‘Have I been influenced, or is this actually me?’ How personal taste fell out of fashion
‘Have I been influenced, or is this actually me?’ How personal taste fell out of fashion
The Algorithmic Shift in Preference Formation
Have I been influenced or is this - In an age where digital platforms dominate our daily lives, the question of what we truly prefer has grown increasingly complex. Once a matter of instinct and experience, personal taste now feels like a product of external forces. Consider the modern habit of scrolling through endless feeds, where every choice seems preordained by invisible systems. What used to be a journey of exploration has been replaced by a process of selection, often dictated by algorithms that prioritize engagement over individuality.
For years, our understanding of art, culture, and style was shaped by a mix of community interactions, geographic proximity, and mass media. Think of the way we once discovered music through radio stations or films via word-of-mouth recommendations. These methods allowed for a richer, more diverse engagement with the world. We were exposed to a variety of ideas, and through trial and error, we developed our own sense of what resonated with us. That process was not always seamless, but it was organic, rooted in human connection and curiosity.
Today, however, the landscape has changed dramatically. Platforms like Spotify, Instagram, and even search engines and e-commerce sites operate with a singular goal: to keep users scrolling, clicking, and consuming. This is achieved through algorithmic feeds that curate content based on our past interactions and those of others. The result is a system that tailors experiences to our habits, often without us even realizing it. What was once a broad exposure to the world’s creativity is now a narrow stream of content designed to reinforce what we already know.
“The least ambiguous, least disruptive and perhaps least meaningful pieces of culture are promoted the most”
The Paradox of Personalisation
It’s a paradox that has become a defining feature of the digital era: platforms that claim to enhance our individuality actually erode it. By analysing our activity, they predict what we might like next, creating a feedback loop that keeps us hooked. For instance, Spotify might suggest songs that mirror the ones we didn’t skip, while Instagram could flood our feeds with content from an influencer whose videos we only briefly engaged with. These systems don’t just reflect our preferences—they shape them, often without us noticing.
This relentless curation has led to a saturation of trends that feel inescapable. Consumer habits are no longer driven by discovery but by repetition. Take the rise of nostalgic fashion, for example. Once a niche interest, it has become a mainstream obsession, propelled by algorithms that amplify what already has mass appeal. Similarly, films and TV shows now often rely on existing intellectual property, ensuring familiarity and comfort for audiences. The message is clear: content that aligns with our previous choices is prioritized, leaving little room for the unexpected.
Yet, the consequence of this algorithmic dominance is a disconnection from our own preferences. We no longer choose what we consume; we are given it. The sheer volume of content, designed to cater to every possible interest, overwhelms our ability to process it meaningfully. This has led to a sense of confusion, where even the most basic question—what do I actually like?—feels difficult to answer. The author of the article
“the least ambiguous, least disruptive and perhaps least meaningful pieces of culture are promoted the most”
Kyle Chayka, in his 2024 book *Filterworld*, argues that algorithms favour content that is easy to digest, ensuring uninterrupted scrolling. This prioritization of accessibility over depth has transformed the way we engage with culture, making it feel less like an exploration and more like a passive experience.
A Return to the Pre-Algorithmic Era
Realizing the extent of this transformation, the author decided to step back in time and reclaim a sense of autonomy. A decade after last visiting, they returned to Portobello Road market in west London—a place that once symbolized the era before algorithmic dominance. The market, unchanged since the mid-to-late 2000s, offered a tangible reminder of a time when personal taste was formed through physical exploration and human interaction.
Stalls lined with antique cameras, chintzy royal ceramics, and faded band T-shirts created an atmosphere of discovery. Unlike the digital world, where choices are endlessly predictable, the market demanded active engagement. The author, accompanied by a school friend, spent hours searching for unusual secondhand items that had not yet become mainstream. It was a creative challenge, one that required patience and an openness to the unknown. These moments of serendipity, however, were often met with frustration, as the friend’s style was more refined than the author’s own.
Despite the challenges, the market provided a sense of clarity that the digital realm could not. The same eclectic array of vintage treasures that once captivated the author now felt more meaningful. Stalls filled with tangled silver jewellery and vintage cricket jumpers offered a tactile connection to the past, contrasting sharply with the intangible, algorithm-driven experiences of today. The author marveled at how these items, which had once been overlooked, now felt like a rediscovery of their own tastes. It was a revelation that the algorithm had stripped away, leaving them with a renewed appreciation for the unpredictability of human preference.
Reflecting on this experience, the author questions whether the digital age has fundamentally altered the way we perceive personal taste. Are we simply victims of a system designed to anticipate our desires, or is there still room for independent choice? The answer may lie in the balance between convenience and curiosity. While algorithms have undoubtedly streamlined access to content, they have also narrowed our horizons, reducing the complexity of taste to a series of data points.
Yet, there is hope. By consciously stepping away from the digital feed, the author found a way to reconnect with the organic process of discovery. The market, with its chaotic yet vibrant offerings, reminded them that personal taste is not just a matter of preference—it is a dynamic, evolving relationship with the world. In a society increasingly shaped by technology, reclaiming that relationship may require more than just a return to physical spaces; it may demand a reevaluation of how we engage with culture in the first place.
The journey from algorithmic curation to personal exploration is not easy, but it is essential. As we navigate a world where every choice feels preordained, the act of questioning what we like becomes a form of resistance. It is a reminder that taste is not just about what we consume—it is about how we think, feel, and connect with the broader tapestry of human experience. In this light, the author’s experience at Portobello Road market is not just a nostalgic trip but a critical reflection on the evolving nature of individuality in the digital age.