Eye of the Beholder (2/10)

I think that advertising algorithms are sort of evil and the amount of ads we see in a day are absurd. Earlier this week I got served an ad by the LDS that used my full first and last name. Inquiring minds may be able to discern how that subtly influenced today's story

        

            The first optics to hit the market were sleek bands of silicon and glass, tinted Secret Service dark. They wrapped around the front of your head, and fit snugly around the ears with fitted earbuds. There was no attempt to make them indistinguishable from typical glasses. These were a statement, one that demanded an answer; adapt or die.

Rylance Industries stock quadrupled overnight. The optic boasted all the bells and whistles of a smart phone but much faster. Much. AI assisted processing, and the lack of needing to pull a phone out of your pocket, would save the average consumer minutes a year. The advertising team spent every cent they could to make those minutes seem crucial. No one had ever felt slower than they did seeing someone rocking an optic make their way towards them. They walked straighter, more at ease. Somehow more relaxed and more in the zone. A contradiction that the ads assured you was possible.

We didn’t compromise on our vision, why should you compromise on yours? Work hard, play hard. Rylance Industries.

The first year, it was nearly impossible to get one. The stock had been limited, Rylance taking a lesson from De Beers, and the demand never dropped below a fever pitch. Re-sellers had bot networks purchasing stocks the moment they went live. Stores had trouble keeping them on the shelves. Some stores found that certain enterprising employees would sell off stock the moment it was in the delivery bay.

RI ensured everyone that they were working to address the supply chain issues that kept their prices so high and their expense accounts lush. More stock would hit the shelves soon. Current customers began to notice a slight lag. The display stuttered a bit when switching through apps. The AI assistant was a bit more sluggish to respond. The earbuds developed a subtle crackling sound. Nothing they talked about, of course. They had spent a pretty penny on the headset and were mortified of what would happen if it came out they’d made a hasty investment. They kept the glitches to themselves. They smiled at each other through shaded glass, demurely discussing the emperor’s clothes.

A year after the original optics’ launch, fresh stock hit the shelves by the truck full. The first adopters bristled at the hoi polloi that wore their social signifiers. They groused about the technical issues now, but only to each other. Let the common throng learn the hard way like they had. Their optics became so inconvenient they were hardly saving any of the minutes they had once been convinced were so precious.

The number of optics sold had skyrocketed, the second run outselling the original release several times over in only a matter of months.

The second generations was announced soon after. Slimmer, sleeker, and with a sheet of one way mirrored glass whose contours gave it the look of a sportscar. It was twice as powerful and three times as expensive. It even addressed those nasty technical glitches that the older models developed after the first year, which was news to those who’d just purchased.

The old model was still functional, of course, still capable of doing everything your smartphone could do but quicker (quicker, quicker, always quicker). You didn’t have to buy the new model, you could hold onto your current optic until it deteriorated. Or you could, for some reason, go back to what had served you perfectly fine before. But the die had been cast, the uses of the optic had seemed so integral to the day-to-day the idea of a downgrade was unthinkable.

By the fifth generation, Rylance Conglomerated announced the first subdermal optical implants. A small incision behind the ears for processors and vibrational speakers. A communion wafer sized circle of discolored flesh, stamped with the Rylance logo. The procedure to implant the ocular projectors was as easy as getting Lasik. Get it done at CostCo. You could even drive yourself home afterwards.

The optics could instantaneously interface with any screen manufactured by Rylance Conglomerated (Which at this point in history had become anything but museum pieces). Personalized algorithms fed you exactly what the optic decided you wanted, and who are you to argue. Sight tracking algorithms determined where your gaze had lingered through the day, making sure your lived experience was taken into account when you were served your daily portion of commercials.

That same commercial could talk to Salim, Claire, and Frederick, calling to each by name and asking if their lives wouldn’t be improved by this product or another. Geographic data fed to Rylance navsat could tell you precisely how much it would cost for you to hire a car to get you where you wanted to go.

Great obelisks of glass, dim smoky mirrors to those without the optics, screamed personalized ads to anyone who walked by. It sounds like you need a new vacuum Clara! The new DustMax 200 will be perfect! It can be so hard to choose where to go for lunch, right Hikaru? Get this season’s hottest new fashion trends, and show the world what it means to have a style that’s totally Owen.

The background roar of an advertisers algorithm became as customary as the sound of car horns or the chatter of people. The cities themselves became billboards.

The seventh generation offered the most personalized experience yet. For reasons that didn’t seem to benefit the consumer, but they were repeatedly assured was done exclusively for their sake, the optics could now work hand in hand with the machine learning algorithms.

No longer was the consumer separate from the branding. Each person could become an avenue for content driven programmatic advertising. A conversation no longer had to live in the realm of the general. The audio channels, snuggly wrapped around the bones of your ear, could alter the perceived auditory experience. The ocular projectors, running DeepFake programs faster than the speed of thought, could adjust mouth shape and overlay appropriate phrasing for the invented additions.

No longer did car manufacturers need to worry that their brand was being lost in casual shorthand. Personal purchasing data and privacy had been signed away in byzantine terms and agreements. Your friend didn’t drive here in their car, they drove here in their Shinohara Icon. While you may have told your brother you had just had lunch, he would know that you had enjoyed a succulent lunch from Chicken Dave’s.

And you’d look each other in the eyes, the Rylance watermark glazed over the irises, and laugh. You’d never notice the difference. And say, wasn’t there a sale going on? Your perception may no longer be your own, but at least there were plenty of material goods that could be.