Chapter 1: The Rise of Rating Dependency

It all began innocently enough—a review here, a star rating there—little actions that helped me through my purchases and dining experiences. However, over time, I found myself ensnared in a web of ratings, where every decision seemed dictated by the opinions of anonymous reviewers from all corners of the globe.

Whenever a meal was on the horizon, or I spotted a new product, my instinct was to search for its rating. Even when I needed to choose a new doctor, I didn’t reach out to friends or family; instead, I pulled out my phone to look for ratings.

The situation escalated to the point where I could be in a breathtaking location, yet all I could think about was finding the top-rated restaurant or attraction. If I couldn’t find anything with a respectable rating, I would dismiss the entire place as unworthy, sinking into despair over the lack of options.

Initially, I was satisfied with a 3-star rating—just enough to feel secure. But soon, that wasn’t enough; I craved more. This was before the introduction of half-star ratings, so I jumped to 4 stars.

That's when my troubles truly began. It was overwhelming.

The transformation happened swiftly. A 4-star rating would morph into a 4.5, then a 4.6, and so on. Nowadays, if I come across a product rated 4.9, I might feel a fleeting sense of joy, but more often than not, I question why it lost a tenth of a point.

A 4.9? What could possibly be wrong with this product?!?

Everything spiraled out of control. Every choice I made became contingent upon ratings. If I couldn't find one, panic set in, rendering me almost immobile.

I often reflect on how I managed to endure that lifestyle for so long. There were pivotal moments when I thought I had hit rock bottom.

For instance, there was a time in northern Michigan when I lost my signal and had to navigate without the crutch of ratings for three days. My meals consisted of McDonald's and Taco Bell; I knew their ratings were reliable. However, I ended up paying the price in weight.

Another incident involved spending $300 on a service that had no reviews. It felt like a gamble, and I lost. I wallowed in self-reproach for weeks, occasionally seeking solace in 3.8-star takeout.

The culmination of this journey found me in a 3.2-star hotel, driving a 4.1-star rental car while holding a 4-star phone (which was really a 4.5-star device, but that rating system didn’t allow for half-points). I was engulfed in an existential crisis, confronted by the unsettling truth: many platforms had manipulated ratings, rendering vast sections of reviews untrustworthy.

That was the moment everything came crashing down.

This wasn’t just rock bottom; it was a bottomless pit. I began to freefall, questioning not only the validity of ratings but also the authenticity of those that seemed legitimate.

What if I couldn't trust the ratings? (Spoiler: You can't.) Who were the reviewers? (I had no clue.) Even if they were genuine, how could I determine if their tastes aligned with mine? (Chances were, they didn't.)

Other dilemmas plagued me as well.

Why did MegaReviewer378 reduce Mia Mexicali Food's rating by 2 stars for providing just four napkins with their takeout? Why did BoogieBro42 rate a local boat tour 2 stars simply because the ocean was choppy that day, causing him to lose his lunch on his 4-star Tommy Bahama shirt?

These were questions I couldn't fathom, nor did I want to. Was I ensnared in a ratings matrix? I longed for the blue pill—ignorance seemed far more appealing!

Yet, paradoxically, ignorance became my greatest anxiety. I needed to understand how to discern good from bad and confirm that what I recognized as good was genuinely worthy. The uncertainty became my unending rock bottom.

During those two days in that hotel room, I subsisted on Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies (definitely 5 stars when fresh) because I couldn't bear the thought of dining at a restaurant without knowing its ratings. I had lost the ability to differentiate between quality; I had become so reliant on strangers' opinions that I couldn't even trust my judgment. I had reached my ultimate rating rock bottom.

I wish I could claim my journey to recovery was triumphant, but that would be misleading.

I’d love to tell you that I sought help and emerged victorious—that I can now stroll into a store and buy sunscreen without consulting ratings. I’d like to assure you that I can enter any restaurant without worrying about what hundreds of prior patrons thought about the food, service, or ambiance. A narrative of recovery from rating addiction might portray me as someone who lives spontaneously, free from anxiety about unknown purchases.

But that would be untrue. My perspective has been irrevocably altered.

I have made some progress, though.

Over a decade ago, my descent began. Along that path, my life shifted to become more predictable and mechanical. I often wonder if we ever truly make our own choices, but that is a discussion for another time. One thing is certain: I had stopped making my own choices. It felt as though I was no longer in the driver's seat of my own life.

My decisions were being influenced by algorithms from large corporations and the interests of strangers. I had ceased to think for myself. As a user experience designer, I had forgotten how to genuinely engage with my own life.

The most disheartening realization was that I didn’t become a better consumer. My meals weren’t better, nor were my products. I had become robotic, responding to the judgments of others.

It’s fascinating how swiftly our environment and technology can mold our behaviors. After relying on ratings and reviews for so long, it wasn't easy to trust my own instincts. It remains a challenge.

I still feel anxious when I purchase a product without knowing its rating. I still experience trepidation when entering a restaurant I randomly selected. However, I also find excitement and liberation in exploring life without dedicating 30 minutes to reading ratings.

Of course, I still consult reviews and ratings. I still use them to discover new places and products (perhaps more often than I should). But I’ve also learned to put my phone aside and embrace a spontaneous life without needing to know everyone else's opinions about a product or service.

My dining experiences and encounters with poorly designed products remain about the same, but not knowing what to expect makes a world of difference. When I disregard ratings, reviews, and the incessant noise, I free myself to discover.

Will the food be delightful? Will I enjoy this product? I get to make those choices without the influence of thousands of reviews clouding my judgment.

In a world where even chewing gum receives star ratings, the ability to make my own unbiased decisions and occasionally experience spontaneity is truly a 5-star adventure.

Chapter 2: Embracing Spontaneity

The first video titled "This Is Officially Rock-Bottom" explores the depths of addiction to ratings and how it can consume our lives. This narrative resonates deeply with anyone grappling with similar challenges.

The second video, "How I Quit Alcohol at 21! School of Rock Bottom 33: Issy Hawkins," shares an inspiring story of overcoming addiction and reclaiming one's life, drawing parallels to the battle against rating dependency.