thoughts

Welcome to Generation i

by Debbie Millman

I’ve been listening to my ipod quite a lot lately. Recently played songs (don’t you love that feature in itunes?) include Jeff Buckley’s “Should Have Come Over,” Nellie McKay’s “Sari,” Glenn Gould’s Bach Variations, and “Teardrop” by Massive Attack. I have been listening to these tunes over and over—on my walks back and forth to work, on airplanes, in the supermarket—even in Barnes & Noble while searching for new music to buy. On my various excursions I see the familiar white headphones adorning the landscape: on ipod posters plastered all over New York City, draped over U2 in raucous television commercials, positioned on a disheveled Britney Spears gracing the cover of a tabloid rag, and consorting with hipsters everywhere I look. My 14-year old goddaughter has an ipod. My twenty-something brother has one. My 53-year-old partner has one. My dog trainer has one. The Chinese food deliveryman from Hunan Pan has one.

For those that might not be wearing their ipods as they traverse the cityscape, well, those folks have the accompaniment of their cell phones. I see couples walking together having parallel phone conversations. I see people walking their dogs with headsets on and I wonder: who are they talking to? Their pet, their boss, a parent? There are so many taxicab drivers talking on their cell phones while on duty that I have constructed a theory that they are all actually working second jobs as telemarketers, hocking insurance policies, or better yet: telephone service.

Yesterday I experienced a remarkable phenomenon. I got off a plane with three colleagues, jumped into a taxicab, and participated in a weird and dissonant cacophony: four people conducting four different cell phone conversations, all in one car, simultaneously. It was like we were all living in four parallel universes conducting four separate lives, as opposed to participating in one collective experience as we traveled to the same place together.

I recently heard that Apple is planning to launch an ipod with a telephone. I don’t know if this is really true, but in considering the possibility, I began to think about the other potential brand extensions. This led me to a perplexing realization. I didn’t know what the “i” in ipod actually stood for.

I started to ask friends, family members, and colleagues—even strangers I observed who happened to be counting the familiar accoutrement among their accessories. I got a variety of the following answers: Interactive. Individual. “I” as in “me.” Internet. Not one person I asked was absolutely sure of the definitive answer. I looked online. I googled “ipod.” No definition. I went to the Apple website. Nothing. I called the ipod customer service line. Apparently even they didn’t know. The kind young woman I spoke to told me she wasn’t sure, but rumor had it that “it was a made up name by Steve Jobs.”

I look all around me now, and I witness the immersion of our culture into the fascinating galaxy of small electronic objects—whether it be an ipod or a cell phone or a laptop or a Blackberry or a digital camera. I look at these technological trappings and hold them in my hands. And I think I do know what the “i” in ipod stands for. It stands for isolation. There is something incredibly singular about all of these experiences. These gadgets, while connecting us to music or the internet or a cryptic instant message leave us only considering one angle of many. We choose to see what we want to see; we choose what music we want to listen to (the very songs, that is—as we no longer have to rifle through an entire CD of music or change CDs after we hear only the songs we want to). We can screen all of our telephone calls. We can bank online without ever having to leave the house. These are conveniences that supposedly give us more time to do things…but to do what, exactly? Tape two television shows at the same time on Tivo to fill all that extra time?

We are now living in a magnificent age. We live in a culture of speed to market, speed of thought, speed of satiation. We can provide most of that satiation to ourselves. It is now possible to shop, watch movies, research facts and history, pay bills, correspond, and even have sex online. All of this is enormously empowering, and provides us with more freedom and self-sufficiency than our ancestors could have ever imagined.

Nevertheless, what is uniquely strange and ironic about all of these technological advancements is that we are usually doing all of these tasks by ourselves, all alone. Few people email together. No one participates in your experience of your ipod but you. I remember, when the Walkman was first introduced decades ago, a well-known journalist wore his headphones all day in the newsroom—not listening to music—but to discourage reporters from talking to him. Now we have people talking on a cell phone headset on the street. Aside from appearing to be a deranged person muttering to himself, how is it possible to concurrently pay attention to the world outside? What are the ramifications of living in this insular world? Do we risk losing our social skills? Are we beginning to miss out on the multi-dimensional views of our friends, foes, leaders and provocateurs? Is it possible that we are now becoming a generation that will ultimately be defined by our innate self-sufficiency and constant isolation? Or should we embrace change and technological advancement with a sign that states, quite simply, Welcome to Generation i?