Enshittifying ourselves: a conspiracy theory

For the past few weeks I’ve been looking for ways to simplify my life. It’s an enormous privilege that I’m able to work as a freelancer outside of the hellscape that is corporate America; there’s no external pressure to “optimize” myself, to fit a neurodivergent peg into a spiky, neurotypical hole in front of an audience.

I’m reading about the philosophy of ikigai—the real one, not the Westernized venn diagram posted in thousands of business blogs. The commitment to find joy in the little things, embrace simplicity, and find your passion. Making small, intentional adjustments to my routines each day are making a world of difference to my health—physical, mental, emotional, spiritual. It’s wild.

You know what’s not benefitting my health? Threads. TikTok. My phone, if we’re being honest. This opinion’s far of unpopular, but it feels like the devices designed to make my life easier are working overtime to do the opposite. Before 10am today:

1. My Alexa speaker informed me of an update at 9am. It was expected to rain…four hours ago.
2. My phone reminded me that my smart lights have been using my location…as they have for the past six years.
3. Surprise! I’m invited to a two-week trial of Google’s AI tool Gemini, despite me dismissing their last several dozens invitations, ads, and emails about it!

Hello, enshittification. The more I clean up my notifications, unsubscribe from email lists (many I didn’t even add myself to), and curb my social media time, the more creative these platforms seem to get.

But in trying to be more mindful in how I spend my time today, a deep dread sunk in.

Chat, are we enshittifying ourselves?

This could be my sleep deprivation talking (I was up until 2am playing Love and Deepspace again), but the general malaise of 2020s living feels collectively oppressive. Plantation-level oppressive; like we’re using Massa’s tools to police ourselves.

Hear me out.

It’s in the growing practice of asking ChatGPT to write sincere-sounding love letters to your estranged girlfriend.

It’s in concerts that turn into stampedes.

It’s in the fact that someone’s going to read these past few paragraphs and accuse my real human writing as being AI slop.

It’s in the fucking Labubus.

I’m being so for real right now. Last night I finished up my cozy LADS session and opened Threads (yes, I ruined my own sleep, I’m working on it) to find a woman lamenting the freedom and relaxation we could probably enjoy if billionaires didn’t exist. Underneath that post, someone insisted that “everyone” can become a travel writer and content creator and making traveling their job. (Babe, nobody asked.) I checked her bio.

Chat, that woman was a lawyer. And yes, you guessed it: she was selling a course.

Real-life third spaces shrink and become more and more elusive, while virtual ones bloat with “personal brands” masquerading as people. We’re becoming commodities on purpose. Every conversation a sales pitch.

“Don’cha wanna be an owner?”

A few years back my then-boyfriend and I visited Hawai’i. We were long distance; he lived in London, and me San Francisco. Therefore he wanted to get the “full Hawai’i experience,” including getting hassled by a timeshare salesman. I loved him, so fine.

He turned out to be the funniest man I’d met in years, with his bland trousers + colorful running shoes combo and his zany, absolutely untrue stories that roped his audience in. He even had a catchphrase that lives rent-free in my head to this day: “Don’cha wanna be an owner?!”

It was fun when he did it. Noweveryone’s selling a course or a book “co-written” with AI, and I don’t get to opt out.

I don’t agree with corporations trying to squeeze blood from stone, but it makes sense, right? They’re the villains. We’re cattle to them. But doing it to ourselves is wild.

My creative routine requires opting out.

January ushers in a sense of optimism. One of my favorite rituals of the month is welcoming new students to the community that is my kickboxing academy.

Some are seasoned boxers coming from others gyms; but most are brand-new to martial arts, or even exercise. All of them have a “why”: to improve their health, make new friends, compete, feel safer in the world. My academy has its flaws, but it’s my third space. Most people know me, and I try my best to contribute, share what I know, and be open to new experiences (such as a superman punch to the nose).

The people I meet have a sense of purpose. They think critically.

We think critically here, too. Here as in “on the internet,” in increasingly smaller corners. Writer’s Discord servers, my favorite little community at Ness.

I don’t want to sell a course. I don’t want to market a webinar or 10X anything. I want to make things simpler for myself. Find joy in the little things. Meet new people as I wander this city, this state, that country.

I can’t avoid enshittification, but I can opt out of enshittifying myself.