Sharing is human. We are social. We communicate. We learn from each other. Our first conversations with people we don't know are anecdote competitions. If in the 15th century everyone had owned a printing press, Europe would have been littered with personal missives and opinions. Cameras were one of the first mass-market story-telling devices, and stories were told. Then: curated, bundled, and shared.
The genius of Facebook has always been its facilitation of sharing. Its pivotal innovation -- the one that inspired its first rash of furious remonstrations -- was the automatic sharing of news feeds between friends. In the Friendster/MySpace world, users could visit their friends' feeds, but they did not receive them passively. Facebook's decision to push these feeds out to users' contacts led to howls about privacy -- and that's what made the service a sensation.
Facebook's role in our world is to lead us where we're headed. We like to share who we are and what we like. We're consumers who pay more for things stamped with particular logos, after all; we shouldn't be taken aback when someone tries to spread that idea. Facebook has been there for almost a decade, guiding us toward a place where displays of what we're doing and where we are become the simple documentations of the life of an average Joe.
The company's biggest struggle has been figuring out how to make money from it. An early effort, Beacon, was a flop. People are happy to share information -- photos, stories, links, videos -- but only information they have carefully selected. Beacon took it upon itself to share information about online purchases and transactions -- and people revolted. It was Facebook's most notable failure, and it stemmed from sharing that didn't derive from the user.
Last year's launch of Open Graph began an exploration of how to work around that. It combined two innovations: the global Like button and the ability of some sites to pull information from Facebook without your agreeing to it. Beacon lite. This met with outcry -- I'm losing control over my information! -- which quickly subsided as it became apparent that the intrusion was minimal. People weren't interested in your Pandora stations, but Facebook cracked the door toward using your information the way it wanted.
Slate's Farhad Manjoo has perhaps the savviest take on the innovations Facebook announced yesterday. In addition to Timeline -- the elegant, deep presentation of a user's Facebook history -- the company revealed that it sought to make sharing information "frictionless," which is to say, automatic. Watch a movie or listen to a song and it gets shared, without the tedium of your clicking anything.
The problem with that, of course, is that it eliminates the curation aspect of our self-presentations. It would be as though I told everyone that I was wearing blue jeans and a somewhat worse-for-wear t-shirt right now in addition to revealing that earlier today I wore a sharp, tailored suit. Both are accurate, but only one is the impression I'd like to leave with people. (The latter.) Talking about the suit is Facebook. Talking about my scrubby jeans is Beacon.
I used to work at Adobe. One summer, the company brought in a number of well-known
artists to work on a project, one of whom was a photographer. Using Photoshop, he cleaned up his photos of the other participants, noting that "a photo is not meant to be a dermatological
record." This is extensible: the image we present to the world is not
meant to include every single bit of information possible. What we share is
selected to be a representation of the ideal we want to project, not a
reflection of who we are. Our curation itself is representative; what we don't
say says something, too. Facebook moving curation from us to its algorithms
means we could lose some of our personality in what we present. It's akin to
putting every photo in a photo album, and letting the album worry about what
But this is incidental. Facebook anticipates -- correctly -- that we want easy processes to share more and more about ourselves. Or, at least, that we will soon. We've always wanted simple ways to scrapbook, and Facebook is poised to be one of the simplest.
Where they may have missed the mark is in taking away our ability to decide what we show.
In a unique, home-spun experiment, researchers found that centripetal force could help people pass kidney stones—before they become a serious health-care cost.
East Lansing, Michigan, becomes a ghost town during spring break. Families head south, often to the theme parks in Orlando. A week later, the Midwesterners return sunburned and bereft of disposable income, and, urological surgeon David Wartinger noticed, some also come home with fewer kidney stones.
Wartinger is a professor emeritus at Michigan State, where he has dealt for decades with the scourge of kidney stones, which affect around one in 10 people at some point in life. Most are small, and they pass through us without issue. But many linger in our kidneys and grow, sending hundreds of thousands of people to emergency rooms and costing around $3.8 billion every year in treatment and extraction. The pain of passing a larger stone is often compared to child birth.
After Donald Trump became the Republican nominee, he was asked on Fox News about his views on NATO and other American alliances. He gave his familiar “they’re freeloaders” answer:
The fact is we are protecting so many countries that are not paying for the protection. When a country isn’t paying us and these are countries in some cases in most cases that have the ability to pay, and they are not paying because nobody is asking….
We’re protecting all of these countries. They have an agreement to reimburse us and pay us and they are not doing it and if they are not going to do that. We have to seriously rethink at least those countries. It’s very unfair.
One man conducted hundreds of interviews to understand the motivation and morality of those in the finance industry.
How can bankers live with themselves after the destruction wrought by their industry? That’s in part what the Dutch journalist Joris Luyendijk sets out to uncover in his new book, Among the Bankers: A Journey Into the Heart of Finance, which was published overseas last year under the title Swimming with Sharks. The book attempts to lay bare not the technical workings of a very opaque industry, but the emotional and moral considerations of those who operate within it.
Luyendijk, a reporter at The Guardian who has a background in anthropology, poses that question of conscience over and over again. To answer it, he conducted hundreds of interviews with people who work in the City, London’s version of Wall Street.
From the “400-pound” hacker to Alicia Machado, the candidate’s denigration of fat people has a long tradition—but may be a liability.
One of the odder moments of Monday’s presidential debate came when Donald Trump speculated that the DNC had been hacked not by Russia but by “someone sitting on their bed that weighs 400 pounds.” He was trying to suggest the crime had been committed by someone unaffiliated with a government—but why bring up fatness?
Weight seems to be one of Trump’s preoccupations. The debate and its fallout highlighted how he publicly ridiculed the Miss Universe winner Alicia Machado as “Miss Piggy” and an “eating machine,” and how he called Rosie O’Donnell a “fat pig” with “a fat, ugly face” (“I think everyone would agree that she deserves it and nobody feels sorry for her,” he said onstage Monday). He also recently poked fun at his ally Chris Christie’s weight-loss struggles and called out a protestor as “seriously overweight.” And when he was host of The Apprentice, he insisted on keeping a “funny fat guy” on the show, according to one of its producers.
A new study looks at rates of lethal violence across a thousand species to better understand the evolutionary origins of humanity’s own inhumanity.
Which mammal is most likely to be murdered by its own kind? It’s certainly not humans—not even close. Nor is it a top predator like the grey wolf or lion, although those at least are #11 and #9 in the league table of murdery mammals. No, according to a study led by José María Gómez from the University of Granada, the top spot goes to… the meerkat. These endearing black-masked creatures might be famous for their cooperative ways, but they kill each other at a rate that makes man’s inhumanity to man look meek. Almost one in five meerkats, mostly youngsters, lose their lives at the paws and jaws of their peers.
Gómez’s study is the first thorough survey of violence in the mammal world, collating data on more than a thousand species. It clearly shows that we humans are not alone in our capacity to kill each other. Our closest relatives, the chimpanzees, have been known to wage brutal war, but even apparently peaceful creatures take each other’s lives. When ranked according to their rates of lethal violence, ground squirrels, wild horses, gazelle, and deer all feature in the top 50. So do long-tailed chinchillas, which kill each other more frequently than tigers and bears do.
For decades, the candidate has willfully inflicted pain and humiliation.
Donald J. Trump has a cruel streak. He willfully causes pain and distress to others. And he repeats this public behavior so frequently that it’s fair to call it a character trait. Any single example would be off-putting but forgivable. Being shown many examples across many years should make any decent person recoil in disgust.
Judge for yourself if these examples qualify.
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In national politics, harsh attacks are to be expected. I certainly don’t fault Trump for calling Hillary Clinton dishonest, or wrongheaded, or possessed of bad judgment, even if it’s a jarring departure from the glowing compliments that he used to pay her.
But even in a realm where the harshest critiques are part of the civic process, Trump crossed a line this week when he declared his intention to invite Gennifer Flowers to today’s presidential debate. What kind of man invites a husband’s former mistress to an event to taunt his wife? Trump managed to launch an attack that couldn’t be less relevant to his opponent’s qualifications or more personally cruel. His campaign and his running-mate later said that it was all a big joke. No matter. Whether in earnest or in jest, Trump showed his tendency to humiliate others.
Narcissism, disagreeableness, grandiosity—a psychologist investigates how Trump’s extraordinary personality might shape his possible presidency.
In 2006, Donald Trump made plans to purchase the Menie Estate, near Aberdeen, Scotland, aiming to convert the dunes and grassland into a luxury golf resort. He and the estate’s owner, Tom Griffin, sat down to discuss the transaction at the Cock & Bull restaurant. Griffin recalls that Trump was a hard-nosed negotiator, reluctant to give in on even the tiniest details. But, as Michael D’Antonio writes in his recent biography of Trump, Never Enough, Griffin’s most vivid recollection of the evening pertains to the theatrics. It was as if the golden-haired guest sitting across the table were an actor playing a part on the London stage.
“It was Donald Trump playing Donald Trump,” Griffin observed. There was something unreal about it.
Photographer Karen Marshall began photographing a group of girls in 1985—and hasn’t stopped.
When Karen Marshall started photographing a group of teenage girls on the Upper West Side in 1985, she wasn't sure what would happen. A decade older than them, Marshall was interested in exploring what girlhood looked like in a middle class, urban environment. "I wanted to look at girls who reminded me of how I grew up," Marshall said to The Atlantic. "Most of the photographs I would see of teenage girls were about women under the poverty line or prom queens in the midwest—neither of the things that I grew up with."
Marshall started photographing Molly Brover, a charismatic, curly-haired junior at the Bronx High School of Science, and her group of friends. She photographed them hanging out in Riverside Park, smoking cigarettes, having slumber parties—the mundane and exhilarating rites of puberty. Ten months later, Molly died in a car accident. What Marshall thought was a coming of age story turned into something more complicated—now also about loss, not only of Molly, but of childhood. "I had to see this project through," Marshall said. "I had her in all these photographs—she was still going to remain very much alive and the rest of them would grow older."
Communal living is hardly a departure from tradition—it's a return to how humans have been making their homes for thousands of years.
For most of human history, people were hunter-gatherers. They lived in large camps, depending on one another for food, childcare, and everything else—all without walls, doors, or picket fences. In comparison, the number of people living in most households in today’s developed countries is quite small. According to the Census Bureau, fewer than three people lived in the average American household in 2010. The members of most American households can be counted on one hand, or even, increasingly, one finger: Single-person households only made up about 13 percent of all American households in 1960. Now, that figure is about 28 percent.
Belonging to a relatively small household has become the norm even though it can make daily life more difficult in many ways. Privacy may be nice, but cooking and doing chores become much less time-consuming when shared with an additional person, or even several people. Water, electric, and internet bills also become more bearable when divided among multiple residents. There are social downsides to living alone, too. Many elderly people, young professionals, stay-at-home parents, and single people routinely spend long stretches of time at home alone, no matter how lonely they may feel; more distressingly, many single parents face the catch-22 of working and paying for childcare. Living in smaller numbers can be a drain on money, time, and feelings of community, and the rise of the two-parent dual-earning household only compounds the problems of being time-poor.