Those little videos.

What’s the algorithm giving you these days? I went through a steak phase. Lot of men, in outdoor spaces, talking about meat, throwing it on grills, being men. There’ve been some golf phases. There was a Harry Styles period. A Whitney Houston one. Lot of 50 cent. Joe Rogan. So much Joe Rogan. Joe Rogan talking about fighting, talking about pyramids, talking to podcast guests about other podcast guests. Spates of Ben Shaprio, Jordan Peterson owning teenage college students, George Galloway yelling about Iraq with a backing track.

Is this healthy? Do I care? No. Wrap me up, dunk me in the algorithm and insert your creeping authoritarianism into me please.

YouTube shorts has ended up being my go to. Can’t remember when it started. When did we start scrolling through minute long videos, chosen for us by a robot? Five years ago? Three months ago? I’ve no clue. It’s like asking an alcoholic when their drinking got out of hand. They might have an idea, but any answer will be a guess, really. It just happened and now it’s another place we go to, to hand over our brains.

On what basis are the videos selected for me? Is it purely based on how long I watch them for? Whether I look at the comments? Or does the robot know more about me? Has it decided that a man of my race, age and gender wants steak, golf and libertarians? 

Ladies, are you bombarded with endless Joe Rogan? Or someone else? Brene Brown probably. Or Dr. Phil. When I glance over at my common law wife’s device I never see Rogan. I see cakes, knitting, drunk women running into glass doors.

What are we looking for? It can’t be entertainment. Entertained people have a look on their faces and I know that it’s not the one on mine when I see thirty seconds from a Connor McGregor press conference.

I had a friend who fell into a hole and never came out. He’s still there now. Lost his job, his family, his house. Last I heard he’d found a socket somewhere, plugged in and just kept on scrolling. Says he wants to start smoking meats but can never bring himself to climb out of the feed. 

If the videos I’m getting are solely because I’m a man then what does that say for men? If we wanted to feed our man-ness we used to have to watch a whole action film. We’d get the explosions, the fights, the sex but we’d have to take it with a dose of plot, a little bit of romance. Now, if we can’t help but dip into the hole, then it’s given to us whether we want it or not - crash, bang, wallop, what a video. It’s all knock out punches and laughing bullies with a little bit of golf on the side.

Watch out for the hole. The hole will be the death of us. Snippets of opinions, unchecked facts, one half of one per cent of an argument. No time to consider anything. Onto the next one. But it all sloshes around, seeps into our own biases until we find ourselves at the Christmas dinner table passionately making a point about the American constitution.

Will I give it up? No. Not yet. Because I’m arrogant. I think I can resist it, I think it’s not harming me. And as I slowly show a greater interest into MMA, slowly start turning my house into a podcast studio, I maintain that I’m still me. Still the same man I ever was, bandana on my head, drinking protein shakes, waiting for Q to reveal all.