In a typical tournament, you don’t score any extra points for winning with the fewest number of moves. Quickly isn’t the point.
We don’t use the same language or ideas with an in-law that we do with our bar buddies.
When the internet was young, people often chose to filter themselves online. We didn’t know who was on the other end of the pipe, and we knew it would be there forever. And typing feels more permanent and official than speaking…
Over time, the algorithms rewarded people who were guttural, hurtful, profane and, to use an overused and inefficient word, “authentic.” And so it flipped.
Now, social media is filled with amped-up rants that pretend to be unfiltered, and the standard for discourse is quickly eroding. There’s plenty of data to confirm that we’re spewing words and ideas that would never be tolerated in person, with friends.
Why should our standard for public behavior be lower than it is for the people we know?
Unfiltered doesn’t mean real. Because it’s our filters that make us who we are.
Frozen pizza changed the game for many pizzerias. If you couldn’t offer something better than what I had in my freezer, what do I need you for?
If the wedding photographer can’t deliver more magic than the phone in my guest’s pocket, no thanks.
Does working with your non-profit make me feel better than putting a dollar in the violin case of the busker down the street?
And if the local print shop can’t set type better than my Mac, I’ll move on.
So–is your copywriting, research, illustration or coding better than I can get from the AI on my desk?
Racing to the bottom is no fun. You might win.
It’s an odd term, worth a look.
We don’t notice that the tree we planted a few years ago thrives just a bit more each day. We don’t notice that the mail shows up when it’s supposed to, that our civilization persists in the face of chaos, and that the lights (usually) go on when we flip a switch.
Granted?
What would happen if we paid as much attention to these persistent delights as we pay to the annoying surprises that unfold each day?
The narrative of our time here becomes our lived experience. We’re the directors of this very long cinéma vérité documentary, deciding what gets focused on and what we skip over.
And it turns out that choosing our focus often leads to the plot changing as well.
And shiitake mushrooms, spaghetti squash, ginger and even packaged tofu?
In the 1960s, the culture changed, and so did the supermarket. Small markets with fifty or sixty kinds of fruits and vegetables transformed into supermarkets carrying hundreds of varieties. Cooking shows and cookbooks raced to teach home cooks about the new, interesting and exotic.
And Frieda Caplan showed up to orchestrate a connection between a desire for novelty and unknown international foods.
Frieda didn’t invent the kiwi. But she named it, told a story about it and brought it to the merchants who needed it. She saw that markets in flux often need narrators.
The metaphor is something we see all the time–when markets and culture change, there’s room for an agent of change to bring leverage and innovation to the world. The extraordinary thing about Frieda’s was the scale of it. One person, in the right place, the right moment, with the right attitude, transformed the diet of millions of people.
Is there any doubt that right now we’re seeing a similar shift in the culture all around us?
Go find a kiwi.
[You can see the documentary here.]
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