May 11, 2009

The Kindle and our Personal Identifiers

There's a new Kindle in my house, and we're excited about it. But I wonder if the mainstreaming of the e-book is taking something away from our relationships.

Going back. My wife and I are book people. Readers. My wife has spent over 20 years in book publishing and is currently the senior publicity executive at a large publishing house. I used to be a writer, and while my writing was for the screen any writer is by definition a serial gobbler of books. We're both pro-Kindle, at least to the point of giving that thin little machine a chance to show us that we can happily read on it.

The theoretical pros are compelling.  One way of looking at the publishing industry is that they are value adders to paper sales. Using less paper seems like a good, green thing, leaving them as sellers of pure value. Just the savings on mailing galleys around is a huge cost reduction to the business. With readership on the decline, that dollar savings is probably saving jobs.

Carrying a kindle is easier than carrying paper books, particularly if you, like I, usually have more than one going at a time and also read newspapers and magazines. And it's connected, so you can also read blogs on it.

But there's a cost. And it may seem ephemeral -- probably more so the younger you are.

Used to be that when you would visit someone for the first time, you would scan their CD collection -- ok, I started to write "record collection" because that's where it started for me -- and their bookshelf. You would get an idea of the personality of your host their experiences and interests. These personal identifiers were conversation starters or at least access points to each other. Today, you almost never see a CD rack. Everything is ripped to the computer. And that's a good thing. People have their collections shared, they have them streamed through Express networks throughout the house, they can shuffle endlessly and create a soundtrack of everything they like. But it is one less way I get to know you when I walk through your door.

Now take away the bookshelf too.

The bookshelf isn't only an outbound visualization of your taste or intellect. It's a cliche to point out that physical books carry emotional reference. But there have been so many times when I wanted to read something but didn't know what and scanned my bookshelf until something popped out at me. Something either I hadn't read yet or that seemed to push itself out on the shelf towards me just from a glimpse of the art on the spine. A black and white scroll down a kindle list isn't going to do that for me. I know because I have the same frustration with running down the list of music I have on my iPod.

At the same time as this is happening, there has been a huge shift towards furnishing your home from mega-companies like Pottery Barn. We don't really buy locally anymore, we buy at the mall or from catalogs. So, take away the indicators of personal taste, reduce my options, and furnish with stuff that everyone else also has access to and you're left with very limited ways to show your personality in your home. The conversation starter is, "Hey, I've got that same chair." Oh. Cool.

This change in how we get our content certainly changes how marketing messages are delivered and creates new business models.  But the loss is something that means nothing to a marketer and everything to a potential friend. Everything, but you don't necessarily miss an absent clue to a conversation that hasn't started.

But, as with almost everything, it's more complicated than that.  Because while these tangible channels of personal expression are going away, there is a shift going on to express ever more widely as  people use social networks to express their “identifiers” in a big way. Think of all the little Facebook games and apps: cities I’ve been (I’m a traveler, I can talk coherently about Budapest), Visual Bookshelf (I’m a reader and if you want to talk about Harlan Ellison I'm up for it). Or on Flickr (you can gently mock me about the piture where I have a keg on my head) or YouTube (can you believe my son did that?). In fact Delicious Library lets you scan the UPC symbols of your books, CD’s, and DVD’s to create virtual, visual bookshelves showing them off.

Now, posting in public is different from having these displays more privately for invited guests to your home.  Maybe the difference, though, is more in the delivery. It’s that they’re portable and publishable.  And also programmatic.  What does seem harder to replace is that tactile intimacy, that jolt of recognition when you walk into a new acquaintance's place, look around, and think: "Yeah, we could be friends."

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Comments


justin miller     May 12, 2009
Kindle is really making a lot of news lately – amazing design, and it seems to fit with today’s lifestyle. Your Facebook analogy is a good one. I hope the downfall of records and books are not as bad as we think, and that new generations will get the same ephemeral quality from digital experiences.

Personally I hope we can learn to be environmentally friendly without sacrificing everyday life rituals that involve materials or fuel. The ephemeral quality you mentioned is important, and unfortunately quickly disappearing. It seems like we’re on this never-ending quest of consolidation and optimization; we won’t be happy until one sleek, featureless object neatly takes care of everything we do. I love my iPod because it’s the one, solitary, uncompromised part of my day. While the device seems very human due to ease of use, it lacks real character. I’d hate to see my entire life follow suite. After all, the Apple Store is a great place to shop but living there would get rather boring. Humans aren’t meant to have brand mangers; the imperfections and personal details we find in each other is the best part of life.

While I love the Kindle™, I hope we can find a way to keep books as well– otherwise we’ll wake up one day in Gattica a little sooner than expected.

Bryan Fuhr     May 12, 2009
Interesting post, Matt.

I've noticed a number of changes in my household since we took up with the Kindle. They're pretty similar:

1. I don't talk about a book's title. I talk about reading my Kindle.
2. I can't pass a book onto the next person. They have to borrow my Kindle. (Like that's going to happen.)
3. I don't buy books for other people in my family. I think it's creepy to load something onto someone else's Kindle.
4. I don't store my Kindle on my coffee table, like I did with books. It's in my briefcase. It invites less conversation about what I'm reading.
5. I don't bother to organize my bookshelves. They don't telegraph to guests my latest, greatest discoveries.

I grew up in a household where you were defined by what you read. Although reading was an individual act, it was social and defined your contribution to the conversation. The Kindle has changed this. It's made reading much more solitary. Is this really better?


Tyler Doshier     May 12, 2009
I've actually made a conscious effort to hang on to tangible indicators of personal taste. I purchase my favorite albums on vinyl, and do so for multiple reasons; not just because records are nice conversation starters (they are), but because vinyl is such an intimate and tactile format, and it's a fun way to own the albums I really love. Vinyl has been catching on with a lot of Gen Y music lovers over the past couple of years, so I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

And I'd much rather find a used piece of furniture with some character than buy something from Ikea or Crate & Barrel. Used, found, or re-purposed furniture is unique and irreplaceable. Not to mention it comes with a built-in conversation starter: the story of how I came across it. Anytime I can even find something in a thrift shop as small as a cool t-shirt for wearing around the apartment, I feel like I've struck gold, because I've found something that is not only an expression of my taste, but one-of-a-kind (or close to it). I've never identified with some of the more contrived attempts at promoting individuality in our culture of mass-produced everything, like the colorizing and engraving options available for iPods. So you have the same iPod model as millions of other people, but it's pink and has an engraving on the back, so it's unique... uh, sure.

To get back to the point you make about book and music collections being overt displays of personal taste, I agree, it's interesting how these have transitioned from physical, tangible displays into virtual ones. Certainly, there's something less genuine about simply listing my favorite books, movies, and music on my Facebook profile because doing so doesn't necessarily mean I've actually invested in these things with my precious time, money, or shelf space. However, as you noted, Facebook profiles are much more visible. I'm not sure whether this is a good or bad thing, but I know others have vetted potential friends or romantic partners by browsing that person's Facebook profile before really getting to know them. Obviously, what you can learn from a Facebook profile is not the same as what you might learn if you knew the person intimately enough to be invited into their home. Maybe social networking is encouraging us to put the cart before the horse.

But isn't it really about holding on to a way of starting a conversation or telling a story with everything we own? In transitioning the indicators of personal taste from physical ones to digital ones, I think perhaps Apple (which I criticized earlier) has actually put forth the best effort in retaining some semblance of that warm feeling or 'jolt' you describe. iTunes was really the first program to make a big attempt to push people into organizing their digital music and treating it as a collection. Instead of having music dumped into folders, iTunes introduced an attractive interface through which to organize and explore one's music, and I liked that it emphasized album art. Specifically, Cover Flow did a nice job of trying to recreate that 'flipping through a collection' experience. I've often invited friends to go through my iTunes and play whatever they like, and in my opinion, that's just as satisfying as flipping through a rack of CDs together.

I do believe the digital and physical worlds could still be merged even more. Maybe a stereo should be a large touchscreen with a 'cover flow'-style interface, with wi-fi and a harddrive. Then your guests could just walk up and start flipping through your music, yet you'd have the convenience and flexibility of a digital music collection. I think we need solutions like that, which strike some kind of balance between both worlds.

Matt     May 12, 2009
The day after posting this, the NY Times published this piece about piracy of books. Enabled, of course, by the Kindle and Sony Reader. http://tinyurl.com/r8fo8e




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