Colm O'Regan: Your phone isn't eavesdropping — you've already told it everything about yourself

'I’m considering letting my children use my accounts for a week to reset my algorithm.'

“I swear my phone is listening to me.” But it isn’t. It doesn’t need to. It’s watching you buy stuff. And tell the internet about yourself. It knows what age, height, weight, and heart rate you are. The ad appeared on your phone because you told it to.

This is surely the time of the algorithm. Not just the thing itself but people saying the word. Persian scientist and polymath Muammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī must be so proud. His name will never be forgotten. Even though it’s now the byword for a supervillain.

The algorithm — what seems like an invisible force that just tells you what you want to see or buy wherever you go on the internet. There are many, of course, but I prefer to think of it as some sort of Greek God, just messing with mortals. 

Albeit one that seems mainly concerned with online sales and emoji reactions. Amazon’s “customers who bought this also bought” feature, launched in 1998, was among the first. Today, apparently, TikTok’s is the best. And it can diagnose you with ADHD.

I’ll tell you one that wakes up the algorithm something fierce though. Buying ANYTHING that changes the colour of one hair on your body. Beard tint — the gateway drug. I just don’t believe greybeard is an accurate reflection of who I am so I’ve decided to salt-and-pepper it a little. Just a smidge. Nothing too hectic.

Now in my social media feeds it is just wall-to-wall content of three very specific kinds.

'Today, apparently, TikTok’s algorithm is the best. And it can diagnose you with ADHD.'

First, nostalgia, delivered chiefly through before-and-after photos of the same location. The “before” is a perfectly composed shot taken by a professional photographer on the one good day in 1967.

It’s probably a Sunday. Everyone is dressed well. The “after” is a Google Street View screenshot with a van in the foreground and a row of blurred faces. And then the nostalgia page says to the Angry Facebook Commenting Community: “Knock yourself out”. And they do. Regretting every single aspect of life since 1967. It was better then with the TB and the infant mortality.

It’s terrible now with the epipens and the health and safety. I saw one recently where the “before” photo featured an actual armoured car. It was from the Irish Civil War. Still, the people were furious at the present government.

Second, self-improvement — “Looking for 10 FAT DADS IN RAHENY TO DO A BOOTCAMP” or AI-generated Zeus-looking old man demonstrating how 30 days of chair yoga will restore your abs. Latterly it’s been Kenyan running methods. Or Ethiopians toddlers casually smashing my 10K PB. That one’s my own fault. 

I did some runs and bought runners and somewhere along the line entered my email address, so like an Irish Mammy working out who I am related to, “they have me now”. I am now receiving extensive clips of how much fun everyone is having at Hyrox.

Third, crime — local community group posts from areas I don’t even live in, featuring blurred photographs of teenagers accused of vandalism or bike theft, captioned: “Is this your child?” or, if any parenting is a forlorn hope, “anyone recognise this little scote?”.

There’ll be police bodycam footage of successful thief-taking and we all feel so good. NOTHING makes you feel better than a good righteous knocking of a thief off an e-bike.

So apparently, my interests are nostalgia, rough justice, and a vague sense I should do something about my posture.

I’m considering letting my children use my accounts for a week to reset things. Their activity has already colonised my YouTube algorithm — it’s now a bewildering mix of World Cup highlights, Tom Waits smoking on old American chat shows, Get Ready With Mes, K-pop, and Watch Me Play Dress to Impress reaction videos. I am a marketer’s nightmare. Honestly, I’ve never felt better about myself.