Issue 1 | 16 Jan, 2022
Hello, people of the internet, and welcome to first issue of Multitudes. I’m Shantanu Kishwar, a curious person who overthinks everything (as you’ll see below).
For the longest time (and much to the irritation of family and friends) I’ve aspired to hyper-rationality. I aspired to be Homo Economicus, that theoretical creature created by economists when deciding how the world should ideally work. The defining features of Homo Economicus? “Flawless rationality, unlimited cognitive capacity, perfect information, narrow self-interest, and preference consistency.” Cold and calculating in every choice, achieving the sort of perfection that Sheldon did when choosing his spot.
Aspiring to this theoretical ideal was fun, but also only possible when I didn’t have major decisions to make. Theory confronted reality when I moved to Bangalore last September (and kind of fell apart). I was attempting adulting for the first time and, as part of this big adventure, had to find a place to live.
I’d never done this before and didn’t know what to expect in my miserly budget. The only advice I was given was to make sure the fans turned on and the flushes flushed. Armed with this meagre knowledge I set off one Saturday down the tiny by-lanes of Banaswadi, searching for the eight houses I’d shortlisted.
Some, I could reject out-of-hand. They were in cramped neighbourhoods, had been deceptively photographed to seem bigger than they actually were, or were painted a gaudy pink, purple or green (and felt like the inside of an eccentric chewing gum). Often, landlords were okay renting to a single guy but forbade this single guy bringing friends (especially female ones), alcohol, or meat into the house. (I despise the phrase, “Sir, but this is a family area.” I trust that anyone my age who’s house-hunted in India will empathise.)
Funnily enough, these didn’t cause as much anguish as the houses that seemed perfect did (neat, with lots of light, ventilation, and a landlord whose only request was not to bother the neighbours). House-hunting felt like a fun game, but choosing one felt like an irresponsible gamble. My hyper-rational self wanted nothing but the best in my budget and was convinced better options were right around the corner. All I had to do was look a little harder. After all, there were options aplenty at this point. Bangalore’s rental market was reeling from COVID and there were apartments available at discounted rates.
I was experiencing the paradox of choice in all its glory.
To a “rational” person, more choices increase the odds of getting the best bang for your buck. Beyond a point, though, choices feel crippling instead of empowering. They leave you in an uncertain lurch, forever afraid that you’re settling for something sub-optimal. Always second-guessing your choice breeds anxiety and looking for “better” options keeps you from enjoying what you’ve got in front of you.
Of course, none of this is unique to me or my house-hunting. Infinite choices and the decision fatigue that accompany them are key features of the modern world. Choosing something to watch from the gazillion options on Netflix seems impossible, so you scroll through trailers for an hour before you re-watch something you know you’ll enjoy. Ordering lightbulbs on Amazon or Flipkart is exhausting because it’s impossible to really tell the difference between the 10,000 options available, but you still don’t want to make the wrong choice. Dating apps have done this to romance too. They’ve created a market of single people and made it difficult to fully commit to one person - what if the next person you swipe on is better? The fear of missing out on the best choice is very real, so you don’t end up choosing at all.
This leads me to another paradox of choice - we may cherish the freedom to choose, but suck at actually making choices. (There’s a slight caveat to this which I’ll come to later).
Sheena Iyengar has researched exactly this for years now. Here’s an example from one of her TED Talks: she ran an experiment where, at different times in a grocery store, customers were offered samples of either 6 or 24 types of jam. More sampled the jams when there were 24 options, but only 3% of samplers bought jam. Fewer sampled jam when there were 6 options, but about 30% of them bought jam at the end. Less choice equalled more choosing, and vice-versa.
Unfortunately, not all choices are as trivial as this. Buying or not buying jam won’t make a huge difference to anyone, but if I didn’t pick a house I’d be homeless (quite a big difference to my quality of life). And so I chose whatever seemed good enough. I had a realistic list of things I wanted from my house and a budget to spend. The answer, then, was to choose the first place that ticked both boxes. There might well have been a better house right around the corner, but that didn’t make it the right choice.
And with this realisation came a small revelation. Homo Economicus is to the social sciences what Dumbledore is to literature - a fantastical character capable of a great deal, but non-existent in the real world.
Coming to the caveat I mentioned above. It turns out that not everyone loves the freedom to choose. Cultural relativity plays a big role here. In another experiment, Sheena Iyengar found that among children given certain tasks to do in class, Anglo-American children who’d been told their mothers decided their tasks performed far worse than those given the freedom to choose the task themselves. The results were reversed for Asian-American children, who did better when told their mothers chose what to do than when they chose themselves.
Also, the very idea of what constitutes a choice is often culturally determined. Sheena Iyengar spoke of an experience with interviewees from the former Soviet Union. When offered seven aerated drinks in a waiting room, these interviewees didn’t consider these seven choices. They were all sweet and fizzy, so they were all the same. When water and juice were added to the mix, they now felt that they had 3 choices (not 9). This, in contrast to many Americans who’d give their life arguing that Coke and Pepsi were worlds apart.
This is just one of many places that the Soviet Union’s different relationship with choices shows up. I remember reading many accounts from Second Hand Time by Svetlana Alexievich where ardent supporters of the communist regime felt betrayed by the country’s embrace of well-stocked supermarkets at the end of the Cold War. This seemed counter-intuitive because it ended massive shortages that persisted earlier. Yet to these supporters, more types of cheese, sausages and jeans in the market was far worse than scarcity, if accompanied by a betrayal of one’s belief. To them, sacrifice in pursuit of ideals was favourable to a life of material plenty but ideological emptiness.
The Round-Up
A bit of a personal plug, but one of the more fun parts of my new job is producing our podcast, Ei Dialogues. In recent episodes, we’ve spoken to global leaders in education, development, and public policy about the potential and pitfalls of EdTech, helping children learn in lockdown, and scaling social impact in India. Our latest episode with Andreas Schleicher, who heads education at the OECD and spearheaded PISA, is one of my all-time favourites. I’ve rarely heard someone speak with as much clarity on the subject of education before, and I’d highly recommend it to you. You can listen to it on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever else you get your podcasts.
If you liked the essay above and want to read more about behavioural economics and psychology, I’d recommend starting with Misbehaving by Richard Thaler or The Art of Choosing by Sheena Iyengar. I also referenced The Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwarz above, but I'll admit I haven’t read the book myself yet, just articles about it. I’ll also likely write more about this in the coming weeks/months.
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this issue. Feel free to share it around with other curious people and over-thinkers who might enjoy it.
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