Celia Walden

Online profilers are destroying my free will – with Scotch eggs. Illustration by Laura Laine

on how online proflers get it wrong;

Clump & Seal: fnally, a lightweight litter that doesn’t act lightweight!’ exults Amazon, in the ‘recommendations for Celia’ section on its home page. Hijacked for a nanosecond by the ad, I scan Clump & Seal’s claims of ‘superior odour protection’ and a testimonial about how great it is ‘for multiple cat owners’. I am not a cat owner, multiple or otherwise, which gives me a moment’s vindictive triumph. ‘You got it wrong!’ I picture myself jeering at the online profle-bots advancing in an unbroken battle-line over every inch of my virtual life. ‘Just as you got it wrong when you recommended Papa Steve’s No Junk Raw Protein Bars (I loathe peanut butter) and a ‘beach bag must pack’ novel called Movie Star, which I’ve never heard of but has, you assured me, been ‘frequently bought’ by those who enjoyed The Girl on the Train. Yes, I bought Paula Hawkins’ bestseller from you – and, yes, I read it. But who said I wanted more of the same?

In the many imaginary confrontations I have with my online profilers, I’m snarky enough to make them see sense. Talking slowly – because their pedestrian thought process is basically that of either a very stupid person or a child – I’ll explain to the consumer terrorists at iTunes how it is possible to love The Good Wife without ever being tempted by Suits. It all comes down to this messy little thing called ‘character’, made up of a jarring and often outright conflicting assortment of likes and dislikes built up over the course of a lifetime. Some are explainable by infuence or nostalgia; others down to personal taste and therefore unexplainable –which is obviously deeply upsetting for the statisticians stalking our virtual footprints. So when online clothing stores ofer up a revolting new outft with every new internet page you call up, or Ocado reminds you – just before you checkout – of all the things you bought in your last weekly shop (‘You sure you don’t want the Scotch eggs? You always get the Scotch eggs!’), they’re both dismissing and overriding these nuances. They’re saying, ‘I know you better than you know yourself.’

What’s infuriating is that they’re right just enough times to prove not only their relevancy but what lazy, predictable and small-minded individuals most of us can be goaded into being. ‘I’d better get the Scotch eggs,’ you say to yourself. ‘I always get the Scotch eggs. And maybe I can eat them while reading that new novel people like me tend to like, my enjoyment of both unimpaired by the nearby cat litter tray – thanks to Clump & Seal’s superior odour protection.’ And once our identities have been reduced to ft into the increasingly narrow box digital life promotes, the Daft Punk lover will never be allowed to fnd out what John Coltrane sounds like, and the Lars von Trier obsessive never have his load lightened by a chance Rob Reiner. Their sphere of influences is closed, right down to the people picked for them by online dating and friending sites – some of whom choose to defne themselves with a series of emojis alone: ‘I drink, I surf, I dance. I like Hawaiian holidays.’ It’s a life that’s both safe and convenient, I suppose, but I can think of better tombstone inscriptions.

In the many imaginary confrontations I have with my online proflers, I’m snarky enough to make them see sense