In 2016, Kyle Chayka, then a freelance culture writer and now a staff writer at The New Yorker, published an essay in The Verge that put words to a feeling millions of travellers had but could not quite articulate. He called it “AirSpace”: the creeping sameness of coffee shops, co-working offices, hotel lobbies, and Airbnb listings across the globe, all converging on the same reclaimed wood, Edison bulbs, industrial lighting, and Scandinavian-adjacent minimalist furniture. “The homogeneity of these spaces means that traveling between them is frictionless,” Chayka wrote, “a value that Silicon Valley prizes.” You could land in Lisbon, Seoul, or Mexico City and find yourself in an interior indistinguishable from a Brooklyn cafe. The aesthetic was not accidental. It was algorithmic.

Eight years later, Chayka expanded the argument into a full book, Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture (Doubleday, 2024), documenting how algorithmic recommendation systems had not merely homogenised digital feeds but reshaped the physical world in their image. The thesis was stark: platforms like Instagram, Airbnb, TikTok, and Spotify had produced “a world of averages: ideas and aesthetics optimised for engagement that are as acceptable as possible to as many people as possible.” Minimalism, once a deliberate philosophical stance against consumer excess, had calcified into the default setting of a globalised attention economy. And the people who benefited most from this flattening were not the communities living inside these spaces but the platform operators, venture capitalists, and design consultancies who had quietly claimed the authority to define what “essential” means.

This is an article about that authority. Not about whether minimalism is beautiful (it often is) or whether it improves usability (it frequently does), but about who profits when a design philosophy hardens into an unexamined assumption, and what disappears when every surface on earth is stripped to elements deemed “essential” by a remarkably small group of decision-makers.

The Branding Agencies That Built a Monoculture

If you purchased a direct-to-consumer product between 2012 and 2020, the odds are good that its branding was designed by one of two Brooklyn-based agencies: Red Antler or Gin Lane. Red Antler designed the branding for Casper, Allbirds, Birchbox, and Hinge. Gin Lane built brand identities for Sweetgreen, Harry's, and Everlane. Between them, these two firms defined the visual language of an entire generation of venture-capital-funded consumer startups: sans-serif typography, pastel colour palettes, generous white space, whimsical line illustrations, and recycled cardboard packaging that communicated both premium quality and environmental virtue.

The result, as a 2021 Retail Dive investigation documented, was a “distinct digitally native aesthetic being adopted by many of these leading brands, likely as a result of an incestuous agency relationship.” The formula was remarkably consistent. A catchy, memorable name. A poppy accent colour. Hyper-designed packaging. And a tone of voice that Glossy described as the “Hey, girl” register of Glossier, which influenced countless brands including larger competitors like Estee Lauder.

The economic logic was straightforward. Partnering with Red Antler or Gin Lane could cost a brand up to $400,000 in branding alone, with additional PR costs of $180,000 to $240,000 per year. But the investment paid off, because the aesthetic itself functioned as a signal. Alex Song, founder and CEO of the Innovation Department, explained that it was “really easy for me to just engage the Red Antlers, the Gin Lanes, all the branding businesses that built the initial winners.” Adopting the now-familiar branding themes could signal to consumers that the company was part of the set of brands they already trusted.

This created a feedback loop with no obvious exit. Venture capital firms funded DTC startups. Those startups hired the same small cluster of agencies. Those agencies produced visually similar brands. Consumers learned to associate that visual similarity with trustworthiness. New startups then had to adopt the same look to be taken seriously. As Zak Normandin, founder of Iris Nova, told Modern Retail: “Entrepreneurs have been misguided in this idea that if you just well-design a consumer product and put a different branding spin on it, then that's enough for a formula to build a really big business.” The monopoly was not merely aesthetic; it was structural, with design firms and agencies concentrating power over what a “modern” brand should look like.

As the DTC space grew more competitive, even Red Antler found itself in an unusual position: having to differentiate its new clients from the very aesthetic template it had helped create. Red Antler co-founder and CEO JB Osborne told Adweek that larger consumer brands were “catching up and they're launching businesses that are mimicking the direct consumer model, but more importantly, the direct consumer aesthetic.” The copiers were being copied. The monoculture had become self-replicating.

The Sans-Serif Invasion and the Death of Distinction

The homogenisation extended well beyond DTC startups. Beginning around 2017, a wave of established brands, from fashion houses to technology companies, abandoned their distinctive logos in favour of nearly identical sans-serif wordmarks. Developer Radek Sienkiewicz, writing on his site VelvetShark, identified the pattern with precision: “It's as if many companies decided that being unique was a handicap and that it was better to be like everyone else.”

The list of casualties is long. Burberry, Balenciaga, Celine, Calvin Klein, Diane Von Furstenberg, Saint Laurent, Rimowa, Balmain; all underwent rebrands that replaced distinctive, heritage-laden typography with clean, geometric sans-serif fonts. Technology companies followed. Google, Spotify, Airbnb, and Pinterest gravitated toward simple lowercase wordmarks. As Sienkiewicz observed, “It looked like two huge industries decided to use the services of one designer, and not a particularly inventive one at that.”

The Burberry case is particularly instructive. In 2018, the British luxury house commissioned graphic designer Peter Saville and then-creative director Riccardo Tisci to redesign its visual identity. The result replaced the Equestrian Knight logo, which had served the brand since 1901, with a clean sans-serif wordmark and a “TB” monogram. The redesign drew immediate criticism for erasing over a century of visual heritage. Then, in 2023, under new creative director Daniel Lee, Burberry reversed course entirely, reviving the 1901 Equestrian Knight motif in a bold electric blue and returning to a serif typeface that referenced the brand's archival typography. Saville himself called the reversal “totally and utterly irresponsible” in a 2025 Dezeen interview, not because the new design was poor but because it created a period in which, as he put it, customers could find “three different Burberrys” in the world. The episode illustrated something important: minimalist rebranding is not a neutral act of modernisation. It is a bet that the future will reward sameness over heritage, and that bet does not always pay.

The phenomenon acquired a name: “blanding.” Legal experts at the intellectual property firm Boult warned that this “increasing trend of brands adopting similar, generic identities contradicts the very purpose of a trademark: to stand out.” Nadine Chahine, a Lebanese type designer who serves as CEO of I Love Typography and director of ArabicType, addressed the crisis at a D&AD panel in London. “There's a lot of [visual] variation at startup stage,” she said, “but more recently they've been homogenised into a very similar look.” Her concern was not merely commercial but cultural: “Some of these brands are very old and are part of the heritage of a country. That heritage is important because it tells the story of how these brands came to be and what they represented.”

Astrid Stavro, Vice President Creative Director at Collins, one of the world's most influential brand consultancies, put it more bluntly at the same event: “In stripping [brand elements] of the things that make them unique, we're stripping them of their soul and heart.”

The explanations for why this happened are themselves revealing about power. Writer and podcaster David Perell, whose Twitter thread on the subject gathered 250,000 likes and 50,000 shares, offered two theories: designers are all using the same software, and aesthetic diversity inevitably falls in a hyper-connected world. Matt Johnson, a professor of psychology and marketing at Hult International Business School and an instructor at Harvard, pointed to the “fluency effect,” the behavioural science finding that fonts processed more easily are perceived as more likeable and trustworthy. In a digital environment where consumer attention is strained, legibility becomes the overriding priority. But whose legibility? Legibility for whom? And at what cost?

The Platform as Taste-Maker

The most powerful force driving aesthetic homogenisation is not any single agency or designer but the platform economy itself. Instagram, Airbnb, TikTok, and Pinterest do not merely display aesthetics; they reward certain aesthetics over others, creating feedback loops that shape physical spaces, products, and identities at global scale.

Consider the “AirSpace” phenomenon Chayka identified. In 2011, designer Laurel Schwulst began perusing Airbnb listings across the world, viewing the platform “almost as Google Street View for inside homes.” She noticed a creeping sameness: “The Airbnb experience is supposed to be about real people and authenticity,” she said, “but so many of them were similar,” whether in Brooklyn, Osaka, Rio de Janeiro, Seoul, or Santiago. The listings converged on mass-produced but tasteful furniture, neutral palettes, and clean lines.

This was not coincidence. It was optimisation. Hosts furnish for the algorithm, using pre-made mood boards from Canva, Pinterest, or design blogs. The goal, as nss magazine documented in its 2024 analysis of the AirSpace aesthetic's decline, “is no longer to tell a story about the area, but to avoid annoying the guest.” Posts with the AirSpace look now receive 26 per cent less engagement than in 2020. Hashtags like #airbnbstyle have dropped by 41 per cent in two years, whilst hashtags like #eclectichomes (up 74 per cent), #realhome (up 59 per cent), and #antidesign (up 38 per cent) are rising sharply.

But the damage has been structural. As a 2016 LSE sociology blog post argued, drawing on Pierre Bourdieu's foundational work on taste and social class, the problem with AirSpace “is not homogeneity per se, but that it surfaces as a symptom of the very powerful interplay of aesthetics, design, and politics.” When platforms reward a specific aesthetic, they effectively tax deviation. Hosts, restaurateurs, and shop owners who refuse the minimalist template risk lower visibility, fewer bookings, and reduced income. The platform becomes a taste-maker with enforcement mechanisms built into its recommendation algorithms.

The logic extends beyond interior design. Chayka's Filterworld demonstrated that algorithmic feeds have restructured culture itself. “Algorithmic feeds have utterly taken over both how we create and consume culture,” he wrote. Visual artists must succeed on Instagram to sell their work. Musicians must tailor their songwriting to TikTok to reach audiences. The rule of culture in Filterworld is “go viral or die.” Taylor Lorenz, the journalist and author, praised Chayka's book as “a vital interrogation of algorithmic technology and its unrelenting power in shaping both our online and offline experiences.” Meghan O'Gieblyn, writing for The Atlantic, observed that Chayka demonstrated “how mass culture, even as it diffuses into niche datastreams, trends toward a vacuous mean.” The net result is not a diverse marketplace of aesthetic choices but a convergence on whatever the algorithm rewards, which is invariably content that is smooth, inoffensive, and optimised for the widest possible engagement.

The companies most responsible for this convergence are, as Chayka noted, disproportionately funded by a small cohort of Silicon Valley venture capitalists. The aesthetics they promote are not neutral expressions of universal taste but specific cultural products of a particular class fraction: young, affluent, coastal, technology-adjacent professionals whose preferences have been amplified into a global default by the platforms they built and funded.

The Economics of Erasure

The economic forces propelling minimalist homogenisation are not subtle. They operate at every level, from manufacturing to marketing to global market expansion.

At the manufacturing level, minimalism reduces complexity. Fewer design elements mean lower production costs, simpler tooling, and faster iteration. Apple's minimalist hardware strategy is not merely aesthetic; it is fundamental to the company's business model of producing products that recall each other and prime users to want the next iteration. The financial success of this approach, measured in trillions of dollars of market capitalisation, established minimalism as aspirational. Every competitor rushed to follow.

At the marketing level, minimalism scales. A stripped-down visual identity translates across languages, cultures, and platforms with minimal adaptation. This is enormously valuable for companies seeking global reach. As technology spreads across diverse socioeconomic groups, age ranges, education levels, and literacy levels, designing for maximum diversity forces simplification. The economic imperative to reach the broadest possible market naturally pushes companies toward similar, stripped-down design solutions.

At the macroeconomic level, austerity itself has become a market force. Inflation rates across the United States and Europe hovered between five and seven per cent annually from 2021 onward, eroding disposable incomes and forcing consumers to reassess spending habits. The IMF reported a 3.1 per cent slowdown in global GDP growth projections for 2025. Seventy per cent of consumers reported cutting back on non-essentials, a phenomenon dubbed “the Great Cancellation.” In this environment, minimalism functions not as a philosophical choice but as an economic rationalisation: fewer features, simpler packaging, reduced material costs, all presented as design sophistication rather than cost-cutting.

The global minimalist lifestyle products market, valued at USD 10 billion in 2024, is projected to expand at a compound annual growth rate of 10 per cent, reaching USD 25 billion by 2032, according to FutureDataStats. Minimalism is not merely an aesthetic; it is an industry. And like any industry, it has incumbents, gatekeepers, and profit motives that may diverge sharply from the interests of the communities whose environments it reshapes.

The DTC bubble offers a cautionary tale about where those profit motives lead. For nearly a decade, venture capital firms bankrolled consumer product companies in hopes of exponential growth. But as Matthew Tingler, managing director at investment bank Baird, told Business of Fashion: “Venture capital has soured on consumer product businesses, particularly DTC apparel and footwear.” Capital is shifting from brands to scalable ecommerce infrastructure, platforms, and SaaS. The aesthetic playbook that defined a decade of consumer products is already being abandoned by the investors who funded it. The visual sameness remains, however, in the thousands of brands still operating within the template those investors and agencies created.

Colonial Aesthetics and the Standardisation of Space

The most uncomfortable dimension of minimalism's dominance is its relationship to colonial histories of standardisation and erasure. In August 2025, Celine Semaan, a Lebanese-Canadian designer and founder of the non-profit education platform Slow Factory, published an opinion piece in Dezeen arguing that “minimalist design trends draw from colonial aesthetics that erased cultural specificity, texture, and tradition in favour of uniformity and control.”

Semaan's argument was historically grounded. “Design under empire was not just about making objects,” she wrote. “It was about asserting control and access over resources. Typography, infrastructure, textiles, and architecture were all weaponised to dominate space, erase or discredit Indigenous knowledge systems, and enforce new economic orders.” She pointed to a material reality: trade routes for the materials on which design continues to depend (wood, leather, metals, silks) map identically to colonial routes, reinforcing “the obvious: colonialism is not a thing of the past, it is an ongoing economic reality.” Semaan, who coined the term “fashion activism” and whose first book, A Woman Is a School, was published in 2024, argued that the standardisation and modularity now celebrated as neutral design values were themselves products of colonial logic.

This analysis has been deepened by scholars and practitioners working at the intersection of design and decolonisation. Elizabeth (Dori) Tunstall, an award-winning design anthropologist who served as the first Black person to hold the position of dean of a faculty of design at OCAD University, published Decolonizing Design: A Cultural Justice Guidebook through MIT Press in 2023. Tunstall argued that “from the excesses of world expositions to myths of better living through technology, modernist design, in its European-based guises, has excluded and oppressed the very people whose lands and lives it reshaped.” The book was named to Fast Company's “7 design books to look forward to in 2023,” and The New York Times Book Review noted that “Tunstall gives step-by-step instructions for reducing bigotry's impact on the built environment.” Kevin Bethune called it “a critical addition to the canon of design.”

Julia Watson, an Australian-born designer and educator at Harvard and Columbia, took the argument further in Lo-TEK: Design by Radical Indigenism (Taschen, 2019), documenting traditional ecological knowledge systems from 18 countries, with a foreword by anthropologist Wade Davis. Watson demonstrated that Indigenous communities are “pioneers of technologies that offer solutions to climate change,” challenging the assumption that ancestral design methods are primitive. Her framework proposed that urban design should follow “form follows flux” rather than “form follows function,” prioritising adaptability to dynamic environmental and cultural contexts rather than the static legibility that minimalism demands. Lo-TEK documented systems including living root bridges built by the Khasi tribe in India, floating farms in wetland regions, and the Totora reed floating islands of Peru: complex, adaptive technologies that have sustained communities for centuries but that minimalist paradigms would classify as cluttered or disorganised.

A 2025 paper in the International Journal for Multidisciplinary Research documented how vernacular architectural traditions worldwide are being displaced: “During colonization, indigenous architectural practices were often suppressed or replaced with the styles of the colonizing powers, while the Industrial Revolution introduced mass-produced materials and standardised construction methods.” Today, this shift is “fueled by socio-economic aspirations, with modern architecture symbolising progress and global connectivity. Urban skylines increasingly reflect a universal language of design, often overshadowing the distinctiveness of vernacular traditions.”

The point is not that minimalism is inherently colonial. It is that the universalising impulse behind minimalist design, the insistence that stripped-down forms are inherently superior to ornamental ones, carries forward a logic of standardisation that has historically served powerful centres at the expense of peripheral cultures. When a Nongo basket in South Africa is “reimagined as art” within a minimalist interior, or when Haida prints are “emblazoned” on minimalist silhouettes at Native Fashion Week, the question of who holds interpretive authority over these traditions is never far from the surface.

The Algorithm as Designer

Perhaps the most significant shift in the political economy of minimalism is the transfer of design authority from human communities to algorithmic systems. This is not a metaphor. It is a structural transformation in how aesthetic decisions are made, by whom, and in whose interests.

A 2019 study by Verena Bader and Stephan Kaiser, published in the journal Organization, examined how artificial intelligence was reshaping decision-making processes within organisations. Their findings were striking: “Humans are increasingly detached from decision-making spatially as well as temporally and in terms of rational distancing and cognitive displacement.” When human and algorithmic intelligence became unbalanced, three effects emerged: “deferred decisions, workarounds, and (data) manipulations.” Users who did not trust algorithmic decisions would avoid making certain choices or create false feedback to circumvent the system.

The implications for design are profound. Algorithmic recommendation systems do not merely surface content; they shape the conditions under which creative decisions are made. As Chayka documented in Filterworld, the rule of algorithmic culture is convergence. Content that deviates from established patterns receives less amplification. Creators learn, consciously or unconsciously, to produce work that fits the template. The result is not censorship in any traditional sense but a soft infrastructure of conformity, enforced through engagement metrics, visibility algorithms, and economic incentives.

This dynamic is particularly visible in user interface design, where the shift from editorial and community-driven decisions to algorithmic ones has been documented by scholars studying recommender systems. As one study in the journal Information, Communication & Society noted, this involves “a shift from traditional media institutions that sought to uphold and balance public-oriented values like equality, diversity or accountability in editorial decisions.” With recommender systems, “decisions about algorithmic rules are made far from the publics they affect, with limited transparency or mechanisms for democratic oversight or control.”

Research from Springer's AI & Society journal has further explored the challenges of enabling user control over algorithm-based services. The opacity of algorithmic systems means it is not clear how much they truly serve their users. Giving users genuine control demands what researchers call “algorithmic literacy”: the ability to interrogate one's own dispositions and formalise them in ways that can be translated into the algorithmic system. This is a high cognitive bar that most users cannot clear, which means that in practice, the algorithm's defaults prevail. And those defaults, in design contexts, skew overwhelmingly toward minimalist uniformity.

The minimalist interface itself serves a strategic function within this system. Shoshana Zuboff, the Harvard Business School professor emerita who coined the term “surveillance capitalism,” has documented how technology companies implement what she calls a “hiding strategy”: clean, simple interfaces that conceal the vast apparatus of data extraction operating beneath the surface. “Surveillance capitalism unilaterally claims human experience as free raw material for translation into behavioural data,” Zuboff wrote in The Age of Surveillance Capitalism (PublicAffairs, 2019). The minimalist interface is not merely an aesthetic choice; it is a mechanism for rendering the machinery of surveillance invisible. The simpler the surface, the more effectively it conceals the complexity, and the power, operating beneath it. Google's search page remains perhaps the most famous example: a near-empty white field that conceals one of the most sophisticated advertising and data-extraction infrastructures ever built.

Who Gains from Defining the Essential

The question at the heart of minimalism's transformation from philosophy to default is ultimately one of authority. When every surface is stripped to “essential” elements, who holds the power to define what counts as essential? The answer, in practice, is a remarkably concentrated group: platform operators, branding consultancies, venture capital investors, and the technology companies whose products set the template for global design norms.

This concentration of aesthetic authority has measurable consequences. When Nadine Chahine warns that brands homogenised into a similar look means “we're losing something as designers and as a community,” she is describing a loss of collective agency over visual culture. When Astrid Stavro argues that stripping brands of unique elements means “stripping them of their soul and heart,” she is describing a loss of meaning that no amount of user testing can recapture. When Celine Semaan traces minimalist standardisation back to colonial routes of extraction, she is describing a power structure that long predates the internet but has been amplified by it.

The losses are not evenly distributed. Wealthy consumers can afford bespoke design that expresses individual identity. They can hire architects who work outside the minimalist template, commission custom furniture, and curate interiors that reflect personal histories and cultural affiliations. The minimalist default falls most heavily on those who cannot opt out: renters in algorithmically optimised Airbnb properties, users navigating interfaces designed to maximise data extraction rather than cultural expression, communities whose vernacular design traditions are displaced by the “universal language” of international minimalism.

There is a class dimension here that deserves direct attention. Minimalism, as a lifestyle aesthetic, presupposes the ability to choose less. It is a luxury of those who have enough. The person who owns three carefully selected items of clothing in neutral tones is performing a different social act from the person who owns three items of clothing because that is what they can afford. The visual language is identical; the power relations are opposite. When minimalism becomes the unexamined default of consumer culture, this distinction collapses, and an aesthetic born of privilege masquerades as universal good taste.

In May 2024, the World Intellectual Property Organization adopted a treaty requiring patent and design applicants to disclose where traditional knowledge or genetic resources originate, the first time a WIPO treaty has named Indigenous Peoples directly. This legislative recognition of design's power dynamics suggests a growing awareness that the authority to define “essential” is not a neutral act of aesthetic judgement but an exercise of power with material consequences.

Reclaiming Complexity

The backlash against minimalist homogenisation is not merely aesthetic nostalgia. It represents a political demand for distributed authority over the visual environment. Indigenous designers are at the forefront of this reclamation. At Native Fashion Week in Santa Fe, designers have incorporated traditional motifs into contemporary collections as a way to reclaim cultures that were appropriated by non-Native designers. In Winnipeg, architect Reanna McKay is working on projects like the Wehwehneh Bahgahkinahgohn, where Indigenous heritage and the connection to nature are represented in the architecture itself, encompassing residential, assisted living, museum, ceremony, and educational spaces.

In South Africa, 2025 interior design trends are embracing cultural specificity over homogeneity, with Nongo baskets being reimagined as art and designers leveraging indigenous crafts to create heritage-driven spaces. In Canada, design education programmes are teaching students about how settler-colonial practices disconnected Indigenous peoples from their roots, traditions, and ceremonies, and how design can serve as a vehicle for reconnection rather than erasure.

The branding world, too, shows signs of fracture in the minimalist consensus. Burberry's return to its heritage logo in 2023 was not an isolated case. Vivienne Westwood, the iconic British designer, refused to follow the sans-serif trend entirely, maintaining her punk-inflected identity whilst other fashion houses capitulated. Avon modernised its logo without abandoning character, discarding the minimalistic sans-serif typeface and adopting a design reminiscent of its 1970s identity. Sarah Hyndman, a typographer and researcher, told D&AD that when she asked a friend's 15-year-old daughter whether she found current fashion logos aspirational, the response was: “No, they're too blocky and bland.” But heritage logos? “Yeah we love nostalgia.”

These are not marginal developments. They represent a fundamental challenge to the assumption that minimalism's “universal legibility” is either universal or legible. Tunstall's Decolonizing Design offers practical frameworks for institutional transformation. Watson's Lo-TEK documents technologies that have sustained communities for thousands of years. Semaan's advocacy connects contemporary design practice to ongoing structures of extraction and control. The question is not whether minimalism will persist; it will, because it serves genuine functions. The question is whether minimalism will continue to operate as an unexamined default, a background assumption so pervasive that deviation from it requires justification, or whether it will be recognised for what it has become: one aesthetic option among many, with its own politics, its own exclusions, and its own beneficiaries.

When every surface is stripped to essentials determined by designers and algorithms rather than communities and users, the loss is not merely decorative. It is a loss of the authority to define one's own visual environment, to embed meaning in surfaces, to express cultural specificity in the spaces where life is lived. The clutter that minimalism promised to clear away was never just clutter. It was complexity, history, identity, and difference. And the clean white space that replaced it is never as neutral as it appears.

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References & Sources

1. Kyle Chayka, “Welcome to AirSpace,” The Verge, 2016. https://www.theverge.com/2016/8/3/12325104/airspace-aesthetic-software-gentrification-startup-office
2. Kyle Chayka, Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture, Doubleday, 2024. https://www.kylechayka.com/filterworld
3. Radek Sienkiewicz, “Why do so many brands change their logos and look like everyone else?” VelvetShark. https://velvetshark.com/why-do-brands-change-their-logos-and-look-like-everyone-else
4. Nadine Chahine, Astrid Stavro and Sarah Hyndman, quoted in “Beyond the sans serif: how type can move on from 'blanding,'” D&AD. https://www.dandad.org/insights/features/beyond-sans-serif-how-type-can-move-blanding-awards-insights
5. Celine Semaan, “We must confront design's colonial inheritance,” Dezeen, August 2025. https://www.dezeen.com/2025/08/07/colonial-design-celine-semaan-opinion/
6. Elizabeth (Dori) Tunstall, Decolonizing Design: A Cultural Justice Guidebook, MIT Press, 2023. https://mitpress.mit.edu/9780262047692/decolonizing-design/
7. Julia Watson, Lo-TEK: Design by Radical Indigenism, Taschen, 2019. https://www.juliawatson.com/lo-tek-design-by-radical-indigenism
8. Shoshana Zuboff, The Age of Surveillance Capitalism, PublicAffairs, 2019. https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/shoshana-zuboff/the-age-of-surveillance-capitalism/9781610395694/
9. Verena Bader and Stephan Kaiser, “Algorithmic decision-making? The user interface and its role for human involvement in decisions supported by artificial intelligence,” Organization, 2019. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/1350508419855714
10. “Is the DTC brand aesthetic bad for business?” Retail Dive, 2021. https://www.retaildive.com/news/is-the-dtc-brand-aesthetic-bad-for-business/588062/
11. “Opinion: The brands and playbook that defined the DTC decade,” Glossy. https://www.glossy.co/fashion/opinion-the-brands-and-playbook-that-defined-the-dtc-decade/
12. “DTCs are facing a copycat problem,” Modern Retail. https://www.modernretail.co/retailers/dtcs-are-facing-a-copycat-problem/
13. “Meet the Surprisingly Small Group of Branding Shops Behind Today's Top Challenger Brands,” Adweek. https://www.adweek.com/brand-marketing/meet-the-surprisingly-small-group-of-branding-shops-behind-todays-top-challenger-brands/
14. Boult, “'Blanding' of iconic logos.” https://www.boult.com/bulletin/blanding-the-loss-of-value-in-fashion-logos/
15. “AirSpace: The Decline of Airbnb Aesthetic in 2024,” nss magazine. https://www.nssmag.com/en/lifestyle/41707/airspace-aesthetic-decline-airbnb-2024
16. “Inequality By Design? Why we need to start talking about aesthetics, design and politics,” LSE Sociology Blog, 2016. https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/researchingsociology/2016/09/12/inequality-by-design-why-we-need-to-start-talking-about-aesthetics-design-and-politics/
17. “Cultural Homogenization and the Decline of Vernacular Architecture,” International Journal for Multidisciplinary Research, 2025. https://www.ijfmr.com/papers/2025/2/39067.pdf
18. Matt Johnson, Professor of Psychology and Marketing, Hult International Business School. Author of Branding That Means Business, Economist Books, 2022. https://www.neuroscienceof.com/
19. Minimalist Lifestyle Products Market report, FutureDataStats, 2024. https://www.futuredatastats.com/minimalist-lifestyle-products-market
20. “Individual choice, collective effects: recommender systems, law by design, and the DSA's double choice architecture,” Information, Communication & Society, 2025. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/1369118X.2025.2595663
21. “Challenges in enabling user control over algorithm-based services,” AI & Society, Springer. https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s00146-022-01395-1
22. Peter Saville, quoted in “Burberry logo redesign 'totally and utterly irresponsible' says Peter Saville,” Dezeen, June 2025. https://www.dezeen.com/2025/06/13/burberry-logo-redesign-irresponsible-peter-saville/
23. “Burberry unveils 'archive-inspired' charging knight logo,” Dezeen, February 2023. https://www.dezeen.com/2023/02/07/burberry-daniel-lee-logo-equestrian-knight-design/
24. “Is Silicon Valley's Love Affair With Direct-to-Consumer Brands Over?” Business of Fashion. https://www.businessoffashion.com/articles/entrepreneurship/venture-capital-vc-direct-to-consumer-dtc/
25. Laurel Schwulst, quoted in “How 'International Airbnb Style' Became the Dominant Aesthetic of Our Time,” Longreads, 2017. https://longreads.com/2017/05/18/airbnb-design-aesthetic/

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Tim Green UK-based Systems Theorist & Independent Technology Writer

Tim explores the intersections of artificial intelligence, decentralised cognition, and posthuman ethics. His work, published at smarterarticles.co.uk, challenges dominant narratives of technological progress while proposing interdisciplinary frameworks for collective intelligence and digital stewardship.

His writing has been featured on Ground News and shared by independent researchers across both academic and technological communities.

ORCID: 0009-0002-0156-9795 Email: tim@smarterarticles.co.uk

Listen to the free weekly SmarterArticles Podcast

In Summary: * Most notable thing about this Tuesday was doing my Monday laundry. Didn't get to it yesterday as I spent most of the morning preparing for the midday meeting at my bank, which went well, I'm happy to say. So I took care of it today. It always feels good to have the weekly laundry all done, folded, and put away, ya' know?

Nothing ahead of me now but a good relaxing foot soak, then the night prayers, then an early bedtime.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 235.9 lbs. * bp= 154/88 (67)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises

Diet: * 05:36 – 1 banana * 06:40 – 1 pb&j sandwich * 09:00 – beef patties, mashed potatoes, mushroom gravy * 14:00 – sauteed bitter melon, little sausages, steamed white rice * 16:20 – 1 fresh apple

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:00 – bank accounts activity monitored. * 05:15 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, nap * 08:00 – start my weekly laundry * 10:40 – listen to curent John Michael Chambers reports while folding laundry * 13:00 – watching MLB Central on MLB Network * 14:00 – watching old episodes of Stargate SG 1 on Comet TV * 16:00 – following news reports from various sources, surf the socials * 17:00 – listening to relaxing music

Chess: * 10:25 – moved in all pending CC games

Caption text here

I had an allergic fit yesterday, causing an intense headache which some people would think hurt a lot, I thought to myself

So I went to sleep; I slept the whole day and it didn’t go away, so I slept the whole night too

Woke up next day at 08:00 feeling tired, really exhausted, isn’t that odd? Must’ve slept 16 hours? Or more? But, there was no headache

I really appreciate the absence of headache

And the sun shining down on me from up above through the foliage on this walkway where I walk facing the breeze

Walk with feet planted broadly like some sort of cowboy

Or sheriff

this world makes absolutely no sense to me.

The older I get, the less I know

speaking terms / heat wave — snail mail

i into started listening to lush because i wanted to post a spotify link of my favorite song on twitter, all in attempts to get a like from a hot guy i (briefly) met at a house party. that aside, these two songs are some of the best indie rock to come out in recent memory. i’m most impressed with jordan’s guitar playing, switching between pretty abrasive strumming patterns and intricate finger plucking seamlessly. these songs also pair narratively: speaking terms seems to have the narrator assert their agency over an unloving partner insisting that they have unknowingly gone too far. despite this, heat wave starts with (presumably) the same speaker, waking up in their clothes having dreamt of them. we also can’t forget:

and i hope whoever it is holds their breath around you 'cause i know i did

on an oddly specific personal note, this song represents expansion. i remember looping this album as it accompanied me walking in between classes my freshman year of college. how crazy was it to be free for the first time?

detour / need for speed / basketball — kim petras

she needed a win so bad that she pulled out an unreleased sophie demo… this shit means something to her!!! no but seriously, i was really impressed with this album in an unexpected way. granted, i’ve been off kim petras since feed the beast came out with lackluster reviews, all of which she probably agrees with given her intentional (and 100% initiated) move away from massive record labels that have stifled her creative vision. even before that… wasn’t there an n-word scandal brought up by old tweets?

aside: i think we forget that miss petras was at the center of hyperpop before its transitional period to becoming that much more mainstream. this was back when charli xcx was signing douches at meet and greets after concerts and every self-proclaimed Twitter Gay was sending mine by slayyyter to all of his mutuals.

anyway… i’m glad she was able to independently create this project with a series of top notch producers like frost children and margo xs given that classic bubblegum pop sound with bright synths and opaque percussion was flattened by previous collaborators in her record label projects.

funny — broncho

i listened to this song when the weather just started to get warm in toronto after what felt like an eternal winter. spring was totally eclipsed by subpar temperatures and the need to put on a sweater every time you left the house in early may—basically an attack on my entire bloodline who lived in dewey temperatures for most of the year. ryan lindsey’s lyrics washed over me as the sun hit my skin not as a relief from cold but a reminder of warmth re: take a moment / for a moment / and i liked it.

the feeling — steve lacy

his voice has persisted throughout his progression as an artist. even if the production value increases, the writing remains honest and unique to lacy. i’m often wondering if the narrators in his songs are aware of their ego. in the feeling, he asks if he’s still cared for (am i your baby?) and states an eagerness to rekindle a toxic relationship (i’m not scared to bleed, you know our history).

the video for this song reminds me a lot of what he did for playground—a dreamy sequence of scattered, colorful visuals punctuated with lacy singing to the camera right in the foreground. he needs to keep kathleen heffernan on his production team ALWAYS!

Have you ever had a tension headache? Or a study, thinking headache? That tired feeling in your brain after doing a lot of learning — probably you felt it during your highschool exams and college thesis times, probably you felt it when you were trying to learn something new and really struggling. That’s because… learning things isn’t easy. Your brain has to do a lot of work, running through existing connections and building new ones. Over the course of my career as a software developer I became aware that the more I felt I was struggling, the more I was probably learning. It was only weeks or months after the fact that I could reflect and conclude, “oh, I was having a tough time because I was doing something new — and here’s what I learned”.

Learning thing is hard actually

I once experienced this most dramatically when things ‘clicked’ for me in Object-Oriented Programming. I’d been bashing my head against code for months. My approach was to just copy code from examples and tutorials, assert that it works (through mostly manual tests at the time — we’re talking 2003 – 2005 after all), and mumbling to myself “I don’t know why this works but it does”. I learned that in order to understand something, I first needed to put up with the frustration of not understanding it.

Now, everyone learns in different ways. Some people do great by just absorbing an entire manual and then know everything that was in it. Some people do best when watching videos, or having a teacher/mentor explain it to them. Me, I learn best through imitation, followed by examining what I just copied. “I built something that worked, because I did it like this — but why does that work?” Rather than making sure I get it all perfect and understand it perfectly before I build anything, I learn by doing and then reflecting on what I did. (I daresay I’m not unique in this and in fact most developers learn like this, which is why they’re great developers.)

I remember quite vividly the first time I typed something in Java like Button button = new Button(); At that point, I didn’t know what a class was, or an instance, or an object. I just knew I typed four words and three of those were the same word and I thought that was really funny. And that amusement spiked my curiosity and so I learned what those words meant in that context.

Why am I saying all this? Because obviously, nobody wants to learn anymore.

I think with the advent of AI everything, we’ve kind of forgotten that learning things is inherently taxing, frustrating, difficult, time-consuming, and just like, annoying to do. It burns energy, it gives you a headache, it might even make you feel bad about yourself. Because that’s what learning feels like! You don’t start at A and then magically, frictionlessly, arrive at Z. You gotta walk the steps.

But AI allows us to skip many of those steps. It has the capacity to think so you don’t have to, then give you the bullet-list, bolded-keywords, easily-readable version. But in my previously established pattern of learning, if AI writes the code for me, and I then review it by asking about what it just wrote, maybe I’m still learning, though? Maybe… maybe not.

Because I also distinctly remember typing over the example was much more effective than copy-pasting. In a similar vein, if you really want to commit something to your brain, write it down with your own hand. Physically. On paper.

There’s increasing amounts of research pointing to how increased use of LLMs decreases your brain’s capacity to think critically and learn things on its own. “Dumber” or “stupider” is quite a incendiary label, and I prefer to be a bit more precise about it, but the accumulation of cognitive debt is a real thing. And that’s because of the alphabet-journey I described earlier. If you’re skipping steps, you may get there faster, easier; but you simply won’t have picked up the learning along the way (the ‘debt’ the research points to).

Now think about how much time and effort you’ve spent during about the first 20 years of your life in education. School was hard work. Homework sucked. Studying for exams and taking them was so tough you might still have dreams about it. Writing your thesis, pretty much one of the toughest things you ever did cognitively, at least, up until that point. This is not to overvalue traditional education (there are plenty other ways to learn – on the job, self-taught, and so on). But my point is, none of that was easy. Your brain was working hard.

And it’s beautiful. (Source: Unseen details of human brain structure revealed, Google Research & Lichtman Lab, Harvard University. Renderings by D. Berger, Harvard)

I’ve been thinking about this a lot because I had a period last year where I was using LLMs quite intensively. I didn’t feel like I was getting dumber at the time, but that’s the thing, if I was then how would I know? This is the cognitive pitfall – if you are truly losing your cognitive thinking skills then you won’t be able to entirely catch and prevent that from happening. That’s what alarmed me. I was like, “well, I think I’m critically reviewing this thing’s output and still using my own thoughts and judgment but if I wasn’t then how could I be sure?”

The answer maybe is “if you’re at least still questioning that, then you’re good”. At the very least, it’s probably better to doubt yourself, than to just assume whatever the LLM responds with is always correct. If you’re not verifying the output in any way, then you’ve probably already been led astray and you’re not even aware of it…

Anyway, I’ve only been talking about learning so far, but there’s another aspect to this I want to bring up: creation.

Creating things is also not easy, turns out

Just like learning, making things is hard. Truly sitting down and making something out of nothing with your own mind and body is difficult, time-consuming, exhausting, challenging… and you often have to do it a lot, and deliberately, to even have it turn out kinda decent. This was humanity’s shared truth for a long time. Even when things came along that made creation more convenient, it still wasn’t easy. It required real cognitive effort. It’s why professional artists, musicians, writers, will often struggle with a creative ‘block’ where they just can’t synthesize something new; because it’s just that hard sometimes. Especially if they’re faced with their own perfectionism: knowing from talent or expertise what they want the result to be, and then not being able to get there.

The process of creation, and the process of learning, are very similar. When you make something, you are learning, and like me in order to learn anything you often have to go through the process of creation. An obvious example is knitting: you can’t learn how to knit by just watching videos. Your hands have to actually make something. A scarf, a beanie, a blanket. You make mistakes along the way, and you learn, and your knitting improves. You make less mistakes. Your stitches are more uniform. You knit faster.

AI makes it trivial to make something out of nothing. Using only a prompt, you can generate entire essays, songs, graphics, animations. I wonder if it’s because historically we’re used to creation being hard, thus valuable, that we haven’t adjusted to this reality where creation is easy, but we still value it as if it cost a real person blood, sweat and tears — when in fact it just cost you tokens. Because I’m curious and want to understand things I actually played around with these generators, and I found that the quantity is huge and the quality is just… not there. Certainly not the specific quality that I appreciate in any creation, which is the human quality.

I mean, you’re reading a blog post where every word was typed by me (yes, really!) I’m the woman who burst into tears the first time I saw The Sunflowers by Van Gogh and The Water Lilies by Monet. Real, human-made art affects me deeply, and I’m kind of hyper-sensitive to any creation that doesn’t have it.

That’s why over the past months I’ve grown increasingly frustrated and exhausted and annoyed with the AI slop that is just… everywhere. You see, I don’t necessarily mind if things are made with the help of AI (‘help’ doing a lot of heavy lifting in that phrase) Like, I get it, especially in a corporate context. We want more profit faster and what better way to get it than with automation instead of slower more expensive humans? (Although by now it seems humans are the cheaper option.)

What just truly grates me is the bad quality of it. Hands with too many fingers, graphs that are melting, words that are mangled, eyes that just aren’t quite right. Every blog post and LinkedIn post that now just reads the exact same effing way (which is why I am adamant about typing every word here, and if it still ‘sounds like’ LLM-speak that’s because I have unfortunately been influenced by reading and using it too much). Every single time I read “That’s not X, that’s Y” or a bullet-point list with sentences that don’t really say anything. UX designs that all look the same. Video thumbnails that all look the same. Everything is just the same, uninspired, AI-generated sludge. And it sucks, and it’s boring, and it’s just a waste of time to read/watch and a waste of resources to generate.

We can do better. Even if you want to generate things to get a headstart or whatever, you can still use your own judgment, add your own flavor. Hell, if you’re adamant about generating all your social posts at least teach the LLM to write like you so it’s not the same as every post out there nowadays.

Humans are imperfect, so everything we make ourselves is imperfect, which is exactly what makes anything interesting. I love reading something that’s clearly written in someone’s own voice and style. I love listening to music and seeing visual art where I can tell it has the maker’s characteristics there. Not everything has to be smoothed over. More importantly, if everything that’s created is the same, then why even do it? What’s the added value if it’s not expressing who we are and what our own story is? Am I the only one deeply annoyed by how samey everything is getting? (That’s separate from every other criticism leveraged against AI, mind you.)

The real kicker is, as I said, I’m not fully opposed to it. But what I see happening is that the “actual helpful use cases” are blurring together with “garbage output”, probably exactly because using LLMs intensively decreases your critical thinking skills. In other words, you might start out using it critically for specific applications, and end up not being able to distinguish quality stock photography from melting architecture and polydactyl people. You stop seeing what the big issue is. Endless LinkedIn posts full of “That’s not X. That’s Y” don’t even bother you anymore. You’re deep into the slop pool and the feeling of everything being that same gooey AI texture starts to be comfortable, like your mind sinking into digital oatmeal.

I’m not comfortable, here. I keep trying to use AI tools in meaningful ways, but I can’t do that and also tolerate all expressions of human creation and communication turning into grey goop.

There is real, measureable, significant value in the things we make ourselves and in the process of learning and creation, exactly because it’s hard. So go out there and make something yourself today! It’s worth the effort.

Because effort isn’t the enemy. Every blog post written like this is.

Especially if it ends like this—hitting hard.

With lots of periods.

And em-dashes.

HELP MAKE IT STOP NOOOooo—

Watching an old episode of Stargate SG-1.

And the adventure continues.

Among YouTube's better suggestions was to start showing me – around three or four years ago – home-made videos by the New York-based trio New Jazz Underground: this one, for example. For some time thereafter I kept up with their activity on Bandcamp, hoping for some of their music to appear on CD or vinyl. More time passed and eventually I stopped looking. By happy coincidence though, just last week something else on YouTube alerted me to the recent arrival of the trio's debut album Hoodies. A copy arrived here on Friday.

It's great to finally hear them playing in a studio setting, where their talent & technique shines, with no loss of the soulfulness & spontaneous charm that was obvious in their YouTube days. Most of the compositions on the album are by bassist Sebastian Rios, and he performs solo on one of the tracks – the marvellous ‘Las Salinas (Prelude)’. Saxophonist Abdias Armenteros demonstrates a clear and beautiful tone — not to mention a fine singing voice, which we hear on two songs. Drummer TJ Reddick meanwhile demonstrates equal facility with metronomic grooves and more elastic time-keeping. It’s a highly enjoyable record.

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Another week, another old anthology of translated poetry, this one German Poetry 1910-1975, edited and translated by the estimable Michael Hamburger. It's a successor volume to an earlier one (Modern German Poetry 1910-1960) that he had co-edited with Christopher Middleton. In his introduction, Hamburger writes that, in place of the ill-defined notion of ‘modernity’, he substituted “a criterion quite as vague in itself, but meaningful as soon as it is applied to specific poems, specific poets: the criterion of authenticity, an authenticity usually bound up with novelty of one kind or another...”

I was already at least slightly familiar with the work of a number of the poets included (Rilke, Trakl, Brecht, Huchel, Bobrowski, Celan, Bachmann & Enzensberger). Among those whose names were new to me a couple that stood out were Yvan Goll and Ernst Meister. Also very interesting were the poems by authors better known for their prose: Robert Walser, Thomas Bernhard, Günter Grass & Peter Handke. The book is organised chronologically by the poets’ year or birth, which works well up until the end, where a variety of the youngest authors (perhaps then still not well-established names) are represented a little unsatisfactorily by a page or two apiece.

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Cheese of the week – Baron Bigod, which must be up there among the best of English cheeses, akin to a very good Brie de Meaux. From the Fen Farm Dairy website: “Beneath the nutty, mushroomy rind, Baron Bigod has a smooth, silky golden breakdown which will often ooze out over a delicate, fresh and citrussy centre.” I first tasted it a few years ago, since when I've returned to it several times, finding it reliably excellent. I bought a ‘Baby’ 250g cheese (Fig. 26) from the Town Gate Butcher's shop in Chepstow on Saturday.

Photo by AS Photography from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/purple-petaled-flowers-in-mortar-and-pestle-105028/

“HERBALISM AND HEALTH RESOURCES I’VE USED”:

https://filedn.com/ljIKsiFxDsuSKJBJorqrS74/Herbalism%20and%20Health%20resources%20I've%20used%206-8-26.mp4

Camp Nelson Military Cemetery – image by Loran Joly on Armed Forces Day, 2026

These days, someone’s death certificate may say someone has died “of’ “HEART DISEASE”, “CANCER”, or “ACCIDENTS”, ….

CAUSE OF DEATH?

The MODERN AGE?

An age FULL of ANGER and FEAR?

I introduce this article I wrote, today, and it has information on herbs, as per Dr. Edward Bach, and much, much more:

“Cause of Death: The Actual Causes or the PSEUDO-Causes?”:

https://medium.com/@loranjoly/cause-of-death-the-actual-causes-or-the-pseudo-causes-f9383503c1f2

We might also see:

“The Neurotic Personality of Our Time – Karen Horney – Summary”:

https://youtu.be/WMGE4C4AD_0?si=UCGuvGsdbBLCSDkb

Something for the men in the audience because I think a lot of us don’t necessarily get explicit training on this.

I was fortunate enough to be trained as a high school teacher, so I did get explicit instruction on this: I was told to not be alone with students with the door closed, to not touch or hug students, and to be constantly aware of, basically, the worst possible interpretation someone could put on your conduct.

“But I’m not a teacher!” you say. Okay, but the same rule applies. You’re gregarious and social and want to talk to people but have no creepy intent? Sorry, but creepy guys have ruined this for you.

“It’s not fair for people to assume I’m creepy!” That is true. It’s also not fair that women get sexually harassed. They’re playing the odds here, willing to forgo knowledge of you personally in order to protect themselves from potential creeps. You don’t want women to consider you a potential creep? You need to go out of your way to show them that you’re not.

Let’s start with physical space. If possible (obviously if you’re jammed into a packed subway car it’s not, but otherwise), give women more space than you think they need. And if you’re walking in the same direction as them, maybe cross the street or slow down to give them space or speed up to get past them. Just send the message that you are about your own business and not trying to interact with them. “Geez! That seems like a lot of work!” It’s not actually that much work. It’s just a small exercise in empathy. Now obviously if you’re on a crowded street it’s different, but if you’re the only ones on the block? Especially if it’s nightttime? Give her some space. Now give her some more space.

Now on to conversations. Again, you need to remember that every time you open your mouth to talk to a woman you don’t know, you’re setting off her creep alarm. Perhaps your intentions are innocent, but what’s happening here is especially unfair because you get to be relaxed and she gets to be tense, waiting for the conversation to take a turn, or just resentful because she doesn’t get to decide whether she’s having a conversation on this flight.

“But people like to talk to me!” Do they, though? Because you should know that most women are very good at humoring men. Perhaps they’re like the woman I saw on a recent train ride who spent the entire length of Connecticut being regaled by a guy, said, “it was such a pleasure to talk to you!” to him as she got off the train, and then slumped, laughing and exhausted, against her companion as soon as she was off the train and out of sight.

Now if you’re a gay man or a trans man, do these rules still apply? Yep! You still need to give women personal space and assume they don’t want to talk to you.

But what if you’re neurodivergent? Irrelevant! Giving women extra space and not forcing conversation on women are within the capability of every single neurodivergent person I know. Except for the ones who use their neurodivergence as an excuse for being an asshole. Don’t be that guy.

But how will I flirt and find a romantic and/or sexual partner? By meeting someone at a party, or being introduced by friends, or because you’re both working in your community garden plots or because your kids are in the same first grade class or whatever! Demonstrate that you are a person with interests and not just a random perv, and then women will talk to you! If they feel like! And not if they don’t! And that’s okay!

This marks the day before my last day. It could be one day, one week, one month, or longer… only time will tell how long I'll be out. I have not felt the same amount of motivation to track this blog as I did last week when I started, but I think that is what makes it a good challenge. I also think the emotional toll will start showing more as we continue.

Now I feel like I procrastinated the last bit of what I have to do and left it entirely for the last day. I need to finish up between today and tomorrow so we will keep this short.