Originally April 29, 2025.

I'm writing this newsletter edition from what I can only describe as an "Instagram coffee shop."

It's a beautiful, warm day here in the East Village. I've been wandering the streets of my new home, exploring various neighborhoods while finding a place to satiate my caffeine fix and think. I found the closest coffee shop that had wifi and a table where I could post up. However, as I settled in and took in my surroundings, something struck me about the space. I began pondering how peculiar it is that introducing algorithmic feeds into our lives has impacted our culture more than we realize.

The walls are adorned with obligatory neon signage with cheeky phrases. My iced coffee is presented in a Capri Sun-esque pouch with a straw rather than a simple glass. There are actual swings you can sit on instead of chairs. The barista even asked if she could photograph me for their Instagram story. This entire physical space isn't designed primarily for comfort or conversation… it's optimized to be shared digitally. And this isn't a one-off observation. I've had similar thoughts in various places across the globe. These spaces, like coffee shops, feel eerily similar regardless of which country or city you find yourself in. It got me thinking: has the physical world started to feel like it was designed by (or for) the same algorithm?

What we're witnessing is a great flattening of culture, driven by the feedback loops of popularity that recommendation algorithms create. When I use the term “flattening,” I mean a loss of local nuance, originality, and diversity - where everything starts to look, sound, and feel the same. To borrow a concept from biology, there seems to be a "convergent evolution" happening in culture: across almost every domain, different people and businesses are independently arriving at identical styles because they're being nudged there through the same algorithmic incentives. The result is a rise of homogenized aesthetics - from these trendy Instagram-ready cafes to template-like Airbnb interiors to the way we speak (increasingly inundated with references from the same viral TikTok sounds).

At the risk of anthropomorphizing, the algorithm has become a curator and collective taste-maker. When social media platforms first launched, people were encouraged to promote their individuality online. Content had a wide range of diversity - not to say that you can't find diverse content nowadays, but if you only followed your 20 closest friends back on Instagram in 2013, there was less of a pressure to replicate trends or other creators' "successes". As these platforms matured and began to capitalize on their immense power to monetize, they implemented stronger recommendation algorithms which rose to certain aesthetics performing better than others. Posts that "performed" well and were subsequently pushed to more users created a feedback loop of visual conformity. What began as personal expression gradually transformed into a competition for visibility within parameters defined by an invisible digital curator.

Businesses noticed what was getting attention online and redesigned their physical spaces accordingly. In the Attention Economy, being Instagrammable is practically a requirement. This creates a reinforcing cycle: algorithm promotes certain aesthetic → businesses adopt that aesthetic → people photograph those businesses → algorithm promotes those photos... and the cycle continues. This dynamic creates a weird paradox: spaces designed to appear unique and "discovery-worthy" end up being oddly similar to each other. The quest for distinctiveness leads to sameness.

To me, this isn't just about aesthetics anymore either - it's about the loss of genuine discovery. The algorithm doesn't optimize for what might serendipitously surprise you; it optimizes for what has already proven popular with others like you. The result is a narrowing of experience, a cultural feedback loop that leaves less room for surprise and the unexpected. We're all listening to the same songs on Spotify, flocking to the same "hidden" gems while traveling, and posting the same stylized pictures from our kitschy Airbnbs.

As someone who creates content online, I've also begun to feel this pressure in a different way. The pressure to perform is inherently driven by the pressure to appease the algorithm. For creators, it's easy to find yourself unconsciously drifting toward safer, proven formulas rather than taking creative risks. As I venture deeper into my creative journey, I'm trying to hold this tension consciously. I aim to understand the rules of the game while not letting them dictate every decision I make.

While we can't opt out entirely of this reality, we can be more conscious and mindful of how these systems shape our preferences, our spaces, and our culture. I probably sound like a broken record by now, but to combat these implicit structures, intentionality is integral. When we move through this ever changing world, let's reflect on how we can create more room for genuine serendipity in our increasingly curated lives. What small actions could we take to remember the magic of stumbling on something wonderful that no algorithm could have predicted you'd love? How can we design our physical and digital environments to encourage true discovery, rather than just the illusion of it?

I believe there's still immense value in the unfiltered, the unexpected, and the things you can't predict or plan for. Some of the most meaningful moments in my life have come from chance encounters, random discoveries, and experiences I never would have sought out based on my existing preferences. These are the kind of experiences that remind us we're more than data points to be optimized. Let's challenge ourselves to seek them out together.