RESIST. UNSUBSCRIBE. REPEAT.

But not here, Dear Readers.

I didn’t wake up planning a digital manifesto.

I didn’t need Professor Galloway to push me that hard.

The word UNSUBSCRIBE had been sitting on my to-do-list for weeks.

But when I heard ole Scott Galloway — a potent mix of sexist, ageist, sometimes misogynist, always big-dick energy who drives me bonkers — on Pivot talking about RESIST AND UNSUBSCRIBE — well…

Galloway is a pig.
And Galloway is brilliant.

Both things can be true.

No. I haven’t unsubscribed from ChatGPT But I dumped two others.

He’s a smart muthuhfuckuh who makes a great podcast with my spiritual sister and full time crush, Kara Swisher — so I listened.

And it made sense.

I hung up thinking and feeling guilty about where Resist and Unsubscribe actually lives — not in the streets — but on my desktop…

And I attacked.

I’ve been working hard — mightily hard — trying to get over my fucking addiction to the phone — many of us have written essays, columns, testimonials, novels about this plague — I’ve joined groups like Jo Piazza — tracking the hours — the pointers— begging please-help-me’s. And I gotta tell you ,,,

Mostly, I’ve failed.

But unsubscribe?
That I can do.

And what I discovered — among other small horrors — is that I had more than three accounts for the same three services, none of which I remembered signing up for.

Which means triple profiling of:
· what I bought
· what I almost bought
· what I paused on
· what I was sad about at 11:34 p.m.
— and bought anyway

Beyond creepy.

This resistance of unsubscribing ain’t performative. And I am not saying folk on the streets are. We need them.
This resistance is about the math.
It’s about the markets.

With every delete, I felt euphoric.
I refuse to say empowered.

I unsubscribed from:
Amazon.
Prime.
Apple TV.
Apple Music.
Facebook (personal).
Streaming services I didn’t know I had.
LinkedIn Premium…a massive relief.
Uber … oh, I loved fuckin these predatory guys over — as they have done to me — US — over and over again.
A list of media I have never or almost never read.

The list goes on. A serious digital tear.

I’m a working, creative stiff who sits on her butt — mostly — from home.
I need some services.
I do not need so much stuff.
Especially not in threes.

Since the pandemic, I’ve been less of a stuff collector.
Since this weekend, I’m much less of a service collector.

And it matters.

As Galloway puts it:
“Big Tech controls 40% of the S&P. Any slowdown in growth would potentially have a disastrous effect. And the fastest way to do damage is a slowdown.”

It isn’t dramatic.
It’s intentional.
A slowdown causing deliberate suffering.
Loving that.

I didn’t throw my phone into the ocean.
I just said NO about 57 times.

And that got me thinking about algorithms.

I don’t even recognize the Maryjane they built a profile on.
I don’t recognize the broad they think I am.

I want to remember who I was before all this.
Before algorithms decided what I wanted.
Before recommendations followed me everywhere.
Before my curiosity was quietly outsourced.

The Maryjane — before.

How long has it been since I let my mind wander?

Not scroll.
Not react.
Wander.

Because if I don’t know who the fuck I am before all this, how can I resist anything fully?

Till then, I’ll be unsubscribing.