Human beings are comparison machines. It’s an inevitable part of the mishegas of being human—it’s built into the code. We spend about 10 percent of our thinking in a state of comparison. We compare looks, wealth, status, interior décor, foot arches, pants, cooking skills, the ability to win or lose games, neighborhoods, dogs, sports teams, and pizza types. We even build allegiances based on these things so that the next time we compare them, we have concrete decisions in place about the comparisons. We fortify the allegiance and harden these comparisons over and over and over. We can’t stop, we won’t stop.
There might be moderate benefits to comparisons, like building drive and ambition. But, generally, it’s one of our lesser traits, as fundamental and gross as pooping and warts. In fact, it’s such a negative trait that people who regularly compare—i.e., literally everyone—“experience feelings of deep dissatisfaction, guilt, or remorse, and engage in destructive behaviors like lying or disordered eating,” according to Psychology Today. Or, as one popular quote observes, it’s the “thief of joy.”
Our inventions, tools, and strategies shouldn’t highlight the negative human propensity toward comparison. Toilets take poop away so we don’t have to see it anymore. We have to poop—there’s no way around it—but we’ve all agreed that we should not physically and visually bathe in it all the time. Yet, when it comes to our poop-adjacent problem of comparison, social media, television, reality shows, and the 900 other forms of messaging operate by underscoring our differences and catapulting us into a comparison frenzy.
I’m struck by Utah’s Social Media Regulation Act, which will place limitations on when kids can log on and require parental consent to sign up for platforms like Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram, among others. There are many details to be hammered out, like how it will be enforced and where it leaves underprivileged minors who might need some of the mental health services available on social media. Putting all of these considerations to the side, when it comes to this legislation, my knee-jerk reaction was: That sounds great; can we do it for adults, too? And can we add a whole bunch of other rules?
I would love a rule about how many vacation photos people are allowed to post. Let’s get granular: If your vacation for a family of four cost more than $2,000, you are prohibited from posting about it. Your vacation should appear decent, but not luxurious. Basic nature vistas are fine, but if the location somehow indicates out-of-reach airfare or, worse, elite boat access, nope. Can’t post. Sorry, those are the rules!
I’d like to extend these rules to the CEOs, economists, and hedge fund managers who are regularly summoned to comment about the economy. When former Treasury Secretary and now Harvard University professor Larry Summers called in to Bloomberg’s Wall Street Week earlier this year to point out that his hope for the economy was to tame inflation by having people lose jobs, it was a hard argument to swallow. Even harder was that he did the interview from a beachfront resort in Jamaica! Clear blue waters were in the background! He looked like he was wearing flip-flops, so that right after he logged off national television, he could dip his Treasury gams into those crystalline waters. He was sitting in a reclining chair, and there were more reclining chairs in the distance! It was a furniture- and ocean-based insult to America.
Sure, I can say it’s not healthy to compare ourselves to former Treasury Secretary Larry Summers, but the way he was dressed—that drapey linen shirt—he was asking for it.
Consider the moment the cryptocurrency hedge fund Three Arrows Capital blew up the industry. Its founders booked a luxury trip to Bali, Indonesia. One of them posted photos from a private zoo in Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates. Yes, a private zoo. You don’t think that’s going to get the comparison juices flowing? Because most people can’t go to private zoos or hang out in Bali. I actually don’t care if you do both of those things; I just don’t want to know about it.
So here’s a regulation: If you’re ever at a private zoo, take no photos and post nothing. Especially if you’ve just helped engineer a crypto implosion where a lot of regular folks lost a lot of money.
I get that people are rich. But stop showing us just how rich you are, because it makes people feel crummy. Until we implement some kind of wealth-bragging limitation algorithm—which I’m nearly certain is possible—let’s stop posting anything that will make other people feel jealous, or yearn, or compare. For God’s sake, just turn your Zoom backdrop into a white wall and call it a day!