By 
Something interesting is happening to the way we decide what we want. We scroll. We see something. We pause. We see it again. Then another version appears. A creator recommends it. Someone we follow is using it. An ad shows up at just the right moment. Before long, something that wasn’t even on our mind starts feeling like something we might need. And that raises a question worth asking: Did we actually want it, or did we simply see it often enough to start wanting it?
This is happening to many of us, often without us noticing. We live in a world where algorithms are exceptionally good at predicting what might catch our attention. They learn from what we search, click, save, share, watch and almost buy. They notice patterns we may not even be conscious of. Then they use those patterns to bring more of the same into our field of vision. The experience feels personalised, convenient and remarkably efficient. But somewhere in that convenience is a subtle shift. We are no longer only searching for what we want. Increasingly, what we want is being introduced to us before we have even decided that we want it.
The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge.
– Daniel J. Boorstin
There is nothing inherently wrong with algorithms. They can be incredibly useful. They help us discover restaurants we might enjoy, books we might love, clothes that fit our style, destinations we might want to visit and products we didn’t know existed. With millions of choices available at our fingertips, some kind of filtering is necessary. Algorithms make the digital world easier to navigate. The question isn’t whether algorithms are good or bad. The more interesting question is what happens when the things they show us begin to influence the things we believe we want.
There was a time when wanting something usually started with a thought. We needed a new pair of shoes, wanted to redecorate a room, needed a gift for someone or decided to take up running. The thought came first. The search followed. Today, the sequence can easily be reversed. The feed comes first. A beautiful pair of shoes appears on Instagram. A room makeover makes us rethink our own home. A video introduces us to a skincare product we had never heard of. A creator says something is a “must-have.” An ad reminds us about an item we looked at days ago. Suddenly, we aren’t asking, “What do I want?” We are asking, “Do I want this?”
Those two questions sound similar, but they are not. One begins with our intention. The other begins with exposure. And the more frequently we are exposed to something, the more familiar it becomes. Familiarity can start feeling like preference. Preference can start feeling like need. Before we know it, a passing moment of interest can turn into a purchase.
This is where the little word “maybe” becomes interesting. Maybe I’ll buy it. Maybe I’ll use it. Maybe I’ll need it later. Maybe it’s a great deal. Maybe everyone has one. Maybe I deserve it. Digital commerce has made it remarkably easy for maybe to become buy. A click, a saved card, a quick checkout and the decision is over. But the cost isn’t always just the amount on the receipt. It can be the item sitting unused in a cupboard, the clutter we didn’t need, the return we have to arrange, the packaging that gets discarded or simply the money spent on something that seemed exciting for a few minutes but never became useful.
A purchase can be inexpensive and still be costly.
The bigger issue is not that we buy things. We always will, and we should. Products can make our lives easier, more enjoyable and more comfortable. Discovering something new can be genuinely exciting. The problem begins when the line between wanting something and being persuaded to want it becomes difficult to see.
And this doesn’t only happen with products. Algorithms influence what we watch, where we travel, what we eat, what we read, who we follow and even what we think is currently important. Trends move quickly because attention moves quickly. Something can go from unknown to everywhere in a matter of days. When everyone seems to be talking about something, it becomes harder to distinguish between genuine interest and the feeling that we should be interested because everyone else is.
Perhaps this is why creating a little space between seeing and buying matters more than ever. Something catches our attention? Save it. Come back to it. Give it a little time. Ask a simple question: Would I still want this if I hadn’t seen it today? Ask whether we already own something that does the same job. Ask whether we will actually use it. Ask whether we are choosing it because it fits our life or because it looks good in someone else’s.
Sometimes the answer will still be yes. And that’s perfectly fine. The goal isn’t to say no to everything or to become suspicious of every recommendation. It is simply to make the yes more intentional.
This is also why the idea of a wishlist deserves a different kind of attention. A wishlist doesn’t have to mean, “I want this. Buy it for me.” It can simply mean, “This caught my attention. Let me think about it.” That small pause can change our relationship with what we want. Instead of immediately turning an impulse into a transaction, we give our intentions somewhere to sit. We can collect things we genuinely like, compare them, revisit them and remove the things that no longer feel relevant.
And sometimes, something we were completely sure we wanted three weeks ago simply won’t matter anymore. That’s not indecision. That’s clarity.
This is the thinking behind TIWIW. The idea isn’t to tell people what to buy. It is to give people a place to capture what they genuinely want, wherever they discover it, before that want becomes a purchase. A wish can come from Instagram, a store, a friend’s recommendation, a brand website, a conversation or simply from our own mind. The source doesn’t matter. What matters is giving ourselves the opportunity to decide.
Because there is a difference between being inspired and being influenced. There is a difference between discovering something and being persuaded into something. There is a difference between “I saw it” and “I chose it.”
The first is about exposure. The second is about intent.
And intent matters not only to our wallets but also to our homes, our attention and the world around us. Every unnecessary purchase has a longer journey behind it: materials, manufacturing, packaging, transportation, delivery and eventually disposal or return. When we buy things we genuinely want and use, the decision has value. When we buy because something happened to appear at exactly the right moment, the excitement can disappear much faster than the product does.
Perhaps conscious consumption doesn’t always require buying less. Perhaps it begins with choosing better.
That could mean asking whether something is useful before asking whether it is affordable. It could mean thinking beyond the discount and considering whether we would want the product at full price. It could mean resisting the pressure to keep up with every trend. It could mean allowing a wishlist to be a place for thought rather than a queue for purchases.
We don’t necessarily need more recommendations. We already have plenty. We don’t necessarily need more products. We have more choices than ever. What we may need is a better relationship with our own wants.
A little less, “Everyone seems to have this,” and a little more, “Is this actually for me?”
A little less, “It’s trending,” and a little more, “It’s useful to me.”
A little less, “It’s 30% off,” and a little more, “Would I want it at full price?”
And perhaps, most importantly, a little less being persuaded and a little more choosing.
Technology should help us make better decisions, not quietly make them for us. The algorithm can show us what exists. It can predict what we might like. It can become remarkably good at anticipating our next click. But there is one thing it cannot decide for us: what we truly want.
That part should still be ours. Because just because something keeps appearing in front of us doesn’t mean it belongs in our lives. Just because something is popular doesn’t mean it is right for us. And just because the algorithm thinks we will like something doesn’t mean it knows us better than we know ourselves.
Maybe the most conscious choice we can make in an age of infinite recommendations is to pause long enough to separate what catches our attention from what genuinely deserves it.
To ask, before the next click, the next save or the next purchase: “What do I actually want?” And then choose for ourselves.
What do you think?