’t be that surprised at the medium of choice.

The Dilemma of the Middle Aged Marketer

Today is my birthday. I still call myself middle-age, but truth be told, I passed being middle-aged some time ago. I would more accurately be called two/thirds-aged (hopefully).

 That’s not the only half-truth I’m hanging on to.

When new people I meet ask me my profession, I like to say I’m a “reformed marketer.” In addition to being somewhat untruthful, I also realize now that this response is pretentious on many different levels.

First of all, it gives off this “holier than thou” vibe that’s a little off-putting.

Secondly, if I regret being a marketer so much, why am I still hanging on for dear life to that particular epithet? The people I’m being introduced to now often have no idea of my past. The fact that I once called marketing my career has no relevance to them. They could care less. I’m just saying it for effect.

That’s a little sad.

If I dig way down to the truth, I have to admit being a marketer defined me for most of my life. I loved influencing people. I adored my career. And I’m not ready to let that part of me go.

Calling myself a reformed marketer gives me the illusory comfort of still hanging on to something important to me, but holding it at arm’s length, like a disease I’ve recovered from. I’m trying to play both ends against the middle.

And thus comes the Middle Aged Marketer’s Dilemma. It hit me in my 40s.

In last week’s column, I started talking about “Why” vs the other 4 Ws: “Who, What, When and Where.” I have a love/hate relationship with “Why.” It was that damned “Why” that ushered in the Dilemma.

As I said, I loved “What” I did as a marketer. It was endlessly challenging and fascinating. And if you love “What” enough, you don’t really care so much about “When” and “Where.” You’ll work ridiculously long hours in whatever location your career takes you.

I even came to terms with “Who.” I loved most of my clients. The few I didn’t, I managed to either cut loose or build a big enough buffer so that they didn’t make my life too miserable for too long. Those 4 Ws allowed me to carve out a pretty fantastic life for myself.

But then came along that damned “Why.” It was innocent at first. My “whys” had a limited and very applied scope. They were specific to the work I did for my clients. They allowed me to add another dimension to the market research we were doing for others. The more I asked “why,” the more I wanted to learn about how people ticked. I loved “what” I was doing even more.

Then my “why” flipped on me and went for the jugular. It has a habit of doing that. I made the mistake of asking myself why I was doing what I did for a living.

It’s a tough question. I don’t think many of us want to go gentle into that good night without having sussed for ourselves a pretty good reason why we have lived our lives.  And when middle-aged marketers asks themselves “why,” a satisfying answer does not immediately spring to mind.

“So I could help profit-obsessed companies sell more shit to people who don’t need it” is not exactly a sterling argument for canonization.

And yes, I did just toss everything about marketing into the same over-generalized bucket. Quibble if you will. I know there are exceptions. If you navel-gaze long enough, you’re sure to find them. But I’ll stand by my struggle with “why,” if you can stand by yours.

Today, I’m still struggling with the Dilemma. The fact that I’m still writing this column week after week speaks to my inability to let the past go. I remain totally in love with the “what” of marketing, but have ethical issues with the “why.”

I do believe marketing is built upon the questionable edifice of consumerism — and I’m not sure there’s a lot of moral high ground we can lay claim to.We work (or, in my case, did work) in an industry that depends on humans having baser instincts.

The Marie Kondo Effect: Our Quest For Control

There’s a reason why organizational guru Marie Kondo has become a cultural phenomenon. When the world seems increasingly bizarre and unpredictable, we look for things we can still control.

Based on my news feed, it appears that may be limited to our garage and our sock drawer.

In 1954, American psychologist Julian Rotter introduced something he called the locus of control.  To lift the Wikipedia definition, it’s “the degree to which people believe that they have control over the outcome of events in their lives, as opposed to external forces beyond their control.”

Control is important to humans, even if it’s just an illusion. Our perception of being in control makes us happier.

Kondo has tapped into a fundamental human principle: Choosing to organize is choosing joy. There is a mountain of academic research to back that up.

But you really don’t have to look any further than the street you live on. That old Italian guy who’s up at 6:30 every morning washing his driveway? That’s Mario flexing his own locus of control. The more bizarre the world appears to become, the more we narrow the focus of our locus to things we know we can control. And if that’s 1,000 square feet of asphalt, so be it

It’s not just my paisano Mario who needs to stake his claim to control where he can find it. This narrowing of the locus of control commonly goes hand in hand with aging. Typically, as our inevitable cognitive and physical decline catches up with us, we reduce our boundaries of influence to what we can handle.  With my dad, it was recycling. He’d spend a good chunk of his time sorting through cans, jars and cardboard boxes, meticulously sorting them into their respective bins.

We need to feel that we can still exercise control — somehow, somewhere.

This need for control and some semblance of connectable cause and effect always takes a beating during times of upheaval. Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr’s famous Serenity Prayer, which he began using in sermons during the tumultuous 1930s and 40s, became a lifeline in times of turmoil:

“God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, courage to change the things which should be changed, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Reinhold Niebuhr

Unfortunately for us, we don’t have a track record of doing so well on the first two parts of Niebuhr’s prayer. We don’t “accept with serenity” — we usually freak out with anxiety and stress. We adapt by focusing as best we can on those things that can be changed. When external disruption is the norm, our locus of control shrinks inward.

This brings up another facet of our need for control: the source of disruption. Disruption that happens to us personally — divorce, a health crisis, career upheaval, loss of a loved one — tends to at least fall somewhat within our locus of control. We have some options in how we respond and deal with these types of disruption.

But disruption that plays out globally is a different matter. How much control do we have over the rise of populist politics, climate change or microplastics in the ocean? The levers of control we can pull are minuscule compared to the scope of the issue.

That’s the problem with our densely connected, intensely networked world. We are hyper-aware of everything that’s wrong anywhere in the world. We are bombarded with it every minute. Every newsfeed, every CNN alert, every Facebook post seems to make us aware of yet one more potential catastrophe that we have absolutely no control over.

It’s no wonder that sometimes we just need to retreat and clean out our Tupperware drawer. In today’s world, you have to find joy where you can.

A Year on the Inside

(Note: This is the column this week for MediaPost’s Media Insider Column, which I write for every Tuesday. The references in this post are to that publication)

In the past 12 months, what have your Media insiders been talking about? I wondered that myself, so I did a tally. I grouped all last year’s columns into 10 broad categories. Here, roughly speaking, are the topics we’ve covered in 2018:

Disruption in Our Biz

At a whopping 63 columns, this was by far the most popular topic, accounting for a full 25% of all the Media Insider columns written last year. Authorship was pretty much split among all the insiders, including yours truly.

Editorial angles included disruption in TV ad buying, the future of the ad holding company and agencies, marketer distrust of their agencies, the rise of digital “frenemies” and the very nature of the relationship between advertisers and their market. We may have taken different approaches, but we all had this viewpoint in common with Stephen Stills when he wrote this song lyric for Buffalo Springfield: “Something’s happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.”

How Technology is Changing Us

The second most popular topic looked at disruption of a different sort: how tech is rewiring humans. This, of course, is my favorite topic, but I wasn’t alone. 37 columns were written on this issue, making up 15% of all the Media Insiders last year. The vast majority of these were cautionary in tone, worrying that tech may be leading us down a dystopian path.

Politically Charged Tech

The third most popular theme? No real surprise here. It was about the overlap of tech — especially social media — and politics. We collectively penned 34 columns on this topic, making up 13% of the total editorial calendar. The interesting aspect of this — for me, anyway — was the question of whether the relationship was simply correlational or causal. Did tech take us to where we are today? Or was it simply the channel we used to bitch about it?

Privacy and Data Concerns

Coming in as a close contender for the top three spots was the whole personal privacy mess, featuring the long-running Facebook debacle. The various security breaches, exposes of Russian hacking, the Cambridge Analytica scandal and Facebook’s consistently abysmal behavior were on our collective minds, generating 30 columns making up 12% of all Media Insider content. Facebook may have been the poster child of this particular theme, but the question of data privacy goes beyond that to a much more fundamental question: Who should own our data?

Marketing Strategy and Execution

Rounding out the top five was probably the most helpful topic of the bunch: How the hell should you market anyway? In 2018, 27 columns were written on the topic, representing 11% of all columns which ran. A hat tip to fellow Insider Cory Treffiletti here, who wrote most of those.

New Consumer Tech

As you can see, the top five topics were mostly negative in nature, mainly concerned with worrying about what was happening. The next two topics were a little more starry-eyed, starting with dreaming about a richer tech future. Eighteen times in 2018 we wrote about new consumer tech (making up 7% of all columns), including voice-enabled, AR, VR and AI. While we sometimes hit a negative note, most of the time we adopted a “Gee Whiz” enthusiasm about what this new tech could bring.

New MarTech

The number seven theme had us putting on our marketer’s hat and enthusing about how tech will improve marketing. We wrote about this 13 times, representing 5% of the content. Again, while we realize that this is one of the contributing factors to disruption in our business, we remained overwhelming positive about the possibilities. We also saw consolidation of this market in our collective crystal balls.

A Glimpse Inside Our Personal Worlds

Tied for the 7th spot — with 13 columns — was a bit of a catchall category I called personal insights. The topics were varied, but they all touched on who we were as humans and how we saw the world. Often we used our own experiences as our narrative devices.

The Evolution of Entertainment and Content Publishing

The Insiders occasionally mused — 11 times last year, to be exact — about how the very notion of entertainment and content publishing was changing. Again, we were monitoring another disruptive trend. How we are reinventing the way we consume video — thanks to streaming and binge-watching — was the most popular topic in this category, but we also wondered about the future of the printed word as well.

The New Definition of Branding

Finally, we wondered what will become of the notion of branding in an increasingly polarized, digitally mediated market place. This was our topic for seven columns last year, making up 3% of the total Insider pie. We saw the continuing rise of brand activists, slacktivists and overtly political brand messaging. In short, we saw branding mirror what was happening in the real world.

As a sample of where our heads are at, there were no real surprises when I tallied up the numbers. This showed that we Insiders, just like everyone else, are trying to make sense of an increasingly nonsensical world and industry. We feel the earth moving under our feet, often in seismic jolts. We worry about the future. We remain cautiously optimistic about the promise of technology in general. We get mad when corporations behave badly. And we use our own lives to help frame our perspective of the world where we live and work.

It will be interesting to see what we write about in 2019.

The Psychology Behind My NetFlix Watchlist

I live in Canada – which means I’m going into hibernation for the next 5 months. People tell me I should take up a winter activity. I tell them I have one. Bitching. About winter – specifically. You have your hobbies – and I have mine.

The other thing I do in the winter is watch movies. And being a with it, tech-savvy guy, I have cut the cord and get my movie fix through not one, but three streaming services: Netflix, Amazon Prime and Crave (a Canadian service). I’ve discovered that the psychology of Netflix is fascinating. It’s the Paradox of Choice playing out in streaming time. It’s the difference between what we say we do and what we actually do.

For example, I do have a watch list. It has somewhere around a hundred items on it. I’ll probably end up watching about 20% of them. The rest will eventually go gentle into that good Netflix Night. And according to a recent post on Digg, I’m actually doing quite well. According to the admittedly small sample chronicled there, the average completion rate is somewhere between 5 and 15%.

When it comes to compiling viewing choices, I’m an optimizer. And I’m being kind to myself. Others, less kind, refer to it as obsessive behavior. This is referring to satisficing/optimizing spectrum of decision making. I put an irrational amount of energy into the rationalization of my viewing options. The more effort you put into decision making, the closer you are to the optimizing end of the spectrum. If you make choices quickly and with your gut, you’re a satisficer.

What is interesting about Netflix is that it defers the Paradox of Choice. I dealt with this in a previous column. But I admit I’m having second thoughts. Netflix’s watch list provides us with a sort of choosing purgatory..a middle ground where we can save according to the type of watcher we think we are. It’s here where the psychology gets interesting. But before we go there, let’s explore some basic psychological principles that underpin this Netflix paradox of choice.

Of Marshmallows and Will Power

In the 1960’s, Walter Mischel and his colleagues conducted the now famous Marshmallow Test, a longitudinal study that spanned several years. The finding (which currently is in some doubt) was that children who had – when they were quite young – the willpower to resist immediately taking a treat (the marshmallow) put in front of them in return for a promise of a greater treat (two marshmallows)  in 15 minutes would later do substantially better in many aspects of their lives (education, careers, social connections, their health). Without getting into the controversial aspects of the test, let’s just focus on the role of willpower in decision making.

Mischel talks about a hot and cool system of making decisions that involve self-gratification. The “hot” is our emotions and the “cool” is our logic. We all have different set-points in the balance between hot and cool, but where these set points are in each of us depends on will power. The more willpower we have, the more likely it is that we’ll delay an immediate reward in return for a greater reward sometime in the future.

Our ability to rationalize and expend cognitive resources on a decision is directly tied to our willpower. And experts have learned that our will power is a finite resource. The more we use it in a day, the less we have in reserve. Psychologists call this “ego-depletion” And a loss of will power leads to decision fatigue. The more tired we become, the less our brain is willing to work on the decisions we make. In one particularly interesting example, parole boards are much more likely to let prisoners go either first thing in the morning or right after lunch than they are as the day wears on. Making the decision to grant a prisoner his or her freedom is a decision that involves risk. It requires more thought.  Keeping them in prison is a default decision that – cognitively speaking – is a much easier choice.

Netflix and Me: Take Two

Let me now try to rope all this in and apply it to my Netflix viewing choices. When I add something to my watch list, I am making a risk-free decision. I am not committing to watch the movie now. Cognitively, it costs me nothing to hit the little plus icon. Because it’s risk free, I tend to be somewhat aspirational in my entertainment foraging. I add foreign films, documentaries, old classics, independent films and – just to leaven out my selection – the latest audience-friendly blockbusters. When it comes to my watch list additions, I’m pretty eclectic.

Eventually, however, I will come back to this watch list and will actually have to commit 2 hours to watching something. And my choices are very much affected by decision fatigue. When it comes to instant gratification, a blockbuster is an easy choice. It will have lots of action, recognizable and likeable stars, a non-mentally-taxing script – let’s call it the cinematic equivalent of a marshmallow that I can eat right away. All my other watch list choices will probably be more gratifying in the long run, but more mentally taxing in the short term. Am I really in the mood for a European art-house flick? The answer probably depends on my current “ego-depletion” level.

This entire mental framework presents its own paradox of choice to me every time I browse through my watchlist. I know I have previously said the Paradox of Choice isn’t a thing when it comes to Netflix. But I may have changed my mind. I think it depends on what resources we’re allocating. In Barry Schwartz’s book titled the Paradox of Choice, he cites Sheena Iyengar’s famous jam experiment. In that instance, the resource was the cost of jam. In that instance, the resource was the cost of jam. But if we’re talking about 2 hours of my time – at the end of a long day – I have to confess that I struggle with choice, even when it’s already been short listed to a pre-selected list of potential entertainment choices. I find myself defaulting to what seems like a safe choice – a well-known Hollywood movie – only to be disappointed when the credits roll. When I do have the will power to forego the obvious and take a chance on one of my more obscure picks, I’m usually grateful I did.

And yes, I did write an entire column on picking a movie to watch on Netflix. Like I said, it’s winter and I had a lot of time to kill.

 

A Thought on Thoughtfulness

Writing this column (first for Search Insider, then here) has been a private social experiment for me. It’s one that has now lasted at least 14 years and is pushing 700 iterations, in the form of the number of columns I’ve written.  It’s been fascinating to see which topics seem to elicit reaction amongst the MediaPost readership. Granted, the metrics I have available are limited to two: how often I’m shared and how often I get comments. Still, based on this limited feedback, I’ve come to some conclusions.

I’ll be totally honest here. Just a few weeks ago I was considering packing it in. But I didn’t. I attacked advertising instead. Perhaps you could chalk it up to the mood I was in at the time.

If you don’t write for an audience, know that it’s a soul sucking thing to do. You metaphorically chop out little – or large – pieces of your brain and string them up to see what flavor the carrion eaters (that’s would be you, the readers) are favouring today. That sounds gruesome, but when it comes to sharing ideas, you want to be eaten alive. It’s a good thing. I have found – again, based on the limited metrics I have access to – that I’m not usually the most popular taste-du-jour. There are other writers here at MediaPost that are shared far more often than I.

I’m okay with that. That wasn’t why I was considering packing it in. I was considering doing that because I wasn’t sure I had anything thoughtful left to say. After 14 years of doing this, I’ve said a lot of things here on MediaPost, and I was worried the well might be running dry. For heaven’s sake, I don’t even work in the industry anymore! I haven’t for 5 years now. Who am I to be pontificating on advertising, media or marketing?

But then I reconsidered. And I did so precisely because I’m not the most popular writer here in the MediaPost stable. I don’t really care if you share me (okay..I care a little bit). I do care if I make you think. And I think I can still do that. At least, I can on a good day.

The reason I keep carving off chunks of my prefrontal cortex to share with you is because I love thoughtfulness. If I can contribute to the dissemination of thoughtfulness – even in a small way – I need to keep doing what I’m doing.

I believe thoughtfulness is in danger. We are all collectively suffering from FOMO – we are scared of missing something. And so we all flick from meme to meme. I call them cog-bits. These are the proliferate mental tidbits that are thrown at us each day. They may be top ten lists, videos, pictures, posts – even news articles. The one thing they have in common is that they have been crafted for attention spans of 10 seconds or less. If you’re not hooked, you move on to the next cog-bit. They are not designed to make you think – their entire purpose is to make you share, which requires just 0.05 seconds of rational thought.

I admit I am not immune to the charms of a cog-bit. I’m a sucker for them, just like I suspect you are. But I also believe our mental diet should be balanced with some long-form thought provoking content. Thinking shouldn’t always be easy and instant. The end result shouldn’t always be a knee-jerk jamming of the share button. We should mull more. We should roll thoughts over in our mind, picking them apart gradually. We should be introduced to concepts and perspectives we haven’t thought before. And it’s okay if – in this process – we find our own minds changing. We also need to do that more.

To me, my best day writing is when I provoke a conversation. I don’t mean a trolling comment. I mean an honest-to-goodness conversation, where the parties are open to thoughtfulness and are mentally stretching the boundaries of their own perspectives. When is the last time you had a conversation where you really had to think – where you had to pause to catch your cognitive breath? It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?

In looking back at the last 14 years of writing for MediaPost, I have found that while I hope I have introduced some new ideas to you, the real reward has been how this weekly exercise has shaped my own thoughts. Frankly, some weeks it’s a pain in the ass to come up with an idea for the Tuesday slot. But when I actually engage with the creation of a column, I always find my ideas shift, just a little. Sometimes, I throw ideas out there that I know will be contentious – ideas that will make you think. Sometimes they will be half-baked. You may agree, you may not. All I ask is that you think about them.

That’s why I keep doing this.

Drifting Alone on the Social Network

This was not your ordinary Facebook post (if there is such a thing).

For one thing, it was long. Almost 1600 words long. That’s longer than this column. Secondly, it was raw. It was written by somebody in deep pain who laid their soul bare for their entire network to see. I barely knew this person and I was given a look into the deepest and darkest part of their lives. The post told the story of the break-up of a marriage and a struggle with depression. It was a disturbing blow – by – blow chronicle of someone hitting the bottom.

A strange thing happened while I was reading the post. At one level, I responded as I hope any decent human would. I felt the pain of this person – even though we were barely acquaintances – and wanted to help in some way. But – in a sort of meta-awareness – I monitored myself as a sample of one to see what the longer-term impact was. This plea through social media seemed extraordinary in a number of ways. What were the possible unintended consequences of this online confessional?

I should add an additional – traumatic – context to this story. This post was catalyzed by the recent suicide of a well-known member of the industry I used to work in. Again, I was made aware of the tragedy through several posts on Facebook. And again, I barely knew the person involved but somewhere along the line we had connected through Facebook. In the last two days of his life, he had updated his status. He was young. He had a family. He should have had everything to live for. But then again, I really didn’t know him or his circumstances. I certainly didn’t know his pain. Judging by the shock I was in the comments on Facebook, I don’t think any of us knew.

And that’s what prompted this post I’m writing about. Obviously, this person wanted us to know his pain. He was asking for help. But he was also offering it to anyone who needed it.  And he choose to do it through Facebook. This should be social media at its finest…a moving example of people connecting when it counts most. The post certainly touched those that read it. 80 comments – all supportive – followed the post. Many contained their own abbreviated confessions of going through similar pain. It seemed cathartic. I would even call it inspirational.

So why was I so troubled by this? Something seemed wrong.

Social Networks are Built on Weak Ties

Perhaps the problem is in the nature of our online social networks. In the 1990’s British anthropologist Robin Dunbar suggested our brains had a cognitive limit on the number of stable social relationships we could maintain. The number was 150, which has since become known as Dunbar’s Number.

In follow up research, released in the last few years, Dunbar has found that within this circle of 150 acquaintances, there are smaller circles of increasingly more intimate friends. The next layer in is what we would probably call “friends” – people we chose to spend time with. That’s about 50 people.  Then we have “close friends” – people we tend to socialize with more frequently. On average, we would have 15 of these. And finally, we have our closest friends – those we are intimately connected to. Dunbar puts our cognitive limit at 5 for these most precious connections.

I have about 450 “Friends” on Facebook. If Dunbar’s Number is correct, this is three times the number of social connections I can mentally coordinate. By necessity, they’ll almost all what Mark Granovetter would refer to as “weak ties” – social connections that are not actively maintained. And my network is relatively small. Others in the online industry typically have social networks numbering well over a thousand connections. Yet, with all these thousands of connections, did they not have one of those very close friends they could reach out to in person? Perhaps they did, but the personal investment might have been too high.

The Psychology of the Online Confessional

We all need to be heard. And sometimes, it seems easier to confide in a stranger than a friend. We can talk without worrying about all the baggage we are carrying. Our closest friends know all about that baggage. The personal costs are much higher when we choose to go to a friend. I think- subconsciously – we sometimes tend to gravitate towards “weak ties” when things are at their worst. It’s the reason that psychotherapists and confessional booths exist.

Also, a confession is easier when it’s physically detached from the feedback. We can craft the language before we post. We are not sitting across from someone who might judge us. We are posting alone, and this can bring its own sense of comfort. But, unfortunately, that comfort can be short lived.

The Half Life of Online Empathy

Eventually, the empathy dies away and the social shaming begins. I wish this wasn’t’ the case – I wish humans were better than this – but we’re not. We’re just human.

If you’re not an absolute sociopath, you can’t help but be empathetic when someone lays their grieving soul bare for you. And the investment required to post a supportive comment is minimal. It is determined by the same cognitive algorithm I talked about last week regarding “slacktivism.” It’s a few seconds of our life and a handful of carefully selected words. At the time, we are probably sincere in our offer of help, but then we move on. This is a weak tie – a person we hardly know. We have no skin in the game.

If that seems callous and cruel on my part, there are previous examples to point to. Over and over again, we pour out our support when the pain is fresh, only to move on to the next thing more and more quickly. This is true when the tragedies are global in nature. I suspect the same is true when they’re more localized, with people we are passingly acquainted with. And these people have now gone public with their pain. It is now part of their digital footprint. Today, we may feel nothing but empathy. But how will we feel 6 weeks hence? Or 6 months? I would like to think we would remain noble, kind and gracious in our thoughts, but most of the evidence points to the contrary.

I didn’t want to be negative in the writing of this. I sincerely hope that such online pleas for help bring aid and comfort to the person in question. As I said, this was all sparked by someone who never got the help he needed at the right time. Perhaps a weak tie online is better than no tie at all.

But I will remain a strong believer in the power of a true person-to-person connection – with all its messiness and organic imperfection. We need more of that. And the more time we spend alone keying in our thoughts in front of the light blue glow of a monitor, the less likely that is to happen.