Destiny is supposed to be written in the stars.
Apparently, mine is also written in my cookies.
We like to think our desires are deeply personal. Then an advertisement appears and suddenly we discover that we have always wanted a kitchen island, a six-pack, a silent retreat in Bali and a personality that says “I drink vodka but remain emotionally available.”
Conveniently, the algorithm knows this before we do.
It shows us a life we never knew we were destined for. We see it once. Then twice. Then seven times, because apparently destiny requires retargeting.
Eventually, the desire starts feeling familiar.
Familiar becomes possible.
Possible becomes necessary.
Necessary becomes: “I deserve this.”
And suddenly we are making life decisions around something that arrived between two videos of a cat falling off a sofa.
We buy the house. Book the holiday. Change the wardrobe. Download the productivity app that promises to help us finally become the person who has time to use the productivity app.
Years later, we look back at the path and see a coherent story.
“It was meant to be.”
Perhaps.
Or perhaps destiny has simply become very good at disguising a sales funnel.
The strange part is that advertising doesn’t have to tell us what to think. It only has to become familiar enough that we eventually mistake recognition for desire.
And then we call the desire our own.
So perhaps the philosophical question isn’t whether advertising can influence our choices.
It is – If someone can influence what we want without us noticing, how much of what we call destiny is actually just a very successful advertisement we forgot seeing?
Perhaps, destiny isn’t written in the stars, but served to us because we once Googled something at 2 a.m.
If this my destiny, I am indeed doomed.👿
Dear Destiny,
You have clearly missed my delivery window. You may as well find peace with another customer.
May you rest in peace.
Amen,
Megha.