Can YouTube Decide your Hobbies?
Maybe the recommendations algorithm is more powerful than we think.
It’s 9:30pm on a Thursday night. Rain patters gently against the windows. The living room is notably full of objects which are more than worthy of my attention. Yet they are neglected, covered in a film of dust. A shelf full of books. A laptop with access to any number of TV shows and films. A stack of magazines and newspapers. A pair of dumbbells. And yet, I lay in a state of horizontal catatonia on the sofa, laser-focused on the most interesting object in existence.
My eyes are transfixed to YouTube on my phone, which is perched precariously on my lap, threatening once again to topple forwards onto my stomach, before sliding and crashing onto the floor. It has already done so twice, and both times I observed in paralysis, as if from afar, able to do nought but grunt disapprovingly as it smacked on the hardwood, risking a spider-web crack across the screen.
We are 90 minutes into this sloth-like session, driven by the powerful YouTube recommendations algorithm, masterful in its suggestion of the next video. I am but a helpless passenger, having watched 7 consecutive videos on mixed-martial arts. The prior 5 videos were all stand-up comedy. Soon, it will devolve into the mindless hellscape of consumption known as YouTube Shorts. I proceed to consume dutifully. My pinky finger, upon which the phone is now resting, goes completely numb as I watch clip after clip of a man lambasting his podcast guests on their reckless personal finance habits. A weak-willed subject is easy prey for this absurdly addictive short-content format. To make matters worse, it has robbed me of some gleeful righteousness. I would once enthusiastically regale conversational partners on the mindlessness of consuming 30-second TikToks, as they politely feign interest and plan an escape. Now I hesitate in the knowledge that my house is made of smartphone gorilla glass.
Mixed-martial arts. Stand-up comedy. Personal finance. Until somewhat recently, none of these things were vaguely an interest. In fact, I viewed two out of the three in a decidedly negative light.
The Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) is a divisive concept. In a nutshell, two combatants in an octagonal cage are at liberty to use fists, elbows, knees and legs to separate their adversary from consciousness. A fighter can also deploy Brazilian jiujitsu to constrict another fighter anaconda-style, or to twist their opponent’s bodies in agonising fashion, forcing them to concede. Critics have labelled it as human cockfighting. It is difficult to argue otherwise. What is indisputable is that it is an entirely legal activity where it operates. It is also highly profitable, worth $12.1 billion US dollars, and has gained a major fandom worldwide. Moreover, every fighter is participating by choice. Some have trained for decades to engage in their passion at the highest level, cognisant of the risk of broken bones and CTE.
So why is the UFC now interesting? I, for one, would not dream of stepping into a cage. Not too long ago, I recall the omniscient YouTube suggesting a highlights reel of it on the homepage. In a bout of curiosity, I clicked. It was mildly sickening viewing. But I was intrigued. Henceforth, YouTube would have factored in my activity, and suddenly it was suggesting UFC videos persistently. I watched further and I felt the symphony of violence normalise in my brain. Soon I was able to recognise specific fighters, and remember their unique skillsets as well as their historical rivalries. I now find myself aware of upcoming fights and checking overnight results.
Stand-up comedy is a similar story. The Melbourne International Comedy Festival is a major annual event in my hometown. In the event that I was dragged like a grumpy teenager to a comedy gig, I would often come away feeling aggrieved that the evening was lost to some hack on stage trying in vain to draw a laugh about their wife’s hormones. Was I a cheerless bore? Most likely. But now, thanks to YouTube, stand-up comedy is thoroughly enjoyable. Many a spare half-hour has now been spent watching the likes of the late Richard Prior, widely regarded as comedy royalty. Coincidentally, a friend introduced me to another comedian, Stavros Halkias. To watch a compilation of his hilarious crowd-work now poses a serious risk of wetting myself. The risk is doubled by YouTube’s capacity to leave me rooted in a state of akinetic stupor, reluctant to tear my eyes away and lumber to the bathroom.
YouTube, like the other social media behemoths, has finely tuned its algorithm over the years to reach the point where it has mastered the art of exploiting our attention. The results of this are staggering. The world watches more than 1 billion hours of YouTube per day. The average person watches 17 hours of online video per week. It also boasts total dominance of the online-video platform market share, and statistics are not required to prove this point. I merely ask you to recall the last time you used Vimeo, its closest like-for-like competitor.
Perhaps the most telling indication of YouTube’s power comes from its former Chief Product Officer (now Managing Director), Neal Mohan, who back in 2018 stated that 70 percent of viewing time on YouTube is driven by its recommendation engines. Five years later, it would be reasonable to deduce this number is higher, with the algorithm even stronger. At a stretch, this means that minimum 7 out of 10 videos you watch are not really decided by you.
Aside from challenging our free will, we are well aware of wider social media’s damaging impact on mental health. But are we aware of its influence, in a more neutral sense? How does it impact the hobbies on which we spend our time, the news stories and events which take our attention, even the people we know personally, whom we choose to like and dislike?
There is an argument that in my personal case, I was already inherently receptive to mixed-martial arts and stand-up comedy, and YouTube merely lifted the lid. But this seems inaccurate. It took a slew of videos on both topics, a wilful insistence on the algorithm’s behalf, for a feeling of interest to gain a foothold. I did not enjoy these videos straight away. So why choose to watch them? Because I was a dopamine hamster, exhausted on the wheel but loathe to crawl off.
There is a poignant analogy from historian Timothy Snyder, regarding social media. Homer’s epic Ancient Greek poem, The Odyssey, speaks of the utterly irresistible Sirens, luring sailors to their demise. What is often overlooked is that Sirens were able to sing to each sailor specifically about themselves. YouTube, and other sophisticated social media platforms, are today’s equivalent, dangerously capable of luring us to jump into their own perils (or hobbies) with their highly-personalised recommendations. Perhaps, they can now elect the perils into which we jump.
***