Modern consumption of culture has become a passive act, narrowing our individualism. There is nothing wrong with enjoying mainstream music, popular movies or widely loved art; the issue lies in our growing lack of discovery. Many people now encounter art only once it has already been deemed popular, worming its way onto every For You page before audiences can autonomously decide whether they truly enjoy it. Alternatively, others fixate on specific artistic niches, becoming confined by an overly receptive algorithm that hinders their exploration and limits exposure to anything unfamiliar. This passivity is only heightened by AI search tools, which prioritize instant answers over seeking out content with agency. Current technology increasingly relieves us of the responsibility to search for ourselves, resulting in duller conversations, less confidence in forming opinions and a diminished sense of curiosity.
I see this phenomenon most often with music. Recently, I mentioned the band Geese to a room full of people and was met with blank stares. This was shocking, not because I expect everyone to enjoy the same music as me, but because in certain corners of the internet, Geese is impossible to avoid. The band has appeared on nearly every year-end list after their latest album, “Getting Killed,” received praise from icons like Patti Smith, and even caught the attention of filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson, who was spotted filming their brilliant frontman, Cameron Winter, at his solo show at Carnegie Hall. Geese is being labeled one of the most exciting bands of this generation, yet outside of a specific digital bubble, it is as if they do not exist.
This moment confirmed an unsettling realization: Cultural visibility now depends far less on quality or influence, and more on whether or not something has surpassed the algorithmic threshold. No matter how meaningful a band, movie, book or artist may be, it remains largely invisible if it does not circulate widely enough. Impact now depends on whether or not something has been spoon-fed to us until it becomes inescapable.
This is not to say that recommendation systems are inherently harmful or useless. They can be incredibly effective methods for discovering smaller artists adjacent to what we already love. The problem arises when these systems stop functioning as tools for exploration and instead default to reinforcing popularity or familiarity.
This pattern extends to the way we now interact with film. Streaming services recommend movies based on what we have already watched, and films often circulate online in fragments rather than as complete works. Whether it’s a single scene, like the “Heroes” tunnel sequence in “The Perks of Being a Wallflower,” a monologue like Robin Williams’ recitation of Walt Whitman in “Dead Poets Society” or a stylistic aesthetic like that of Damien Chazelle’s “Whiplash,” younger audiences recognize references without having consumed the source material. Social media shapes our modern canon, with repetition and visibility defining which works become culturally mandatory.
Far beyond this, books circulate as status objects and are declared essential by viral lists, fashion is reduced to hyper-specific microtrends without people understanding their origins or developing personal style and even language follows suit, as phrases are repeated with no acknowledgment of where they came from. Culture has become something to keep up with, rather than something to create a personal relationship with.
Seeking out art is not about proving superiority, so the goal is neither obscurity nor cultural elitism. We should instead be actively combating the homogeneity of our interests through intentional exploration. On a human level, the inability to share art with one another diminishes one of the most meaningful forms of connection we have.
I am in no way immune to this. My own feeds constantly reflect my tastes back at me. However, the moments I treasure most come from stumbling upon an artist of my own accord, watching a movie recommended by a friend or picking up a book from a shelf without any preconceived notions about its importance. These moments only occur when I step outside of the recommendation echo chamber and take the time to explore on my own or learn from the people around me. Algorithms reward familiarity over exploration, with music platforms, streaming services and social media suggesting content based on what we have already consumed or what performs best on a large scale. Over time, each of us becomes trapped in a closed loop of our own personalized media ecosystems.
We should not allow technological curation to define the limits of our taste. We must search instead of scroll and engage with culture before it has been dictated by the feed. We have to be intentional about our cultural discovery.