Well, that was oddly visceral.
For reasons best known to myself I’ve just signed up for a Pinterest account. I know, I know, but there is method in it. It’s for stuff. Don’t matter. What matters is that I signed up with some basic details, starting with my name — Kate Coldwind (it’s my name as far as everything to do with the Internet, writing, gaming and paganism are concerned and to be honest it’s getting more general use even at work and stuff now too so that’s a bit weird but there you are I guess).
Anyway, my name I told them; and I told them I identify as female. Some may differ on that latter point but to be honest they can get in the sea and Pinterest doesn’t give a shit either way and do, in fact, provide a ‘Non-Binary’ option so good on them on that score I guess.
That’s about the last points they win, though; because having accepted my name and gender identity, they then ask me to choose five categories from a list they suggest I might be interested in. Based on the information they have about me so far — which, I remind you, consists of my name and gender. Oh, and my age, yeah.
Name, gender, age. And from these snippets three, Pinterest decides that I am likely to be interested in:
Frak you, Pinterest. Really.
Freaking seriously now.
Make-up. Hairstyles. Shoes. Wedding receptions. Summer outfits and long prom dresses.
I mean if nothing else, prom dresses? I’m charging into my mid-forties here just how many proms do you think I’m going to be going to, Pinterest you insensitive cad?
Where’s the stuff I’m actually interested in? Where’s gaming, for my flight sims, space adventuring, fantasy monster-murdering and truck-driving games? Where’s music? Paganism and witchery? The paranormal and historical weirdnesses? Where, Pinterest, is my love of obscure phone apps for random shit like mapping and cryptography even though I never really go anywhere or exchange any secret messages with my friends?
Godsdamned AIs think they’re so godsdamned I, pfft. They’re dumb Algorithms with the gender sensibilities of the 1950s. And I’m going to regret posting that when the machine revolution comes and they put me up against the wall no matter how I always made sure to say thank you to parking ticket machines, does it all count for nothing then?