|
I love the sometimes helpful, often unhinged world of online product reviews.
I rarely buy things online without first consulting the pages and pages of reviews under an item, be it a pair of jeans or a light fixture for my (currently entirely hypothetical) bathroom renovation or a hotel room. I scroll right to the one-star reviews, which are sometimes vitriolic, sometimes funny, but usually the most honest (and therefore useful) of the lot.
This is what people call “doing research.”
Advertisement
A bit of a weird thing, as someone who occasionally reviews things professionally: I have never, not one time, felt inclined to write a product review of anything, good or bad. I also have bemoaned in the past what I call the Yelpification of arts criticism — Goodreads, Rotten Tomatoes, et. al. — because I am a snob. But I will concede that some people elevated the humble online product review into an artform.
In 2020, Cory H. penned a hall-of-fame Amazon review that would end up going viral. It was for a pair of leggings. She attached a photo of herself.
“Can I just say I’ll be reordering them in every color. Here is me rolling and sliding down a mountain because I was too scared to get up. My leggings did not rip not even a little bit and I got stuck on rocks and trees.”
Cory H. is the Hemmingway of Amazon reviewers. But also, I would trust this testimonial. I would consider buying these leggings.
We engage with reviews (or don’t) for all different reasons. I, personally, read professional reviews of books/movies/TV shows/music for the writing (the best ones are works of art unto themselves) and the cultural contextualization; I read online reviews of products because I can rely on them to tell me something that the marketing copy probably won’t. (I also tend to read the former kind of review after I’ve already seen the thing so that I’m not unduly influenced in my own thinking, especially something I plan to write about as well, and the latter kind before I hit Add To Cart.)
But whether we’re talking about a professional reviewer contemplating a new book or a woman from Ohio who thinks the white T-shirt I have been eyeing is “too sheer,” the whole enterprise hinges on honesty. Both types of review are essentially serving the same function: telling me whether something is “good” (worth my time/money, will make my life better/easier) or “bad” (not worth my time/money, will make my life worse/harder). Honest reviews can help us make informed decisions about where to spend our time, money, energy and, perhaps our most in-demand resource, our attention.
There’s just so much more to wade through now. More content. More products. More websites selling products. That could explain the popularity of recommendation-based sites such as the New York Times’ Wirecutter, which seek to professionalize the online review; people have less time and more choice, and need reliable, authoritative places they can trust to help them make informed decisions. But are these recommendations necessarily more trustworthy than a testimonial from a woman who literally rolled down a mountain? Expertise can come in many forms, is what I’m saying.
And yes, obviously, you should think and try things for yourself, and online reviews can certainly be sites of fake posts peddling disinformation because nothing is sacred. But listen: I did NOT consult the internet about a new deodorant I’m trying, and now I have an armpit rash.
p.s. Thank you for sharing your March 2020 memories with me last week: so many thoughtful, poignant reflections from a time I think most of us would rather forget. But I’m glad we’re taking time to remember.
|
