The Autocomplete Betrayal
3 min read · Anonymous · Premium
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The Sunday afternoon light fell through the living room blinds, painting stripes across the carpet. Mark was showing me his new phone, excitedly tapping the screen. 'See? It learns what you type. It’s like it knows you.' He handed me the device, the keyboard glowing. I wasn’t particularly interested in technology, but I played along.
'Type something,' he said. 'Anything.'
I typed: "I want to take you to." The predictive text bar above the keyboard instantly populated: "the movies this weekend?"
'See?' he grinned. 'It knows us.'
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