The Flip Side of The Long Tail

Chris Anderson's book "The Long Tail" has been enjoying quite a bit of attention. his premise - that modern technology can make it profitable to sell small quantities of a huge variety of products - (amazon.com is the classic example) - is being discussed everywhere from NPR to "The Economist." At first blush, this marketplace evolution seems wonderful. I enjoy listening primarily to jazz and downtempo world music, so most of what's played on the radio (terrestrial or satellite) doesn't appeal to me. But, thanks to the internet, I can find and buy lots of music that I do like. However, the other day, I was in my local supermarket, puzzling over the endless varieties of laundry detergent (Alpine Fresh? Original Clean Scent? Winter Morning? Plus Softener?) when a middle-aged lady standing nearby sighed and commented, "I think I liked it better when there were fewer options." That made me stop and think. It's the old, "Can't I just get a plain cup of coffee?" complaint. With dozens of varieties of each product, not only do we tend to feel that our time is being wasted by the obligation of sifting through a mountain of whatever-it-is to find the "best one," but we also rarely feel certain that we've actually found the "best one," once we do make a decision. My wife suggests that it's each individual's responsibility to find his own peace with the abundance with which we are presented. Simply refuse to waste time comparing and evaluating products that are functionally identical. When it comes to detergent, for example, she suggests simply buying what's on sale. All well and good (and very pragmatic, which I highly respect), but what's missing from this discussion is the fact that we've seen "the long tail" before. We've seen it in the hand-made, custom-manufactured goods of the pre-industrialized era. Instead of having to choose between a thousand different shoes, you'd simply go to your local cobbler, and have shoes made to the exact measurements of your feet. Instead of trying to sort through an infinite number of teapots, you'd go to the local potter, and tell him what you wanted. Instead of accepting a robotic "suggestion" from Amazon.com, you'd chat with your local bookshop owner who would recommend a book that, based on her experience, you might enjoy. We're told that being occasionally overwhelmed is simply the price of freedom, but I disagree. The answer to soulless consumerism is not more comprehensive distribution mechanisms, but more individualized production. After all, what's the problem that "the long tail" solves? The fact that people have trouble finding stuff they like. Well, having all the stuff in the world to choose from is definitely one way of solving the problem, but it's not the only way. Amazon.com et al. are totally missing the critical human element that you can only find in a small, local business. It's nice to be able to find some material good that closely fits your fancy, but if you're still acquiring it through a completely mediated, dehumanized process, you're missing the spiritual and emotional connection you enjoy when you purchase a product directly from the artisan who created it, or the merchant who thoughtfully selected it. "The long tail" of choice provided by technology is terrific when you want a specific piece of information, or a particular kind of music (there's no question that the internet has been a tremendous boon to "unsigned" bands and unpublished authors), but it is not a substitute for the human element that transactions with local craftsmen and merchants provide. You can find a million articles of clothing online, but it's easy to see how going to your local tailor or seamstress collective and buying something custom made for you is more fun, fulfilling and satisfying. (I wanted to suggest virginthreads.com as an example of independent, local clothing designers, but apparently they've been sued out of a name by the Virgin Group and are now called www.starsandinfinitedarkness.com. What's in a name, eh?) For me, the bottom line is this: Choice is good, but it's not the only good. Let's revel in the abundance of world-wide options, but let's not forget about the option of staying close to home, of enjoying customized products, created in our own communities, by our own neighbors.