When I left Egypt in 1999, I was very excited about one thing above all else: the choices I would have when I got to New York.
That’s what getting out of Egypt represented in those days: choice. I was psyched at the prospect of seeing independent movies in the theater, the chance to read a book without any kind of censorship, the plethora of dating opportunities and the range of cuisine.
The world was my oyster as they say. And I promptly added salt and lemon to it, and wolfed it down.
Here’s the interesting thing about having more choice, which is the basic promise of advertising today: it doesn’t make you happy. In fact, it’s been proven to actually make you miserable.
This notion of choice being a bad thing is known as the Paradox of Choice, a theory originated by Barry Schwartz in a book of the same name, based on the work of psychologist Herb Simon, in the 1950s.
The basic tenets of this theory (rightly, I should call it a hypothesis since it’s far from universally accepted) is that consumers today face daunting psychological stress from the number of choices they have to make. As we gain knowledge about the world, the ramifications of making bad choices become more vivid and we’re better able to visualize the consequences of failure. This leads us to worry more and enjoy less.
Think about it. A mere 100 years ago, the chances of one living anywhere else besides the 100 or miles where they were born, were remote. All the issues one dealt with were local issues and choices were limited. Now, we make choices about where we live, what we do, what obstacles we encounter and what reality we choose to confront.
Not only that; with the advances in mass media, everyone’s business is now your business. If a war erupts between two obscure African tribes, you cannot help but empathize with their plight, which involves a psychological investment, an emotional weight and a series of decisions: do I write to my member of parliament and insist they take action or do I donate money to their cause or do I take an even more active role and organize a protest and express my point of view to the whole world?
Choices, choices, choices and not all of them are immediately important either.
Five brands of apple juice. Twenty-seven brands of cereal. Eighty-two brands of tea. Organic or non-organic? Farm grown or free range eggs?
Fair trade coffee or do I not care whether those Columbian farmers get paid for their labor?
Even the debate about price has devolved to ludicrous levels. After all, what good is a product that promises to save me 25p when I may have to spend ten thousand times that amount down the line, on therapy for anxiety?
Choice fails to satisfy on two levels: the one I touched on earlier is that it adds stress to our decision-making because a lot of people (whom Schwartz dubbed Maxmimizers) always feel pressured to make the best possible decision .even in relatively unimportant matters.
The second problem with choice is the inevitable increase in noise level that accompanies it. In the US, you can’t turn on your TV without a credit card commercial shouting you down; in the UK, it’s all about mobile phones, while in Cairo, detergents rule the waves. The pressure to be happy increases as the choices increase, and the rising voices that flog these choices only add to our stress and loneliness.
We live in an age of unparalleled isolation, as more and more people rely on media like TV and the Internet for human contact, instead of . well, making real human contact. We may want more choices, but what we all really need is people who talk to us, rather than talk at us.
Mohammed Nassar was kidnapped at birth and forced to work in advertising, in Cairo, New York and London. Today, his main concern is that archaeologists will one day stumble upon his desk, debate the value of his profession and judge him.
