Recovering from Algorithmic Poisoning

Being a techie millennial girl means that I have been exposed to the worst of the worst algorithmic poisoning ever. It’s only now, after I’ve withdrawn from all poisonous platforms I was on, that I’m realizing the depth of how much recommendation algorithms both on social media and other platforms (e.g. GitHub) have managed to break my psyche, my thought processes, hijacked my interests and natural desire for connection, and sank me into a terrifying spiral. It’s a known story. So, instead of focusing on the past and on the darkness those platforms led me to, I want to focus this post on the future, as an important part of recovering from an addiction (which this is) is to build a new life and new habits that make the old thing lose its power.

The feeling of loss is there, but the feeling that I’m gaining much more already is winning over the former. Social media sometimes does provide real connections and interesting sources of good information, but most of what it actually provides is empty or shallow at best. Even though my life “sounds quieter” right now, it feels richer, as real friendships have shown to me to stay regardless whether I am on these platforms or not, and good and valuable knowledge is always reachable through intentional means, using search engines, asking knowledgeable people, or even going to the public library.

Quitting gives you perspective. How much was I doing just to get the kick from feeling seen? It is terrifying how much platforms based on recommendation algorithms can hijack your daily life and make it serve the algorithms and platforms. When using them, it feels like you’re connecting, keeping up with your friends’ lives, getting the news, and it feels like your posts are somehow of personal or intellectual significance, but they barely are. It is the algorithm that decides what is important to you and what about you is important to others. The truth is that it’ll most likely rule against you and against the core of who you are, but presenting its cruel ruling as entertainment and a simulacrum of personal connection. It’ll subtly ask you to change how you live, how your public “persona” shows, etc., in exchange for… for what?

The answer to that last question seems so dark to me in this very moment that I’m not even writing it down here.

On a brighter side, it’s fascinating how much peace of mind I’ve gained from knowing that people who will read this blog are those who actively look for it, have actively subscribed to it via RSS, or maybe because I shared a post with them at some point where it was relevant to the conversation. It’s liberating to write knowing that, instead of a formless “audience,” there might be readers out there. Even if you guys are just a handful, you’d have arrived here because you decided to have a read. Additionally, not having any metrics on this blog helps even more to achieve the effect of writing just because I want to write.

The same goes for code. GitHub is perverse. It cosplays as a “productive platform,” when it isn’t: it distracts you with lots of useless features, it bombards you with lots of dopamine hit inducing blows and whistles, it tempts you with the idea that the network effect there will benefit you, but in the end that only works if you’re working with the programming tools and in the areas that are trendy at a specific moment. GitHub does have a recommendation algorithm and also subtly locks you into their “ways” on how to manage a project. Very much like Instagram exploits the body image issues us women deal with due to society,¹ GitHub does so by exploiting the insecurity of programmers who want to make a difference, but see themselves chasing trends.

Coming back to Sourcehut was like coming back to a home I should never have left. Leaving was a mistake that I made due to immaturity, lots of internalized mysogyny about me enjoying programming as a hobby, and also because some time later I landed a job where the team hosted their internal repos on GitHub, so I thought having everything in the same place was going to be a good move. That job lasted for just a couple of months. On Sourcehut you “lose” the fake discoverability promise GitHub makes, but you gain a highly technical platform where you can code because you want to code… in so much peace!

I have had also experience in some GitLab instances of projects I have contributed. I see the appeal of GitLab as “GitHub without most of the traps,” especially because my only experience with it has been through specific projects that use it and host their own instance. The likes and some social features are there and the commercial GitLab.com instance does look a bit too centered in trendy features, though. I don’t have direct experience with Gitea or Codeberg, but in any case seem similar to GitLab in their approach. If I’ve chosen Sourcehut it’s mainly because of it being explicitly opposed to any “social”-like features, now and in the future.

This leads me to the Fediverse. Although I know platforms like Mastodon are, by default, not using recommendation algorithms² and are much healthier than mainstream social media, I have this gnawing feeling that I would use it to fill the void left by those other platforms I have just left. Also, the recommendation algorithms aren’t the only dangerous things in mainstream social media: it’s the metrics, the frictionless short-burst ego-gratification, etc. If I wasn’t at the starting point of my detox and recovery, I’d give Fediverse platforms a chance, but being prudent and avoiding them altogether seems the way to go for me right now.

IRC is where I indulge myself. However IRC has a distinct nature that makes it very different to what we now call social media: IRC is real-time and you’re “just a nickname” on a server. There are no profiles to follow or be followed by, no posts to like, and no recommendations of channels or users. On IRC the only thing there is is a real-time conversation. It can be misused, of course, but keeping it out of my phone and having my client of choice installed on my PC instead seems to work fine for me.

Since I shut down all my accounts in the bad platforms, I’ve noticed how much less noisy my mind is becoming, as well as how I’ve retaken parts of my life that were suppressed or forgotten. I’ve reconnected with friends by texting directly… and also found out who were just “social media pals” who I interacted with because we were just there; those feel like people who randomly find themselves sharing a party and will neer meet again outside that specific context, while performing a social bond. I’ve felt bored, which did feel strange the first couple of days. Now I welcome it; sometimes sitting by the window bored with nothing to do, watching the rain fall while some music plays in the background, makes wonders to one’s mental health and sense of being. I’ve started learning Go, the programming language; I’ve made some time to study chess; I’ve restarted this blog, which feels much more authentically mine than my Substack attempt last summer. I’ve felt the joy of taking photos just because I feel a scene is beautiful, knowing I won’t share it with anyone or just some friends I’m sending it directly to.

I feel freer than ever and this isn’t an exaggeration. I’ve been feeling less under the scrutiny of the panopticon, which not only works vertically, but also horizontally: surveillance from above teaches everyone to watch closely over their peers too. I’m excited about the idea of just doing stuff without the performance this new modern internet has taught us to live by. Yes, sometimes it does feel lonely and it does feel like I’m isolating myself, missing out on “important” things… but, as I said above, I’ve quickly learned that that’s all an illusion. Real, significant stuff, transcends the immediacy, performance, and surveillance brought on by the poison of platforms that have made us slaves to recommendation algorithms.

I’m confident that this time I’m not looking back. My soul, my creative energy, my personal life and intimacy deserve to be guarded from all that poison. If I may dare to say, I do think everyone, including you, deserves the same thing.