Step(ford)

Back in what blokes of a certain age are pleased to call 'the day' (an epoch defined by football supporter scarfs being made of natural fibres) ordinary people sought their affirmation from workmates, friends or acquaintances.  The famous, of course, got their affirmation from their fans in terms of record sales, ticket sales or, if you were not famous but toiled at the typewriter-face, book sales.  The obscure sought their affirmation in poetry prizes.  But for the 'ordinary' man, it was enough to be esteemed in the club house, the pub or your bell-ringing chapter.

The proliferation of media brought the democratisation of celebrity.  In particular, the digital revolution made it easier, quicker and cheaper to publish magazines, and so the rise of the lads mag allowed soap starlets to appear as almost unrecognisably glamorous versions of themselves (that is, on a beach nearly naked, as opposed to behind a TV soap set bar scowling), while reality shows turned 'normal' people into celebrities.

Society adapted by introducing new classes of celebrities, C, D, DD, E and so on.

As soon as Steve Jobs unveiled the iPhone, the race was on to totally democratise if not celebrity, then at least the ability to publish your image.  Blogs were alredy a thing of course, but now thanks to the iPhone enabled rise of platforms like Faceache, Instatwat and Twutter, you too could publish a picture of you in your pants on a beach, instead of your normal pose of scowling at the regulars behind a bar.

Most importantly, the world could swipe right to show their approval.  Instant affirmation.

(There is also the down-side of putting your pants above the parapet; negative reaction.  'No publicity is bad publicity' has morphed, in the information age, into 'Haters gotta hate' and then 'Haters back off' as a coping strategy for those who are offended that anyone might leave a negative comment about the photograph of them on a beach in their pants, particularly a comment that includes the term 'beached').

So the digitally connected and needy (in a Ven diagram, these circles would probably overlap more than is actually healthy) have a way of affirming not just their beach-pant selfie, but their food choices, their fashion choices and their hateful views.

(Also, see the rather excellent episode of 'Black Mirror' (the 'Twilight Zone' for the digital age) where your social status, as determined by the 'likes' you get in your interactions with others in everyday life, determines your place in society.  Your quality of life determined by having to be pleasant to others?  If that's not a dystopia for misanthropes, what is?).

Essentially, digital approval has allowed people to outsource their affirmation.  What used to be a role performed locally in the club house, pub or bedroom has moved offshore.

So far, so familiar.

Those of us who have, arguably, grown up reading science fiction and fantasy (a very easy bunch of people to spot, they are all bitter as Hell at the success and popularity of 'Game of Thrones', as in their youth an affection for, and ability to talk fluently about, fantasy was a more reliable way to ensure a lasting state of chastity than entering a secure religious community) have long been aware that a Robot Uprising is not only highly likely but, having tried to buy crisps from a self service check out, has already bloody started.  The real threat from robots is taking our jobs, something car-assembly line workers found out about twenty years ago and supermarket check out staff are finding out now.  If Ned Ludd were alive today, he'd buy a (hand-made) cricket bat and be off to Waitrose to show his disapproval with one over the pavilion style whacks to the crisp-denying bastard machines that have replaced the humans there.

The Fitbit has replaced the offshore affirmation industry, it has automated affirmation.  Sometime in the afternoon or evening, a slight buzzing on your wrist announces that you have walked 10,000 steps.

This is, apparently, cause for celebration, at least that is what your watch is telling you.  That's right, your watch is telling you that you can feel smug and happy about this achievement.

How does it feel to have your mood dictated by a watch?  Let's just hope that the next upgrade doesn't include a malice option whereby any failure to reach the magic 10,000 steps results in a chide.  Or worse.  These watches link to your smartphone, conveniently buzzing when you get a text message, usually a second or two after your 'phone bleeps, bongs or buzzes depending on your preference.  What's to stop the watch wresting (or even wristing) control of your 'phone and texting your friends and family informing them that you only trudged half of your allotted long march of the day, possibly beginning the text 'Not judging but...'.

The only time any machine should be able to make you feel happy is when you unbox it on Christmas morning.