T
here
is
something
special about walking
into
a
bookstore
and
exploring
the
collection.
Though I don’t do
it purposefully, if
it is my first time
there, I tend to
follow
a
similar
path through the
store to get myself
acquainted.
First,
I
float
toward
the
literature
section and walk
across the wall from A to Z,
scouring through the names
of authors both familiar and
unknown.
Then,
my
eyes
wander to the history and
philosophy sections, where I
can usually find esoteric titles
that sometimes hint more at
the tastes of the bookstore
employees than the interests of
their customers.
This
brick-and-mortar
meandering is in stark contrast
to
the
clickbait
world
of
the internet. In fact, online
retailers such as Amazon have
vastly changed the way we
consume books. Any product,
for that matter, is filtered
through the technology giant’s
recommendation
algorithms
and spit back at the customer
in the hopes of making a sale.
What we do not often consider
is how these algorithms are
destroying the humanistic side
of reading and how we share
books with others.
The basic idea of Amazon’s
recommendation
engine
is
to predict what consumers
may want to buy based on
their previous search history.
The engine seeks to create
relationships between “objects”
— which include users, items
and products — and makes
a recommendation based on
these relationships.
For example, a relationship
may represent a user adding
a product to their wish list or
giving it a five-star rating. The
recommendation engine then
uses these raw data to compute
the similarity between the
product they had just viewed
and another product in the same
category. The final step is to
integrate the recommendation
into one of Amazon’s many
on-site or email platforms.
Approximately 35 percent of
Amazon’s revenue is generated
by advertising tools such as
the “Recommended for You” or
“Frequently Bought Together”
suggestions
that
use
this
algorithm to add to the average
value of orders.
As opposed to the
discovery that occurs
in a bookstore, the
Amazon algorithm is
set up so that you only
see what the site wants
you to see. This is
especially problematic
in terms of people’s
reading
habits
because you only are
recommended
books
that reinforce your current
tastes and opinions. We should
be uncomfortable with the
idea that a digital extension of
ourselves, created by website
algorithms for financial gain,
has so much sway in how we
think. Blurred lines now exist
between
our
own
original
thoughts about what we might
like and what an algorithm
decides for us.
In many ways, the digital
identity
we
simultaneously
create
for
ourselves
and
that companies create for us
is the same person. At the
Code Conference 2016 — an
invitation-only
conference
hosted
by
the
technology
news website Recode — the
controversial
entrepreneur
Elon
Musk
suggested
that
humans in the modern age
are
already
cyborgs
who
possess
a
“digital
layer”
above the naturally occurring
limbic system or cortex. The
common tropes of implanted
chips and robotic arms pale
in comparison to the reality
that your smartphone holds
the same computing power
as the NASA computers that
guided astronauts to the moon
in 1969. Each person must
decide for themselves if this
powerful digital layer serves a
symbiotic role or one that has
the potential to pollute their
independent, natural selves. It
is also necessary to question
who actually has control over
this digital layer: the user or
the corporation?
What
algorithms
take
away from the modern reading
experience
is
its
crucial
interpersonal dimensions. My
grandfather, who has lived in
South Africa since the 1970s,
told me once on a hike in the
mountains above Cape Town
about a book titled “Cry, the
Beloved Country” written in
1948 by Alan Paton. The novel
details the desperate journey
of a village reverend from the
countryside of South Africa
who goes to Johannesburg to
find his son, only to discover
that he is charged and convicted
for the murder of a prominent
white man and advocate for
racial justice. The story is
masterful and nuanced in its
treatment of race relations and
reconciliation in the country,
yet after I finished the novel,
what I remember most are
the
conversations
with
my
grandfather afterward about
how it impacted him many
years ago. I definitely would not
have found “Cry, the Beloved
Country” relying on Amazon’s
online book recommendations,
and more importantly, I would
not
have
had
this
shared
reading
experience
that
brought my grandfather and me
closer together.
The next time you find
yourself in a bookstore, take
the opportunity to slow down
and see what’s there. If you
are feeling really brave, you
can ask an employee for a
recommendation. I guarantee
their reasoning process will not
be based a detailed personal
history of “likes” or “dwell
times” (the amount of time you
spend on a webpage before you
click on a different item), and
unlike an algorithm, they have
most likely read the words on
the pages they are about to
endorse. Better yet, exchange
books with a friend for free and
pay attention to the meaningful
conversations
that
follow.
Books have a unique way of
bringing people together that
cannot be replicated by social
media or technology. You only
have to step back from your
digital identity to see it.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Emma Chang
Ben Charlson
Joel Danilewitz
Samantha Goldstein
Emily Huhman
Tara Jayaram
Jeremy Kaplan
Lucas Maiman
Magdalena Mihaylova
Ellery Rosenzweig
Jason Rowland
Anu Roy-Chaudhury
Alex Satola
Ali Safawi
Ashley Zhang
Sam Weinberger
DAYTON HARE
Managing Editor
420 Maynard St.
Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.
ALEXA ST. JOHN
Editor in Chief
ANU ROY-CHAUDHURY AND
ASHLEY ZHANG
Editorial Page Editors
Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s Editorial Board.
All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
ABBIE BERRINGER | COLUMN
Your mom is cool
T
he other day, I was
confronted
with
a
shocking
experience
while
working a greeter
shift at the Mary
Markley Residence
Hall dining hall. It
was the final day of
new student move-
in, and a mother
and her son came to
the front door of the
dining hall. The son
stopped and turned
to his mother, who
then asked if she could come
in and sit with him for lunch
before she left. In a tone of pure
annoyance and embarrassment,
he responded with a cold, “No,
maybe next time,” which his
mother begrudgingly tried to
understand. She gave him a hug,
which he accepted with an equal
amount of cold embarrassment
before leaving her behind to
enter the dining hall. Bless this
poor woman’s heart for being
so understanding, because all I
could think about was the seven
levels of “Oh, you want to see
embarrassing” that my mother
surely would have verbally
whipped me with if I had ever
been so rude to her after she
spent her whole day helping me
get settled into college.
So, suffice to say, at this
point, I simply couldn’t help
myself. As I took his Mcard to
swipe it, I told him, “Your mom
is cool. You should have let her
eat with you.” His face turned
a cool shade red before he said,
yet again, “Maybe next time.”
For some reason, I can’t
get this sad encounter out of
my mind. I mean, I remember
what it was like to be young and
“too cool” for my parents but as
my years as a college student
have
waned
on,
I
have learned a very
important
lesson:
My mom is definitely
cool. You know why?
Because
one
thing
that is most definitely
not cool is turning a
whole load of laundry
blue and ruining half
of your wardrobe. It
is also not cool to have
to have a friend spot
you grocery money
when your bank account is
overdrawn because you don’t
know how to manage a budget.
Oh and also, my dad is cool.
This one was a little harder
for me to swallow personally,
because in the most redneck,
Budweiser T-shirt with camo
boots way possible, my dad
is not “cool” by Ann Arborite
standards — But guess what?
It is not cool to sit outside
of Meijer with frozen tears
streaming down your cheeks
because you left a light on in
your car and have no clue how
to use jumper cables. It is also
not cool to have a picture of
your favorite football player
ripped out of the wall and glass
shatter
everywhere
because
you didn’t know what a “stud”
was.
The truth is that those of
us with parents who invest in
our education, help us get into
a good school, give us every
cent they can offer in order to
see us succeed here and then,
to top it all off, offer to sweat
their butts off on a 90-degree,
humid day to help us move into
college, should be nothing but
grateful because, sadly, that
is not the reality for so many
kids here in the United States.
I don’t care if your mom rocks
Crocs and gauchos or if your
dad wears an “I’m With Stupid”
T-shirt to drop you off. The
fact that you have a parent
around to embarrass you at all
is an immense blessing that you
should not — for one second —
take for granted.
That’s
not
to
say
that
everyone
has
the
best
relationship with their parents,
I’m just pointing out that there
are nearly 450,000 kids in the
foster care system on any given
day in the U.S. and, according
to some of the most recent
studies, fewer than 10 percent
of them will attend college.
If you’ve grown up in a stable
home in a decent economic
bracket, you have an incredible
advantage that so many youth
today don’t have.
So, next time your mom or
dad calls, pick up the phone.
Thank them for supporting
you throughout your life. So
many parents worry endlessly
about their children who are
at college. It may seem over the
top to you, but they’ve spent
the last 18 years investing most
of their lives into making sure
you have the opportunity to
succeed at an institution such
as the University of Michigan
and they would do anything
to make sure that is a reality.
Don’t let their investment go to
waste and remember that even
on her dorkiest day, your mom
is still cool!
Modern Reading: Humanism vs Algorithm
Alexander Satola can be reached at
apsatola@umich.edu.
HANNAH MYERS | CONTACT HANNAH AT HSMYERS@UMICH.EDU
The next time you
find yourself in a
bookstore, take
the opportunity
to slow down and
see what’s there.
ALEXANDER SATOLA | COLUMN
E
ach
week,
University
of Michigan Business
students enrolled in the
class Business and
Leaders: The Positive
Differences
are
required to attend
an evening event to
learn from visiting
industry
leaders
and
experts.
Last
Wednesday, students
congregated in the
Hill Auditorium to
see
Neri
Oxman’s
lecture, “The Krebs
Cycle of Creativity.” Oxman
is an architect, designer and
associate
professor
at
the
Massachusetts
Institute
of
Technology. Her work has been
showcased at world-renowned
institutions
such
as
the
Museum of Modern Art and the
Smithsonian Design Museum.
As I waited for the lecture to
start, looking at the stage where
three big screens had been set
up with moving black and white
images, I wasn’t sure what to
expect. Her photo, which had
been posted around the Ross
School of Business along with
the lecture details, cut her as
an intimidating figure — her
makeup perfectly applied and
her hair styled in that masterful
“I didn’t try but it still looks
great” kind of way I myself have
never been able to accomplish.
She smolders at the camera in
a way that exudes confidence. I
was expecting her to be like all
the other speakers that business
school people love: suave and
charming, with enough humor
to offset any possible criticism
about being too dry.
However, when she walked
on stage after an enthusiastic
introduction by Business School
Dean Scott DeRue, she was so
unlike the image I had painted
in my head that I had a hard
time reconciling the Oxman I
had seen in the posters with
the woman on stage. She spoke
to the audience like she was
entertaining
old
friends
in
her living room rather than
giving a lecture to thousands of
strangers (many of whom were
probably snobby intellectuals),
and her warmth was clearly
visible when she affectionately
acknowledged the students who
had attended her Q&A session
earlier in the day.
The lecture was fascinating.
She spoke about the work she
does at the MIT Media Lab and
introduced a process she calls
the Krebs Cycle of creativity.
She
explained
how
she
and
her
students
combine
biology,
fashion,
architecture,
design
and more in order to
spawn fantastic and
almost otherworldly
creations
based
in
both the real world
and the imagination.
She
spoke
of
the
importance of using
the word “and” rather than
“or” — of realizing instead of
arguing about what discipline or
invention is more important than
the other, it’s more productive to
engage with both and recognize
the
contributions
that
each
brings to the world. Oxman
also spoke about some of the
many projects she’s worked on,
including creating a structure
for 6,500 silkworms to use as
a base for their silk production
and putting half a million bees
into an artificial urban habitat.
Despite the obvious genius
that exuded from her and her
passion for difficult, intricate
work,
Oxman
maintained
the same level of humor and
relatability
with
which
she
started the lecture off as she
delved deeper into the intricacies
of her work. She told everyone to
not use their phones or laptops,
laughingly saying, “It pisses
me off.” She asked questions of
the audience, teasing them like
she would a close friend when
no one knew the answer (“This
is rudimentary information!”).
While she did have carefully
prepared slides, she made it clear
she had no intention of following
any strict plan and simply let
her
enthusiasm
direct
her
path. During the Q&A session
that followed her lecture, she
sat down on the stage with
crisscrossed legs and listened
intently to the questions that
audience members asked. And,
her parting words to an audience
filled with Business students
when asked how students can be
like her and produce powerful,
creative
work?
“Don’t
do
budgets.”
Oxman’s
lecture
was
profoundly organic and intimate
in the best way possible —
though I know that some of my
peers, who are used to buttoned-
down men giving lectures (while
throwing
in
the
occasional
obligatory joke, of course) were
taken aback by her eccentricity.
The almost uncomfortably casual
way in which she presented her
lecture was a direct contrast
to the perfect image of being
professional but affable that so
many professors believe they
have to exude when they present.
Oxman
was
unapologetically
unpolished. She stuttered and
punctuated her statements with
laughs and “ums” and “uhs,”
and she paced and waved her
hands around in a way that
some would probably criticize
as being too distracting. All of
this only added to her charisma
and charm; her behavior showed
she doesn’t care about proper
presentation decorum and her
paramount focus was to show
off her work on her own terms.
This kind of candor made her
lecture much more effective
than any carefully timed jokes
and seamless transition between
slides.
To be completely honest, I
didn’t understand much of what
she spoke about, and I know that
was the case for many people
in her audience. Despite this,
I found what I did understand
incredible, and as I left, I was
struck by how, for perhaps
the first time ever, I actually
enjoyed a science lecture. It was
amazing to see an obviously
brilliant,
incredibly
talented
woman toss away the stuffy
presentation guidelines set by
professionals who believe they
have to always present the best
version of themselves in order
to appeal to their audience. And
while it’s true that appearance
means everything in some cases,
I prefer Oxman’s wonderfully
disjointed
and
invigorating
method of lecturing.
Neri Oxman’s electric stage presence
Oxman was
unapologetically
unpolished.
KRYSTAL HUR | COLUMN
KRYSTAL
HUR
Abbie Berringer can be reached at
abbierbe@umich.edu.
Krystal Hur can be reached at
kryshur@umich.edu.
ALEXANDER
SATOLA
ABBIE
BERRINGER