It’s ‘Complificated’

Why the living is no longer easy

It has to be one of the greatest ironies. That our computers constantly ask us to prove we’re human (I think the comments page here initially requests such validation). And we dutifully oblige. By ticking the squares that contain American fire hydrants (how come fire hydrants became so crucial in the great Human v Robot showdown?). Granted, sometimes it’s pedestrian crossings. Or buses. All featured in grainy, desaturated photographs that look like they’ve been shot by a trainspotter type touring Arkansas in the 80s. Maybe that’s intentional. Maybe this is the very thing that outwits a bot. But as far as progress goes, why am I pondering if the post of a traffic light still counts as a traffic light when I’ve got a hundred other jobs to do?

Nothing is simple anymore. Parking. Now that’s really tricky. In order to slot your Subaru into a space in a different location, you’ll doubtless need to download yet another app - RinGo, DinGo, PinGo or PonGo. I call all this the ‘Complification of Modern life’. Online shopping is full of such nonsense. When I’m considering which tulip bulbs to buy, why do I need to know that Sharon in Cleethorpes has just bought a peace lily? Am I supposed to punch the air and say ‘Let’s hear it for Sharon. Give peace a chance’. Or do they really think Sharon’s purchasing prowess is going to pressure me into buying my Amazing Parrot tulips forthwith?

And why, once you’ve made a purchase, do you get bombarded with ideas for the very same thing you’ve just bought? If I’ve shelled out for a duvet, what I might want to buy next is a lemon squeezer. Or a trampoline. What I’m highly unlikely to want is another bloody duvet. Sure, I understand that whole ‘people who bought this duvet also bought these pillows’ thing. But why stop there? Why not tell us about their other recent retail combos; ‘people who bought this spanner also bought a negligee’?

In the ‘complification’ of life, we have over-created, over-styled, overreached and over-burdened our lives in the quest to over-connect, over-accumulate and, here’s the really stupid part, make life easier. What a joke. Not only is so much of modern life ridiculously convoluted, most of us have no real understanding of both the intricacies and massive scale of systems that run, say, automated supply chains (which doubtless incorporate cheap labour too). We rarely imagine the millions - and it is in the millions - of shipping containers that are currently traversing the oceans. And they’re not all crammed with life-saving equipment. Rather a plethora of stuff that enables Celia from Staines to buy a cheap brolly (by the way, she also bought wellingtons).

We don’t really consider, as we look at yet another cute video of a puppy, the sprawling server farms that are required to contain and preserve all that data. The power that’s needed to run them. To cool them. In general, we’ve become so addicted to immediate results and instant gratification, we’re in danger of not thinking very deeply about very much at all. Because in the main, the computer says 'yes'. And our short term desires are fulfilled. Unless, of course, one fails the fire hydrant test.

We’re in danger of not thinking very deeply about very much at all.

It's when I’m travelling that I really notice ‘complifcation’ most, especially on arriving at a hotel. Tired and often only staying for a short while, I have neither the time nor inclination to take the half-day training seminar that is truly required if you are to operate the room’s lights, TV or shower successfully. Once, in a Buenos Aires establishment, I couldn’t fathom how to close the curtains. Tried everything. In the end I attempted to do it manually and broke them. I broke curtains. You might say this is style over substance, but I believe true style is all about simplicity.

It should also be about longevity. Obsolescence is the shadow that haunts so much of what we buy. My parents naturally gravitated towards sustainable decisions without realising it. They repaired much of what they owned with parts they could still get hold of years after the item was made. Their bathroom didn’t change for 40 years. They never once said, ‘These taps still work fine but I would like ones that sprinkle in a different way’. We all go on about sustainability, but in truth, most of us buy too much that’s deemed disposable too soon.

The very essence of ‘complification’ was apparent when recently, I was last at Toronto airport. Fancying a hot beverage, we went to the restaurant by the gate. Every table had touchscreen menus bolted on, and you paid by tapping your card on another piece of kit, also bolted to the table. Very little human interaction was required. It felt more like ordering tea in the Space Station. Tasted like it too. At that moment, I longed for the days of cafés furnished with old Formica tables, where a steaming brew was brought to you by a lady called Madge who addressed everyone as ‘love’. And no-one was offended.