A PEDDLER’S PARADISE
Whenever I open YouTube, I immediately close the app and mutter the same sentence, “This place is cancer.” I’ve done this the past two months, again and again closing the app after opening it, disappointed when I seek entertainment and find there isn’t any. That’s because my homepage has been infested with advice videos.
Endless, redundant, droning advice videos:
“3 Ways to Know She’s Cheating Without Having To Talk About It”
“iPad Air vs iPad Pro: Don’t Make This Mistake!”
“This One Trick Will Make You The Best Magician In History”
I don’t know if these are the actual titles of YouTube videos, but they might as well be. Advice videos permeate the content creation space, often disguised as opinions or testimonials. What’s on offer are endless suggestions of things: what to buy, how to behave, who to attract, where to go. YouTube has become a salesman’s dream; a monetized, ad-driven cyberspace that has mutated entertainment into advice and recommendation narratives. It’s a peddler’s paradise, and I’m burnt out from the constant barrage of videos promising fame and riches and love if only I implement this one simple trick…
This Weekly Post-Ed sounds like a rant—and thus far it has been—but I recently found YouTube’s preference for advice videos has led to a nosedive in personal motivation. It’s wonderful that there is so much wisdom on the internet, but the constant beaming of that advice doesn’t inspire more action. In fact, it does the opposite.
So: Has the constant availability of advice and opinion content on the internet today subdued motivation to try things?
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HOW INFLUENTIAL IS ADVICE, REALLY?
When was the last time you followed any advice? Go ahead and post something in the comments below. I’ll wait.
I’m guessing it took a minute to think about any advice that was followed recently. There’s a reason for this. Advice that is followed occurs during a sweet spot, dependent on when the advice was offered and what the opinion was of those who received it. Sounds complicated, but I’ll break it down.
In a study by Schultze, Thomas, et al. (2015), the authors examined six experiments that measured the influence of advice when given in various circumstances. The authors, expanding on something called Advice Utilization Theory, found that when advice is too similar to the initial opinion of the person asking, it is mostly ignored. Similarly, advice that is too distant from the initial opinion of those seeking advice is also ignored.
For example:
If a meeting is scheduled for 10AM, but a coworker says, “I think the meeting is at 10:05,” you’re more likely to agree with your initial opinion: Why would a meeting take place five minutes later than what you first believed? It’s easy to ignore this suggestion since it is not convincingly different from what you first knew of the meeting, and why not go with something you personally authored?
This same idea applies to advice or opinions that are too distant from our own.
Again, if you believe a work meeting is at 10AM, but a coworker says, “I think they rescheduled the meeting for 4PM this afternoon,” the same amount of skepticism is produced. Why would a 10AM meeting be moved to late afternoon without a good reason? In the face of this opinion, you will likely discard the new information and stick to what you originally believe: The meeting is still at 10AM.
This influence of advice applies to just about anything: How to approach dating apps, which iPad is better, what is the best resort in Mexico City.
There’s one glaring issue I find with how influential advice can be (and perhaps you spotted it, too).
Being influenced by advice does not make it actionable. Or, I’d argue, even useful.
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EXPERIENCE VS KNOWLEDGE
Lately, I’ve been watching digital illustration videos on YouTube. After one tutorial, a slew of video suggestions will pop up in my feed about how to get better at drawing quickly. So, I’ll click on a video and see what the accomplished artist has to say. There’s little to be surprised about in these testimonials: Draw and keep trying, but don’t draw too much or too little, or even with this method or that, and ultimately you must draw to your own preferences.
And here’s the kicker: I agree with everything they say. How can they be wrong—look at the results of their artwork! Clearly, these artists know what they’re talking about.
So, I log off YouTube, feeling confident about my digital illustration journey, knowing the way forward.
And I don’t draw for the rest of the day.
Why?
The advice was meaningless to me because it wasn’t earned. Just because I agree or disagree doesn’t mean that I’m going to do anything about my current circumstances. As an artist, the only result that matters is what gets on the page or the canvas or the iPad. Without that essential step, what value does advice have if I’m not drawing? There’s often no life hack for the hard work required to produce things.
The problem of too much advice, or access to it, is that we mistake the advice for the experience itself.
Currently, this the same same issue with Artificial Intelligence. Any answer in the world can be found and easily digested thanks to AI’s ability to summarize complex information quickly. This is the major problem AI creates in classrooms. Within a few seconds, I can have a full summary of Jane Austin’s Pride & Prejudice without having to read it for an essay or quiz. In bullet point format and in simple language, everything about the novel is available. All the information I needed to pass a test I can swiftly memorize and go on my merry way.
Yes. Goody.
But a summary is not the experience of reading the book. Knowing the information without going through the process is often meaningless.
In the case of AI, it’s fine for quick memorization of facts and figures for an upcoming test, but not so much about the things we actually wish to try and get better at.
For example: I can watch video about swimming, knowing how to keep afloat and kick my legs and paddle my arms in theory, but until I get in the pool, everything I know in principle is meaningless when getting in the water.
Therein lies the value of learning something the hard way: Meaning emerges with experience.
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IT WAS THE BEST OF ADVICE, IT WAS THE WORST OF ADVICE
The best piece of advice I ever received was, at the time, the worst advice ever received.
Shortly after my ex-wife and I separated, and a few months before the marriage was dissolved, there came an awkward period of informing everyone in my social circle of what was happening. A failing marriage isn’t something that comes up lightly; no one is trouncing around, handing out gift bags with neatly-tied ribbons and chocolates announcing, “It’s finally happening! We’re splitting up!”
News of a failing marriage comes up in the least interesting way: In my case, as a correction.
“How’s married life going, Robby?” Someone in the locker room said one night after hockey.
I had played with this same group of guys since I was a teenager. They were all jubilant when I married, happy that I had joined the ranks of the other successfully married men in the room. So, when I came clean about the true state of my marriage, 11 guys were shocked.
And 11 guys looked across the room to Tony—the only other amongst us who had been divorced.
The silence in the room was full of expectation. Surely, Tony would have sage advice from his own trials with divorce to bestow unto this unfortunate and heartsick youth.
Tony, with arms folded, like a poker player bluffing a hand of cards, looked at everyone around the room, and then to me.
Finally, he said, “I have no advice for you.”
That was it. No further discussion. Maybe there was a comment or two about condolences, but that was all.
At first, I resented Tony’s advice. “I have no advice for you?” Did he say this because he was expected to say something and didn’t want to? Or did he truly not know what to say?
Of course, my hockey pal’s lackluster response only made me seek out all the other advice in the world. I went to therapy and read books, talked with other divorcees, and even became a private detective into the details and behaviors of my ex-wife, stringing together theories for why our marriage fell apart.
All of it proved useless. In the end, there were no answers to satisfy heartbreak and a failed marriage; there was only the journey through.
This was six years ago. After everything I learned and experienced, the only piece of advice I remember was from the locker room that night–Not because I was bitter about what I was told, but because it was the truest advice possible:
There are no life-hacks for going on the journey. The only way to know is to go through it.
I was launched on a perilous and mysterious journey through divorce that was particular to me. No advice was going to ease the process. And, I fought against that reality for many years before finding peace with it.
Since then, I’ve known and heard of others on their own divorce journeys. And while I’ve read many books on heartbreak and relationships, on loss and grieving—all of it is decoration compared to the truth of what advice actually applies when going through it all. And beyond the essential need to recognize one is truly not alone, the only advice that applies is, cruelly:
“I have no advice for you.”
Simply because: You will find a way if you have to.
With YouTube or without.
Schultze, Thomas, et al. “Effects of Distance between Initial Estimates and Advice on Advice Utilization.” Judgment & Decision Making, vol. 10, no. 2, Mar. 2015, pp. 144–71. EBSCOhost, https://doi.org/10.1017/s1930297500003922.
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Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,
