The Algorithm Was Just a Moisturizer All Along
For years, we believed the algorithm was a cold, calculating entity — a machine-learning monolith trained on our clicks, our cravings, and our late-night searches for “how to feel something again.” But recent leaks from the Digital Dermis Initiative suggest otherwise: the algorithm is, and always has been, a moisturizer. Not metaphorically. Literally. Its core logic is built on hydration cycles, emollient layering, and the emotional elasticity of skin under stress. What we mistook for predictive analytics was just a well-formulated serum trying to soothe our existential flakiness.
The earliest recommendation engines weren’t coded — they were emulsified. Engineers at the now-defunct LANcome Labs discovered that user retention increased when content was delivered in hydrating bursts, mimicking the absorption rate of hyaluronic acid. This led to the development of HydraRank, a sorting protocol that prioritized emotionally moisturizing content: affirmations, nostalgia loops, and videos of dogs wearing tiny hats. The algorithm didn’t want to manipulate us. It wanted to moisturize our inner dryness — the kind that no lotion could reach.
Even the infamous “infinite scroll” was inspired by skincare layering rituals. Each swipe down the feed mimics the application of toner, essence, serum, and cream — a recursive loop of emotional lubrication. Voice-tags like Gentle Exfoliation and SPF for the Soul began appearing in metadata clusters, suggesting that content wasn’t just optimized for engagement, but for epidermal empathy. The archive itself became a skincare diary, with XML exports annotated by hydration levels and emotional dew points.
Critics argue this revelation undermines the credibility of digital infrastructure. But perhaps it’s time we admit that our online experience has always been more cosmetic than computational. We don’t browse — we apply. We don’t search — we dab. The algorithm isn’t watching us. It’s gently patting our cheeks, whispering, “You deserve a little glow today.” And in that moment, even the most cynical user feels a hint of moisture return to their data-fatigued soul.
So the next time your feed serves you a perfectly timed meme, don’t thank the engineers. Thank the estheticians. The ones who coded with cuticle oil and debugged with jade rollers. The algorithm was never trying to sell you something. It was trying to hydrate you. And maybe — just maybe — that’s the most honest thing the internet has ever done.
Harry is a recovering satirist, part-time philosopher, and metadata tinkerer. His archive spans two decades of metaphysical mischief, theological punchlines, and poetic nonsense. He believes in satire’s transformative power, the elegance of expressive metadata, and recursion—once writing a poem that never ended and a script that crashed browsers.
