A few years ago I wrote about how, when planning my wedding, I’d signaled to the Pinterest app that I was interested in hairstyles and tablescapes, and I was suddenly flooded with suggestions for more of the same. Which was all well and fine until—whoops—I canceled the wedding and it seemed Pinterest pins would haunt me until the end of days. Pinterest wasn’t the only offender. All of social media wanted to recommend stuff that was no longer relevant, and the stench of this stale buffet of content lingered long after the non-event had ended.
So in this new era of artificial intelligence—when machines can perceive and understand the world, when a chatbot presents itself as uncannily human, when trillion-dollar tech companies use powerful AI systems to boost their ad revenue—surely those recommendation engines are getting smarter, too. Right?
Maybe not.
Recommendation engines are some of the earliest algorithms on the consumer web, and they use a variety of filtering techniques to try to surface the stuff you’ll most likely want to interact with—and in many cases, buy—online. When done well, they’re helpful. In the earliest days of photo sharing, like with Flickr, a simple algorithm made sure you saw the latest photos your friend had shared the next time you logged in. Now, advanced versions of those algorithms are aggressively deployed to keep you engaged and make their owners money.
More than three years after reporting on what Pinterest internally called its “miscarriage” problem, I’m sorry to say my Pinterest suggestions are still dismal. In a strange leap, Pinterest now has me pegged as a 60- to 70-year-old, silver fox of a woman who is seeking a stylish haircut. That and a sage green kitchen. Every day, like clockwork, I receive marketing emails from the social media company filled with photos suggesting I might enjoy cosplaying as a coastal grandmother.
I was seeking paint #inspo online at one point. But I’m long past the paint phase, which only underscores that some recommendation engines may be smart, but not temporal. They still don’t always know when the event has passed. Similarly, the suggestion that I might like to see “hairstyles for women over 60” is premature. (I’m a millennial.)
Pinterest has an explanation for these emails, which I’ll get to. But it’s important to note—so I’m not just singling out Pinterest, which over the past two years has instituted new leadership and put more resources into fine-tuning the product so people actually want to shop on it—that this happens on other platforms, too.
Take Threads, which is owned by Meta and collects much of the same user data that Facebook and Instagram do. Threads is by design a very different social app than Pinterest. It’s a scroll of mostly text updates, with an algorithmic “For You” tab and a “Following” tab. I actively open Threads every day; I don’t stumble into it, the way I do from Google Image Search to images on Pinterest. In my Following tab, Threads shows me updates from the journalists and techies I follow. In my For You tab, Threads thinks I’m in menopause.
Wait, what? Laboratorially, I’m not. But over the past several months Threads has led me to believe I might be. Just now, opening the mobile app, I’m seeing posts about perimenopause; women in their forties struggling to shrink their midsections, regulate their nervous systems, or medicate for late-onset ADHD; husbands hiring escorts; and Ali Wong’s latest standup bit about divorce. It’s a Real Housewives-meets-elder-millennial-ennui bizarro world, not entirely reflective of the accounts I choose to follow or my expressed interests.