Privacy
The least of your problems
They say it has to be in plain speak.
Well, here it is.
IT GLEAMS.
All that stuff we built? The tech? The apps? We gave you the world on a screen the size of your palm—the power to drown out silence, alter the scenery, make any moment your own, define reality any way you choose.
It came with a catch, of course—a siphon on your wages, a continuous hole in your pocket or wallet or purse. It's all by design. You didn't see it coming. You swear it isn't happening. Those who make the magic use it to harness your autonomy. Look there! Click here!
Is it a spell? A trance? You chose all this, right? Millions spent on marketing mean nothing. Instant gratification seduces like nothing else out there, and that's without ever going to a porn site. There are few commodities as valuable as a captive audience.
That thing you can't put down without feeling real pain? That's not a phone. It's a portable, pocket-able, personalized advertising delivery platform. Once there were billboards along the highway and newspapers in a box at the corner, a TV on a stand across the room. Today, the content you seek seeks you, literally inches before your eyes. The distance between those who want your attention and you has never been less. Put it down. I dare you. You won't. Whether you can or can't is almost moot. You won't. And even if you did, no one else on the block will.
They want your attention. I want your attention. So does every startup and everyone else who's out to make a name and a buck or at least a difference.
Broadcast TV delivered programming to the audience and the audience to the advertisers. Print was no different. Nothing's changed with today's gig except the ubiquity, intensity, and specificity. It's always on, always in your face, and always zeroed in on you. Sure, there's an off button, but nobody ever uses it.
Those who make the tech use it to gather information about—and sell access to—the users. Just about everybody understands that these days. What harm does it do? What difference does it make? After all, you don't tell us EVERYTHING about yourself—you tell us just enough to know where you fit in and how you see yourself and what it takes to make you happy, how you're willing to respond, what you're ready to believe in. That's all we ever needed to sell you all you ever wanted.
If you weren't a consumer, what else would you be? What else is there? You construct your identity with the purchases you make, the brands you consume, the things you identify with. We harvest your dreams and desires just to sell them back to you as trinkets to wear and discard before the next batch arrives. It's not an invasion of privacy when you know perfectly well how the system works and you come back for more, again and again. At that point showing up is consent, never mind the money in your hand.
UNTIL IT DOESN'T.
He Wept subscribes to Google Analytics, a complimentary service that collects data about this website—namely how many folks visit, how long they stick around, and what they look at—from which we judge the popularity of the content.
Google Analytics inserts small text files called cookies into the browser on your device where they last for a fixed amount of time—days to years even—until they expire or are deleted by you. Cookies tell Google (and Google tells us) roughly where the audience is found but more importantly what's hot and what's not. It's the best way we've got to show that we're not simply howling in the wind.
None of this is novel or original. It's simply how the internet works.
Some folks insist that the information gathered by cookies—and Google—invades your privacy, even though it's made anonymous and only means something in the aggregate. Certain jurisdictions, namely the State of California and the European Union, have legislated against the collection of cookie derived data without first obtaining explicit permission from you. This is why you see so called cookie banners that ask your preferences when first visiting a website.
As far as He Wept goes, these cookies are benign—enough, all things considered. A small cog in a big machine. They tell us whether anyone reads and shares what we have written. The cheers and jeers of the digital age. We do not collect or harvest any information that personally identifies you. We don't violate your privacy. Heck, we don't even have a mailing list, so spam won't be a problem either.
One thing is sure—you have only so much time and energy, patience and attention. Everybody wants a piece of it. We can't get this wrong. We don't want to be second best. To build this brand, we've got to make it gleam in your eyes. Relevant. Inspiring. Intoxicating. Like nothing else out there. And that's on a slow day. We'll do whatever it takes to make you a fan, and you won't keep it to yourself. That's the prize.
Google, of course, thrives by data mining and targeted marketing. He Wept does not.
Look at it this way. If you came here by way of social media, you've already agreed to far more invasive terms and practices than anything we can dream up. Cookies are the least of your problems.
