Sugary Foods Are Killing Us. The Internet, Not So Much.

Sugary Foods Are Killing Us. The Internet, Not So Much.

When I’m jittery from too much caffeine, I don’t blame it on Starbucks. It’s not entirely Hershey’s fault that I have an unhealthy love of chocolate. And if, in a moment of idleness, I click on a headline like 35 Foods From Your Childhood That Are Extinct Now, I don’t blame BuzzFeed for wasting three minutes of my life. I made that decision all on my own.

So I think it’s time to challenge the all-too-easy argument that the Internet is making us stupid in the same way that high-fructose corn syrup is making us fat. The case against Internet content was made most recently by Alexander Macris, founder of the video game magazine The Escapist, in a TEDx talk at Binghamton University (embedded on page 2, below). You are what you read, Macris says. And just as real food has been replaced on supermarket shelves by processed products heavy in sugar, leading to an epidemic of obesity and diabetes, the “nutritional value” of the content we’re served by mass media has been going down, Macris argues—with dire effects on literacy rates.

There is a genuine nutrition crisis in this nation, and the agricultural-industrial complex bears much of the responsibility. But the food wars aren’t a very good metaphor for what’s going on in the media today. I’d like to try to shift the discussion back toward the idea that each of us is personally responsible for finding and consuming worthwhile reading material. When we try place blame for plummeting SAT scores or declining attention spans on the creators of candy-coated content, we’re sidestepping our own duty to keep learning even after we’re finished being students, to grapple with complex or challenging ideas, and to be active citizens.

Here’s Macris’s reasoning in a bit more detail. Not only do consumers prefer tasty food over nutritious food, but thanks to our corn-centric agricultural system, it’s also cheaper to produce and to buy, turning America into one of the fattest nations on Earth. The media equivalent of comfort food—tasty but non-nutritious—is text aimed one or two notches below a consumer’s reading grade level. Publishers, more concerned with earning profits than with edifying the public, have spent decades simplifying the languages and ideas in books, newspapers, magazines, textbooks, and websites, Macris charges. In 1950, newspapers like the Miami Herald or magazines like Time and Newsweek assumed readers were at an 11th-grade reading level. Today, he says, those same publications are aimed at readers with an 8th- or 9th-grade reading level.

At the same time that the American “diet of the mind” has coarsened, some other troubling changes have taken place. People are buying fewer books, reading less for pleasure, scoring lower on standardized tests, and falling behind in their general reading ability. In 1949, 54 percent of the population could read at the 10th grade level or above; by 2003, only 20 percent could. Meanwhile, movies and television shows have adopted a faster, more frenetic pace, with few shots lasting more than a couple of seconds. Pop songs have become louder, simpler, and more homogeneous.

To Macris, the overall implication is that the dumbed-down content our cultural overlords are serving us—including most of what’s on television, the Internet, and our mobile playlists—is destroying our minds. “We need to begin to balance our content diet as urgently as we need to balance our food diet,” Macris concludes.

I won’t argue with that last sentiment. The question is whether the problem is on the supply side (the content and the way it’s delivered) or the demand side (the choices we make about what to consume). Macris belongs to a school of supply-siders founded in the 1950s by Marshall McLuhan and recently revived by Nicholas Carr, author of The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains.

Interestingly, these writers have long been using food metaphors to explain our supposed thralldom to technology-mediated content. “The content of a medium is just ‘the juicy piece of meat carried by the burglar to distract the watchdog of the mind,’” Carr wrote in his 2010 book, quoting McLuhan. “Not even McLuhan could have foreseen the feast that the Internet has laid before us: one course after another, each juicier than the last, with hardly a moment to catch our breath between bites.”

It’s time to get up and leave the supply-side table. Let’s put aside the fact that Macris’s evidence about reading levels shows only a correlation between simplified content and lower cognitive ability, not cause and effect. And let’s not pick on the logical contradictions in his argument. (If reading material has been dumbed down to make it tastier, then people should be consuming more of it, not less.) Let’s just focus for a moment on the food metaphor, and where it breaks down; if we do, I think we’ll learn about wiser ways to fight junk content on the Web.

Once you’ve watched documentaries like Food Inc. or read anything by Michael Pollan, it’s hard to see the U.S. food economy—which is really the corn economy—as anything but a conspiracy to keep millions of people addicted to processed foods and sugary snacks and drinks. The beauty of the system, from the point of view of the giant chemical, ag-biotech, and food-processing companies, is that they can make money coming and going. Not only do they sell the seeds, fertilizer, pesticides, and fuel needed to grow huge crops of corn; they also transform the corn into diapers and trash bags and Gatorade and ethanol, and feed vast piles of it to chickens and cattle, which are later turned into fast-food nuggets and burgers. All at the expense of taxpayers, who are on the hook for $3 billion to $7 billion per year in ethanol subsidies and other payments to corn farmers, not to mention $150 billion in medical costs from diabetes, obesity, and heart disease.

It’s a system so full of perverse incentives and negative externalities that you can’t help going there for comparisons when you’re thinking about other kinds of social challenges—for instance, the way technology is commodifying content in the media business. Ideas, after all, are food for the intellect. (I’m pretty sure Plato said that. Or maybe it was Julia Child.) When you can pay a writer next to nothing to collect 27 funny cat GIFs, slap a viral headline on them, and earn a few hundred thousand banner ad impressions, there’s not much incentive to … Next Page »

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The Author

Wade Roush is a contributing editor at Xconomy.

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  • http://www.SteverRobbins.com Stever Robbins

    While I understand your argument about demand-side responsibility, I think you’re missing the crucial part of the argument: that people don’t decide to consume media any more than they decide to consume sweet food. One is far more available, and it’s been created to hijack the careful decision-making in favor of knee-jerk responses. Upworthy showed vividly that the right linguistic constructs as a headline can pull people into reading one set of content instead of another.

    If I am bombarded with carefully constructed headlines that hijack my attention all day long, on sites that do NOT give me hijacking headlines that lead to good content, then in practice, I end up getting seduced by a stupid article here or there and end up using my article reading time on crap, rather than on deep content.

    It isn’t that I don’t want good content, it’s that the barrier is simply too high to find it, compared to the low-nutrition content that is literally splashed all over my screen by virtually every web site I visit.

    The difference between you and me is that I don’t want to spend my time on a special search for good content. I don’t find reading material by thinking, “I want high quality reading material right now.” I find it because I’m doing something else and see a headline in the margin and think “I want to know more about that.” (The “something else” may be using Facebook for social reasons, reading a news article that I am interested in, etc.) The follow-hyperlink approach to media is a fundamentally different cognitive process than actively seeking out content.

    You’re in the media business. Your job is seeking out trends and interesting stuff and writing about it. For you, an outbound media search is something you do on a regular basis. Not so for me. It’s only the interrupt-driven media that I find out about, because that’s what passes through my life(*). I don’t have separate time blocked out for consuming high-quality media. Indeed, I have no interest in blocking out time to consume more media of any quality. I get enough during work hours and want nothing more than to get away from it in the rest of my life.

    The N hours a week I have allocated for media get hijacked by the headlines. Even a genuine desire for quality content isn’t enough to cause me to ramp down my socializing time so I can have extra, dedicated time to do the outbound quality search you describe.

    (*) I only know about your articles because they pass through my Facebook stream. And I read them, all the way through, because I know you can be counted on for good content. But the number of such sources that pass through my Facebook stream, or on websites that I visit, is quite small. And in your case, I already know you’re high quality so I click through. Not so with other authors.

    • Guest

      This is a great response to a great article. One thing I would like to add. There is something terrible about the Internet. It adds so much junk to our minds and the minds of our children that it is impossible to feel a connection with the not so distant past. When I was a kid I had an awareness of how the world was before I came along and how it shaped my own world.That is now missing. The Internet has become our cultural reference point exactly as you say. With shallow headlines throwing ideas into our minds hundreds of times a day.

      I am in favor of teaching the classics in school again. The classics I grew up on taught adventure, fun, possibilities in the real world, morality toward your fellow man, consequences of actions, imagination, etc.

      Dickens, Moby Dick, Treasure Island, Robinson Crusoe, Jules Verne, classic short stories that are time honored, etc. These pieces of literature teach kids and adults how to think and dream and imagine what is going on outside themselves. Without the classics, and with the Internet ruling everything, we now think instant information and blunted statements is adequate. It isn’t. There is no connection to the past, and that opens things up for a mass hypnosis effect where anything can fill the void.

  • http://www.supermom101.com/ SuperMom101

    Terrific article! The public library analogy is perfect. When our children were small we’d walk to the library to have something to do, and yes, play the “educational” video games, enjoy the puppets and read books. Now, our 20 year-old came home from college and wanted to get some “independent” movies he thought the library would have. Our 18 year-old daughter and I tagged along and found ourselves wondering the bookshelves for at least an hour. All together, we came home with six books and two movies.

    p.s. Happy to say I haven’t purchased “food” from a vending machine in years, but there is one in our office building in the basement.

    Best health!

  • Alexander Macris

    Thanks for the well thought out response to my TedX talk!

    I actually agree with you that as human beings we have free will to choose what we consume. If I didn’t believe that, my call to action at the end of the video would be moot. That said:

    1. Our self agency may not arise until well after the damage is done. Children left in front of screen media from a young age are being affected by it, and that will impact later content consumption patterns.
    2. There is a widespread denial of the idea that content can affect us at all. The accumulated evidence is not yet so irrefutable that one can say “this is like cigarette smoking,” for example.
    3. Due to their effect on the nervous system, some of the most damaging types of content can have an “addictive” effect that lures us in even though we ought know better. I’m as aware as anyone but I still suffer from this.
    4. Returning to the taste/nutrition divide, many of our favorite “tastes” are only available in very “un-nutritious” forms. There is quite a limited pool of “nutritious” superhero content, for example.

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