Is Silicon Valley constructing the wrong things?

In spite of its self-improvement title, writer/designer/academic Ian Bogost’s upcoming book “The Small Stuff: How to Lead a More Gratifying Life” poses critical inquiries about how technology has changed our interactions with the physical world. Drawing on Bogost’s well-known article in the Atlantic regarding the diminishing prevalence of stick shift cars, “The Small Stuff” contends that numerous elements of our everyday existence — from vehicles to doorways to restrooms — have become less tangible.

“Essentially, it’s the notion that we have become detached from the sensory environment, and the reason for that shift is what could be termed convenience technologies,” Bogost explained to me, while quickly emphasizing that technology is not the sole factor driving this transformation. “Many factors — not merely tech, and certainly not only Silicon Valley-style technology — have alienated individuals from the world they occupy, stripping away the richness of daily living.”

In fact, while acknowledging other books that critique the tech sector, Bogost mentioned that he’s grown “somewhat weary of the ongoing critique.” Consequently, he is currently less concentrated on advocating for sweeping societal change and more on discovering “gratification” in routine sensory encounters. 

“It places a heavy burden on average individuals to assert, ‘Well, we just need to resolve wealth inequality or capitalism, and then we’ll be free to enjoy our lives completely,’” he remarked. “Average individuals shouldn’t have to wait for that.”

During our conversation (which I’ve condensed for brevity and clarity), we also explored the balance between convenience and experience, how Silicon Valley might improve, and the “hipster reclamation of nostalgia.”

You authored this excellent piece about the stick shift. How did that lead to these broader ideas about “the small stuff”? How did you come to realize there was a book in this?

I penned the stick shift article in 2022. At its core, it conveyed: People have been mourning the fall of the stick shift for ages, but electric vehicles have made it tangible, as they lack transmissions. Assuming that EVs are eventually going to gain widespread acceptance, which I believe is inevitable, then this truly is the conclusion.

You [write] a story and think, “Well, that was enjoyable, a nice little piece, I’ll share it online.” That one really resonated. The reaction was immense. I became thoroughly fascinated by the why. Is it merely that people cherish their stick shift vehicles? I didn’t think so.

I spent a year contemplating it, on and off [and] I recognized, indeed, I’ve been engaged in this longer than anticipated. I revisited writings about toasters and smoothies or slushies, or my catalog of interests, and the ordinary aspects of life captivate me deeply, though I’ve never fully understood why. Is there something amiss with me? Am I just eccentric? 

It dawned on me, through the stick shift, that daily life is not just intriguing but profoundly, profoundly significant, and we have undervalued it. Something like the stick shift, rich with both symbolic and genuine significance for individuals, opens a window, and you sense the breeze entering, and you’re like, “Ah yes, the breeze.”

Let’s delve into the concept of dematerialization, since the book is organized around it. The first half delves into describing and diagnosing, while [the second half discusses] solutions, remedies. Would you like to clarify what dematerialization entails? 

Essentially, it’s the understanding that we have become untethered from the sensory environment, and the cause of this is what you might describe as convenience technologies. However, it’s not solely technology; there’s also bureaucracy, efficiency, economics, and regulatory systems. Numerous factors — not just tech, and certainly not exclusively Silicon Valley-style technology — have distanced individuals from the world they inhabit and have removed the depth of everyday existence. 

A favored illustration of this, one that seems to resonate with many, is: You visit the airport restroom, having just disembarked your flight, and the toilet flushes automatically, the sink activates itself, the towels are dispensed for you, the soap is distributed for you — or sometimes it doesn’t work at all, right? It often fails to function, but that realization: This task that I used to perform with my physical body and senses is now something I no longer engage with. This is quite commonplace and has, broadly speaking, been influenced by developments that have genuinely improved our lives. However, we didn’t recognize that we were sacrificing the connection to the tangible world in pursuit of progress.

That’s what dematerialization signifies for me, this array of circumstances that has distanced us from our sensory realities.

That part regarding the restroom was particularly vivid for me, as you’re not only addressing the usage of these items, but the experience of them not functioning correctly for you.

You become aware of them when they fail to function, and that friction reveals the issue. In many instances, we’re oblivious to a problem, or we sense that something is off but are unclear on what it is.

One point you also emphasize is: Many of these alterations have, in some respects, enhanced our lives. You mentioned there’s a tradeoff, similar to the case of the stick shift and automatic, then you also include electric vehicles — 

There are numerous people out there who’ve championed stick shift cars while simultaneously arguing, “Internal combustion engines are the sole option, and we must adhere to the purity of burning dinosaurs.” 

I don’t hold that perspective at all. Using Uber, streaming music, enjoying DoorDash, and even some promises of automated fixtures — I mean, some are questionable, but I broadly understand — I think it’s crucial we acknowledge that our lives overall have improved, but something transpired that we didn’t perceive, in a gradual, unnoticed way.

I greatly admire Cory Doctorow, but these [claims that] “This system of economics and technological values is evidently the source of all our troubles, and I’m going to label it enshittification,” just to use a notably popular example. People clearly seek an explanation, yet then you think, “Yeah, but I enjoy Amazon Prime, I appreciate the ability to search Google for info.”

So I’m trying to balance being truthful about the fact that our lives are comparatively better, that this isn’t merely a Silicon Valley issue, in fact, it’s much broader, and it occurs so gradually that we failed to notice.

One noteworthy aspect of the book, which contrasts with what I’ve read from Doctorow or [Jenny Odell’s book] “How to Do Nothing” — there’s a cluster of such books — is that your book carries a less accusatory tone. There’s a strain of critique, but it doesn’t resonate with the same intensity.

Personally, I’ve been critiquing technology for an extended period, and I don’t find it arrogant to say I was ahead of the curve in critiquing Silicon Valley-style technological progress. I was discussing Facebook and social media long before many people were concerned, and that felt quite isolating.

Yet I feel somewhat fatigued by the never-ending critique, and I believe it often misdiagnoses or overdiagnoses the issue. It’s comforting to think in terms of clear dichotomies of good versus bad, or that there’s a straightforward explanation, and once we grasp the explanation, we simply need to unwind it, and everything will then be fine.

I would like to address the Silicon Valley aspect of this. Although this isn’t solely about Silicon Valley, many of the concepts you’re discussing resonate with the notion that numerous consumer tech products and services prioritize convenience and speed. Reading this book, along with related works, I sometimes get the impression: Are all these companies merely chasing misguided objectives?

I definitely think that the fixation on efficiency, automation, invisibility, transparency, and scale fuels that aspiration. “We’re going to simplify everything, so you don’t have to engage with it.” That’s a succinct summary of recent years.

Some of that motivation stemmed from positive intentions, like with Uber. Recall when it was difficult to hail a taxi in cities other than New York? Now it’s remarkably straightforward. You could romanticize that and claim that [convenience] is irrelevant, but it truly matters.

Instead of assigning blame to either technology, industry, or everyday individuals for their apparent naivety in failing to notice or willingly surrendering their lives, I simply believe it unfolded over an extended timeframe, so gradually, and with such widespread endorsement, that both consumers and the organizations providing these services were stating, “Here’s the arrangement,” and everyone responded, “Yes, I’m in; I don’t want to buy CDs anymore, Spotify sounds fantastic, count me in.”

In actuality, we felt we comprehended the arrangement, but we didn’t fully grasp it. We didn’t entirely account for the fact that we are physical beings, embodied beings, and that is perhaps where I would place some of the blame more squarely on the culture surrounding Silicon Valley. You see it manifest today, this concept that I can transcend my physicality, I can achieve immortality — whether through transhumanism, singularitarianism, or simply eternal life through efficiency and optimization. That notion has always been central to the general-purpose computer, that it can sift through any experience and convert it into a computational entity.

And thankfully, we cannot escape our bodies. Yet, in the Valley, there remains this odd sentiment that the embodied human experience is unnecessary, extraneous. And that’s erroneous.

The book is tailored for a wider audience, but I’m curious about entrepreneurs or individuals creating products: Are there encouraging instances you’ve observed where people can approach that tradeoff differently? It’s not solely about optimizing for convenience, but perhaps achieving a balance between convenience and sensory experience?

If you rewind to how computers transitioned from data analysis instruments to cultural tools, starting in the 1960s, there was a strong belief that you could articulate yourself through [computers], while also establishing a human connection with them was essential. In the 1970s, at Xerox PARC and Apple, there was a strong emphasis on a computational approach to human factors engineering, acknowledging that my body must fit in the chair or fit through the doorway, which was incredibly significant to computing for many years, until the 1990s. Once the 2000s rolled in, coinciding with the true cultural takeover by computation, I believe that’s when we began deviating from that effort of negotiating the relationship between computing and individuals. 

What this illustrates is that the act of engaging in something is also vital, not merely the outcome. We became excessively fixated on the result and then downplayed the experience of engaging in activities, and now we find ourselves in a situation where, if you discuss the experience of engaging in a task with what might be referred to as the stereotypical Silicon Valley entrepreneur, they’ll respond, “Why bother? We can automate that. AI will handle it. We can outsource it to the Philippines.”

There exists a plethora of solutions designed to eliminate the bother of engaging with that experiential element, and it turns out: No, I wish to have those experiences because they form a component of my humanity and vitality, even if they seem trivial individually. You know, who really cares about the sensation of the ice in my water bottle? Yet, as I argue in the book, over time, all those minor aspects accumulate, they carry profound significance, and when you eliminate them, you genuinely perceive what’s absent. 

The overarching message is: The experience is significant. The experience of utilizing products and services holds importance, not solely the outcomes they deliver. It feels somewhat amusing to articulate this in response to your inquiry, for I think if you posed the question to any UX designer in Silicon Valley, “Do you prioritize that?” They’d respond, “Absolutely, we consider that constantly; it’s incredibly valuable to us.”

However, I don’t believe they are. They believe they are, but have lost sight of their actual actions, which is stripping it away.

I admire that the book is deeply grounded in personal and sensory experiences. However, as someone who’s 43 and has encountered many of these sentiments, I start to feel slightly skeptical about myself. Am I just an old person yearning for [the experiences of my youth]? How do you navigate these thoughts in a manner that doesn’t revolve around idealizing the past?

It’s incredibly easy to descend into nostalgia, and I believe there’s a prevailing current of desire directed toward so-called analog culture. For instance, “I’m going to acquire a Walkman again, and that will resolve my issues.”

I have several reflections on this. First, I articulate this argument quite clearly in the book: We’re not heading back. We exist in the present, moving towards the future, and we don’t reside in the past. Mourning what has come before and been lost can be helpful in orienting oneself, but it doesn’t truly assist in living your life.

I adore, adore, adore the telephone; I cherish the old-school Western Electric-style handset, I love its intimacy, I appreciate how it feels in my hand, I adore the weight of it. [But now] we use Zoom, or at best we’re utilizing our headphones. That’s not going to change. So rather than regard that example as, “Ah, if only we could revert and perhaps engage in this hipster reclaiming of nostalgia” — okay, that serves as an intriguing signal. I recall that, and it held meaning for me, serving as a good way to align yourself with your actual sensory existence.

Now, the wonderful aspect is that, whether you’re 43 or 23, you still possess a human body. You inhabit the world, and we are in it together, so constantly surrounding us are opportunities to experience similar instances but in varied manners. 

One of the aspects I appreciate about Zoom over traditional telephones is that I can enjoy this auditory connection with myself and with you, which is very sonically satisfying, something I don’t experience on a compressed digital line. Thus, that’s one response. Nostalgia can serve as a guide, but it’s indulgent to believe that you can dwell in the past. If it’s purely mournful, what’s the benefit?

The second point I’d like to highlight is this: There’s been a lot of discussion about friction recently, with sentiments like, “We need to reintroduce friction,” and I believe that perspective is also flawed. 

Everything became exceedingly smooth and slippery. It literally did, due to our smartphones which have a slick surface. But then, because of efficiency and convenience, everything started to feel incredibly frictionless, and the opposite of frictionlessness is, indeed, friction.

However, you don’t genuinely desire things to be challenging or to obstruct your path. Instead, you want the experience of feeling yourself engaging with them, which varies significantly from the approach of, “Oh, that should be difficult; I need to introduce barriers in my way.”

I also wished to inquire about the connection between the small details in the title of the book and the broader transformations within society. I concur that our lives have become dematerialized and disconnected from sensory experience, but it seems you’re not concerned that eventually, the areas of physical or sensory joy or satisfaction will simply vanish, or become insignificantly small.

I perceive it as a very nuanced, complex issue. Yes, that’s precisely my assertion, but we seem to hold this belief that it’s not the case somehow. We’re obsessed with the notion that something crucial has been lost that cannot be reclaimed or that which requires substantial cultural, social, economic, regulatory, or any other form of change to recover. 

Now, I’m not opposed to such grand alterations. I don’t know how simple or probable it is to achieve. It seems excessive to expect average people to say, “Well, we simply need to rectify wealth inequality or capitalism, and then we’ll be able to return to fully engaging in our lives.” We cannot remain passive and wait for that. Ordinary individuals shouldn’t have to wait.

I would truly appreciate it if industry, governmental, and civic organization leaders would take it upon themselves, in their respective contexts, to foster more small stuff-oriented, gratifying opportunities for the populace.

An instance of this is the entire discourse surrounding remote work, office work, and what one engages in daily at their email job or similar. Clearly, if you manage an organization, you possess some degree of influence over what individuals are indeed doing and how.

Nevertheless, my neighbors don’t have that option, your aunt doesn’t have that option, yet they still need to navigate their sensory lives; there exists something they can undertake right now, in this moment, every day, rather than anxiously wringing their hands or perpetually posting on Facebook about how miserable everything is. We’ve attempted that for a while, and it doesn’t seem to have yielded any substantial benefits.