Do We Really Want Cher's Closet?
The first episode of season two of Netflix’s Chilling Adventures of Sabrina captured the true reason everyone wants to have magical powers: to twirl your finger or wand and suddenly be in a brand new outfit. Witchcraft takes fashion to new heights by making it more convenient and fun (who needs a designated clothes chair or table in their room when your clothes can magically appear on you and then back in the closet?)
The witchy clothing swap can be dated back to when the original Sabrina the Teenage Witch aired in 1996 with Melissa Joan Hart.
Just before it, Clueless was released in 1995, bringing lovers of fashion a more attainable dream: a computer with your closet inventory that had an algorithm to create outfits – and even display them on a virtual version of you. Just like magical powers, the device, which streamed onto a chunky old Macintosh desktop, relieves you of the pain and time of trying on different outfits.
It’s been over ten years since these movies were released, and still nothing of the sort exists for everyday people. As if! However, in retrospect, how much do we actually want Cher’s automated dress-up gadget? What does it mean for an algorithm to take over the creative decision making of dressing ourselves?
I asked Northwestern students these very questions. Of those who wanted Cher’s outfit planning software, most thought it would make getting ready in the morning more convenient. Joanna Levy, a Weinberg sophomore, said “It would save so much time putting an outfit together in the morning!" Another anonymously shared that it would remind her of the many clothing pieces in her closet that she often forgets about.
People who responded not in favor felt it would “limit artistic creativity.” For some, getting ready in the morning is an activity that makes turning off your alarm and brushing your teeth worthwhile.
In Humanities 260, Morton Schapiro and Gary Morson debated in a classroom of around 80 students about whether economic methods, algorithms, and data calculations can be applied to human decision making, such as friends and marriage. Economist Gary Becker seems to think that analyzing potential utility could help in making a marriage-related decision. In Cents and Sensibility, however, Schapiro and Morson debunk Becker’s idea since humans can behave unpredictably and emotions cannot be quantified.
The same holds true for fashion. Can an algorithm really capture what you may feel that day or how something may fit you? Even based on weather statistics, past outfits, and analysis of current trends, how much can technology really predict and simulate our behavior?
The internet mirrors Sabrina Spellman’s magic we yearn for in the way it effortlessly answers our questions without revealing the series of numbers, letters, and the code that churns it out. As Siva Vaidhyanathan explains in The Googlization of Everything, “We are addicted to speed and convenience for the sake of speed and convenience.”
It feels supernatural to be talking about your summer job or a pair of shoes you need only to then see advertisements for apartments in that city or sneakers on Steve Madden. Vaidhyanathan argues that “If Google users were to understand or appreciate the scale and complexity of Google’s operations, their execration for magical results might be tempered, their appreciation for human work and ingenuity bolstered, and their abilities to use the tools enhanced.”
Let’s not lie though, Instagram ads have provided me with many new shopping sites and products. But these are merely suggestions that I occasionally use. If a real life Clueless website or software existed, we could empower these automated suggestions to dictate our thinking and disempower our brain’s ability for creativity and planning.
Perhaps an app with thoughtful clothing recommendations that crowdsources fashion information based on bloggers you follow, top articles and celebrities, and actual past purchases could be the solution that makes getting ready more convenient, while still enabling our authority over our decision making. In an age of constant data tracking and sharing through Google and Facebook’s conglomerates, we as consumers must draw the line on how much we let computers inform our actions. What details will the algorithm require to understand that a “mismatched” outfit for one person may be stylish for another?
Cher’s outfit coordinator may not raise issues of privacy, but it prompts concerns about how much human-like thinking computers can achieve. When will convenience be maximized? As much as Cher’s computer may shorten the time it takes to choose an outfit, I don’t think it’s worth losing another small part of our autonomy.