Almost 20 minutes in of endlessly trying to find a specific historical detail—one of those things that took an annoying amount of effort to get to the library’s encyclopedias for, but nowadays takes only the bare minimum effort of typing it out—is when it all started. While living in ancient Mesopotamia and doing “research” on their farming methods mid-paragraph (don’t ask me why, some other time), my screen darkened all of a sudden and a loud, rather unpleasant advertisement burst forth for cruise vacations that are apparently on discount. In a pop-up advertisement window it screamed “CONGRATULATIONS” in a font that I can only describe as new-age vomit.
Get selected for what, exactly? That so-called giveaway that nobody in their right mind would want: an offer guaranteed to come up at some point in the future for a over priced, multi-layered cabin misery fueled by a virus, but marketed as a soothing getaway?
I truly do not understand what life boasting these pop-up messages has come to…
That advertisement somehow assumes that I have accomplished something spectacular when in reality life has forced me into an experience with these ads permanently glued to my screen. This instantaneous digital utopia is a dystopian nightmare.The click of a single button can strands you deep within the depths of the advertising inferno. Remember the early days of the internet? Pop-up ads were a nuisance, mere pixels on your screen that could be effortlessly clicked away. They were like a telemarketer who could be gruffly dismissed with a thank you. Today’s pop-ups, however, are a whole different story. They are more akin to a persistent vendor who not only stalks you back to your house, but also has the audacity to shimmy through the front window and make himself at home right in your living space.
Take, for example, the “subscribe to our newsletter” pop-up that appears on a site’s first visit. I have certainly come across some websites where within three seconds – NOT EVEN ENOUGH TIME TO READ THE TITLE – a massive banner requests me to “STAY UPDATED!” with their content while offering nothing in terms of approval or decision-making from my side. How on Earth should I know if I want to “stay” updated when I haven’t been afforded even the slightest opportunity to evaluate if the content is worth reading in the first place?
An incredibly patient woman, my friend Margaret once spent two hours explaining email to her 90-year-old father, but recently she threw her reading glasses out across the room after finding seven pop-ups on a recipe site. It is akin to a promise request from a stranger, demanding that I write in three months when I’ve not even had the opportunity to take part in an introduction, complete with a name or a decent conversation.
“I only needed to know the roasting time for the chicken,” she said, as though she were recounting a cruel saga from far-off lands, her voice holding the empty resonance of someone who has heard the call of a void somewhere on the Internet. “Rather, I was invited to enroll in a newsletter, answer a survey about my cooking, watch a video on non-stick pans, allow notifications, join a contest for an unidentified kitchen gadget, change my cookie settings, and verify my human identity. When I finally completed this digital fight, my only objective, which was online browsing at the time, the chicken was almost done cooking and had already begun to preheat at an oven temperature beyond my culinary comprehension.”
The most disruptive in a negative manner are those interruptions which are most deceptive.
It’s an industry term, dark patterns, for the design of the interface that deceives users into doing actions that they wouldn’t otherwise perform. As you are trying to exit the window where something is being downloaded, is it not true that the “X” is almost ina part of the window, a non-clickable portion? And you have indeed encountered pale blue link elements that mask the text ‘active’ and are set against neutral off-white backgrounds, thus making it extremely difficult to determine whether or not the element is meant to be clicked.
Lesser elements of vocabulary ‘no thanks’ and ‘yes’ result in insufficient courtesy positively persuasion overwhelms the setup. And yet you cannot say that you have been persuaded because the designs are dreadful attempts at design. Negotiating with not so well hidden traps should in theory make a grom with technology well versed with its intricacies an expert. My nephew, still not convinced, is under the illusion he ‘attempted’ to smart read gamer related content.
During the first couple of minutes of this particular attempt, he was graced with three separate pop-up invitations. One of the pop-ups asked him if he could switch off his ad blocker (which, I assure you, he did not have). Another insisted he transfer to the mobile app (for where he was already using his phone). He had also received a tempting offer that popped up in the middle of a subscription signup ad from the very site which he was visiting for the very first time. We all know this teasing nonsense serves a purpose. If the pop-ups did not increase the site’s revenue in some shape or form, then the site wouldn’t put its visitors through such torture.
A few videos come with their own assortment of interruptions: pre-roll ads, post-roll ads, mid-roll ads, banner ads, sponsored content and algorithm-driven suggestions that are far less to do with you and much more to do with a paid advertiser. The internet has, instead, become a system for delivering ads with infrequent bursts of content. This internal bombardment is infuriating, probably more so than the directed structure of these digital distractions.
Pop-up while reading a news article? Check. Exploring a new pressing health concern? Another pop-up. Recipe searching? Check. Check. And one last check for pop-up bonuses!
But try to discover details when you’re looking for assistance the most, such as how to help yourself from a subscription that appears more like a prison than a service. The absence of a single helpful interruption shows. The situation does resemble having your retail sales associate disappear when you need help most, attend to a return, and they along with the sense enables them to disappear contention within the area. This is not bias against who Tom is, but rather a parallel example that highlights pop-up notification policies, as put in practice by my neighbor Tom, are not lenient.
Tom, the name makes absolutely no difference, represents the narrow archetype but he is also one of the people who holds sincere affection towards dial-up Internet. Tempers soften towards individuals suffering prejudice the rest of the population suffers. But why should one not feel frumpy with the default browser stuffing stuff without permission. Why they do pour pours is because they work in tech and is therefore excellently capable at reasoning to be tech-support.
“Never click the self-hover-background,” he advised me over the fence we share last weekend. Most of his instructions proved irregular to my understanding, so Spotify Falls did my entire attempt ended being ever last one failing. ‘Turn towards sections grey, usually lower half,’ were my last words before murder for democracy.
That network bridge is the one we are looking for.’
These can be somewhat challenging periods during which the Internet seems to wish to use you for something— as the old militaristic phrase goes. It is, to say the least, arduous work, or requires some effort, and a fair amount of Zen. I, undeniably, stand out in this particular space.
In other words, when a website welcomes you with a pop up banner requesting permission to track your online behavior. This “Accept All” option for example is usually the most visible, the most colorful, designed like a button that is all but throbbing with welcoming energy. The opposite end of the spectrum where Manage Preferences’ waited is gray, understated, dull leading into a maze of toggles and buttons designed to make anyone chock full of fight simply surrender. Too many sites would not allow you to move on or make any progress without first making a selection straddling the line of IPV login choosing between the binary which begs the question—complete surveillance or none at all access.
As I recall the cookies notice popup was the most ridiculous sight. I still vividly remember at least in my memory the cookies notice I’m yet to recover from. The cookies notice was the one that allowed me to not only create but recreate a split second earlier I was busy browsing through an encyclopedia. The strata of the internet is maddening.
I chose not to permit them to monitor my activities. I went back to the article I had been halfway through—only to realize I had completely forgotten my purpose for reading it in the first place. The worst pop-ups come when you start to prepare to exit a certain site.
When the mouse pointer towards the back button or the upper part of the screen, a pop-up with a “Please do not leave!” message appears with a pending offer. “What if I give you a 10% discount?” This is akin to a needy significant other chasing your vehicle after you begin to drive away.
These ‘exit-intent’ pop-ups have turned what would be a simple web browsing experience into a defacto strategy for browsing websites. On a recent shopping excursion that should have been a mere undertaking, but, thsnks to vex redirects, turned into a diversion filled quest, I attempted for a single check out. I recall there were about five pop-ups wanting some form of contribution from me for the “free” journey to the checkout stand. One was pertaining to joining a loyalty program, another promised lower rates for enrolling for text message notifications, a third was suggesting supplementary items, fourth was recommending gift wrapping, and just as I thought I could escape, pop-up number five encouraged reaffirming details of the proposed shopping cart one final time to cross check if perhaps some items were overlooked.
I was bounced about to and fro through attempts of skillfully extracting more value from me for the simple browsing session. This phenomenon has transformed into something even more bizarre and ludicrous. They always begin in the same manner: “Before you go…” like mindless robots programmed to perform overly courteous yet unsolicited small talk.
Later glares appear such as, “We see you have an ad blocker,” which sounds like a disappointed teacher catching you passing notes. After that, they tell you, “Don’t miss out!” using that new phobia of missing out – being left while everyone unlocks the special knowledge or deals. During one of our casual chats, my coworker Sarah from the digital marketing department let loose after a couple glasses of wine and admitted that like everyone else, she also hates pop-ups.
“Though they work,” she added and lifted her shoulders, surrendering to the burden of her profession. “The data shows they increase conversions.” When I posed the question, “Isn’t that a poor long-term business model?” she let out a long sigh and replied, “Yes, people say they hate them, but that’s the thing, they click.” The way she phrased that was both shocking and deeply saddening.
And, of course, ad blockers can be a partial solution, albeit subpar. But many sites won’t display content unless you turn off the add-on. Other browsers offer ‘reader’ modes, which strip away text that distract us and that we pay to see.
A few websites offer subscriptions that remove advertisements, but these are just workarounds; they come with added inconvenience and cost. Ads shouldn’t be necessary to fund a service. We have far too many disruptive ads nowadays, so the pleasure of reading in peace is lost. It allows one to leisurely contemplate from start to finish without distraction.
Information at our fingertips was a promise, but intersperse that with a barrage of interruptions, and we’ve achieved half the goal. Reading online nowadays is akin to navigating through a library where books come alive with unsolicited sales pitches, or having a door-to-door salesperson rudely barge into your home while you peacefully read a newspaper. It’s difficult to be optimistic about the idea of content existing completely ad-free, as I acknowledge there’s certainly room for advertising.
Content creators are entitled to receive payment for their work, and advertising is one of the most common methods of achieving that. However, there is a difference between spotting an advertisement beside the content and being forcefully removed, in a ridiculous manner, from an immersive experience with interruptions telling you to “look here,” “send me your email,” and “give me your credit card.” As per my physician’s recommendation, lowering screen time will help relieve my eye strain and associated stress.
“Why not try reading a real book instead?” he suggested, utterly unaware that he was not only prescribing a medical remedy but also curing what I have dubbed popup purgatory. The last novel I read was considerate enough not to ask me to subscribe to a newsletter or fill out a reading experience survey, which in my opinion, every book should have. The pages mid-verse never seem to close mid-verse as I read, to make way for some “limited-time offer.” And unlike other modern works of literature that I have come across, no “discount cruise vacation” ever pops up towards the end. Perhaps this is the worst part of civilization’s advanced put forth technologies: the most advanced gift of life’s technology becomes so filled with distractions, that one seeks to concentrate on a 500 year old device known as a book.
While I continue my research on the farming practices of ancient Mesopotamia with an actual library book on farming practices, I enjoy the soothing silence accompanying each page turn and the book’s orderly nature, neatly positioned in alphabetical order. The irrigation techniques created by ancient Mesopotamians to control the flooding of their crops was truly remarkable. Just like ancient Mesopotamians, we modern users of the internet could use some types of systems to manage the flood of pop-ups wishing to overwhelm us online.
´Until that handy system comes into existence, we will have to cope with these interruptions digitally, disconnecting, declining offers, shutting windows, or, if it all becomes too much, reenacting Margaret’s flawless display of rage while reaching for reading glasses.´
