We all know you can’t hide from the algorithm. The algorithm will always get you. Linger too long on TikTok or Reels. Pick a show on Netflix or a song on Spotify. It will study your taste and serve you a copy, then offer you copies of the copies of what you liked before. The algorithm knows you better than you know yourself.
It’s a long way from the shared cultural experiences of the past, when families gathered to watch the same sitcoms at the same time on the same TV in a corner of the room.
Now, the algorithm is invading our TVs. Ofcom reports that televisions, not smartphones, still dominate home viewing, with 84% of video content watched on bigger screens; and as much as 34% of the time spent watching YouTube at home is on TV.
My own YouTube rabbit holes are not really anything my family want to gather around.
I can’t remember exactly why I clicked on my first “culture shock” video. To me, a culture shock is a major schism between belief systems. Maybe I was in the mood for a video essay reflecting on individualism versus collectivism or the status of religion in public discourse. These are not that.
These are “Ten Culture Shocks I wish I knew before moving to England”, “Californians riding the tube for the first time”, “Things in British apartments that are weird to Americans” and “The weird UK food combos that just make sense.”
Culture shocks according to American YouTubers are not quite at the level of “they drive on the left and call potato chips crisps”, but they’re not a million miles away. We don’t always have tumble driers or mixer taps. Meal deals are great. People use buses. That kind of thing.
But I find them compelling. Looking at UK life from a new perspective. And the characters delivering this content are part of the charm. These Temu Bill Brysons have an optimism and a perspective about living here that isn’t always shared by the rest of us.
There is Kjordy, the beaming street interviewer, both gently bemused and enthused by London and, increasingly, The North.
There is Kalani Ghost Hunter, the Stetson-wearing Hawaiian rating Greggs’ steak bakes and full English breakfasts.
And perhaps my favourite, a woman I know only as “Texan retiree at a British garden centre”. This is, as far as I know, a one-off video. A joyous 60-something in athleisure turning every corner with a tear of joy in her eye. Marvelling at the variety and value amongst the shrubs and the houseplants.
But then who doesn’t love a garden centre?
The Blue Diamond near to me is 81,000 square feet of home and garden superstore, a flagship of the £5bn sector.
Outside, there are plants. There are sheds. There are hot tubs. But it’s inside that the magic really happens. It’s like a 21st-century Woolworths, if Woolworths was massive and the pick and mix had been replaced by a never-ending range of oddly branded pickles and sauces. By the door, framed artworks of Del Boy and Dad’s Army. Here, the sitcom favourites have escaped from TV, been lovingly rendered in pencil and are now selling for £70 a pop.
This is a place where the normal rules of brand familiarity don’t seem to apply. A parallel world of commerce where what’s on trend isn’t shaped by Gen Z influencers or city-centre brand activations. Homewares. Fashion. Furniture. Shoes. Occasionally, a familiar name appears. A COOK concession – the frozen ready meal business more often found near upmarket Home Counties commuter stations, but here doing a roaring trade.
In my part of England, our empty high streets are still haunted the spectres of Covid and Amazon Prime. So this bustling retail centre is an anomaly. Is this where provincial department stores went when Debenhams died? Into this single-storey shopping barn, the size of a small John Lewis, powered by the grey pound and its copper-plated pensions?
Because this is clearly not the high street. There are no broken paving slabs. No overflowing bins. No one asking for change near a cash machine.
It’s not even the fake urban environment of the out-of-town shopping mall. We are undeniably out in the country. You need to drive from almost anywhere (there’s free parking right outside). People can’t use buses here.
Now, you might be very familiar with a garden centre. You might love a garden centre. You might find a garden centre unremarkable. Buy your clothes and chairs and giant cookies from the garden centre.
But that’s my point. Like our personalised YouTube experiences, there are now everyday parts of our culture that some of us never get to see. When we no longer share the same high streets, we no longer share a common retail experience.
A visit to the garden centre is a gentle reminder that we are comfortable living in a bubble. It might not quite be a culture clash, but it’s at least a culture bump. We are being forced apart by the algorithms of our lives.
