Invisible Influence (12 page)

While many Americans see uniqueness as signifying freedom and independence, in East Asian culture, harmony and connectedness are valued more. Being too different from others is seen as deviant and as not being able to get along with the group.

Consistent with these differing norms, research finds that, compared to Americans, Chinese and Korean people choose things that are more similar.
²¹
Give East Asians the choice between a more common option and a less common one and they'll pick the option that is more common. Ask which images Koreans like best and they'll prefer ones that are less, rather than more, unfamiliar.

Uniqueness, then, is not right or wrong. Good or bad. It's a preference derived from context.

Some contexts encourage differentiation. From an early age, middle- and upper-class American children are taught that they are “special flowers” waiting to bloom. Stars in the making that must express themselves to the world. Not only are these children given many opportunities, but they are given the autonomy, choice, and control to decide which of those possibilities is the right one for them based on their personal preferences. Based on how they see themselves as individuals.
²²

It's natural that children born into these contexts see distinction as the right way to be. That they are different from everyone else and should choose in ways that reflect that.

But not all contexts encourage as much differentiation.

Rather than being different, working-class contexts tend to encourage interdependence. Being a team player rather than being a star. Working-class kids spend more time with family and participate more in hands-on caregiving. Children are taught that “it's not just about you,” and that it is essential to be a good part of the whole.
²³

So kids who grow up in working-class families tend to attend to and adjust more to those around them. Standing up for oneself is important, but it's also important to think about the needs of others. Focusing less on the self and more on the collective.

As a result, people from working-class contexts prefer less differentiation. Why would you want to be different from everyone else when everyone else is the family members and friends and others you care about? Wouldn't it be better to share experiences than be alone?

These different preferences also show up in the different worlds people inhabit.
²⁴
Advertisements going after working-class consumers don't urge conformity, but they hint at the importance of attending and relating to others. Think about pitches for a Toyota or Nissan SUV that might appear in
Sports Illustrated
. Research finds that the text is more likely to mention friends and family (“Take family time further”) and encourage connecting or combining (“When two great things come together”). The visual imagery is almost ten times as likely to include people.

Ads that target middle-class consumers, however, tend to emphasize distinction. Think about the ads that might appear in
Vogue
or
Bon Appétit
. These ads are more likely to encourage differentiation. They are more likely to describe the product as different (“See the difference”) or highlight its uniqueness (“Only one of its kind in the world”). Ads that target middle- to
upper-class consumers suggest that by buying this product, you can separate yourself from everyone else.

This variation also appears in retail environments. Take your high-end shopping center or Fifth Avenue–type location. Sure, there are some chains, but there are also lots of one-off individual boutiques, each selling exclusive one-of-a-kind or handcrafted wares. Stores that cater to people that want things that no one else has.

Even the way the merchandise is presented highlights distinction. A single product set on a pedestal. Set apart and separate from the others. Or a few racks of merchandise, each holding just one size of each piece. As if this were the only medium, patterned, olive-green tank top that ever graced the earth. That after this medium, patterned, olive-green tank top was made, someone said, “This is perfect; there shall never be another one like it.”

Working-class shopping areas don't have the same diversity of offerings. More chain stores and institutions that look more similar to one another. Or places that offer slight riffs on familiar favorites.

Same with the merchandise. Stacks of identical green tank tops in various different sizes, next to a similar stack of blue tank tops and a similar stack of yellow tank tops. Rows of identical plates and mugs, with extras packed in above so that everyone who wants one can get it. Similarity, not difference, is what is for sale.

Money explains part of the difference, but it's more complex than that. One could argue that working-class people want that special medium patterned olive-green tank top, they just can't afford it. That they would love to buy a high-end Audi that runs on graphene and is released to only 750 lucky customers a year if only they had the funds.

This explanation is overly simplistic, however, and at its core,
assumes that unique is somehow “right.” That everyone wants to be unique, but whether they get there or not depends on resources.

Resources certainly afford choices. When you have money, or when you live in a world full of opportunities, you have the option to think about differentiating yourself from others and expressing yourself through your choices. If you don't have resources, or you don't live in a context that affords you choices at every turn, you have a lot less flexibility in expressing yourself that way.

But it's not that people from working-class contexts wish they could be more different from others. Far from it. In that context, more similarity is the norm—and the preference.

There is no right way to be. The context we grow up in shapes both how we behave and how we interpret our behavior. While some people want to see themselves as special snowflakes, some are more than happy to just start a car club.

Differentiation isn't just some quirk felt by teenagers or people wanting to rebel. It's something everyone feels to some degree, albeit in varying shades. After all, it wouldn't really be difference if everyone wanted the same amount of it.

Being aware of how distinction shapes behavior can lead to more satisfying decisions. When ordering food in groups, we'll probably be happier if we stick to our preferred option, even if someone else selects it as well. We won't feel unique, but we can easily order a different drink or focus on how we're different on some other dimension. And rather than being stuck with something we like less, we'll have the rest of the meal to enjoy what we chose.

If we're really worried about it, we can try to be the first one to order. Just signal to the waiter. They'll offer to take our order
first and then we won't have to worry about others' choices affecting our own.

We can also design choices, and choice environments, to allow people to distinguish themselves. Apple produces the iPod in a wide range of colors. Some people might prefer blue or red to grey, but once you get into colors like orange and yellow, it's beyond catering to personal preference. (Few people report yellow as their favorite color.) By creating so many variants, though, Apple enables customers to feel distinct even though the product is hugely popular and essentially the same for everyone. Your friend can have a green one, your coworker can have a purple one, your mom can have a blue one, and you can still feel unique because yours is red. It's yours and yours alone.

Distinction also helps explain the success of places like Starbucks. Sure the beans might be a little better or the atmosphere might be a little nicer, but it's still three to four times the price of McDonald's or any of the other places people could easily get coffee. So why are people so happy to pay the higher price?

Starbucks isn't just selling coffee, it's selling a personalized experience. We can get our order customized exactly how we want it. Our Starbucks coffee isn't just the same as the guy or gal who was in front of us in line. It's tailored to our specific unique tastes, with what else than our (mostly) unique name written on the side. It's a four-dollar reminder that we are special and different and not like everyone else. And that's but a small price to pay for feeling distinct.

Social influence, then, seems to push us to be both the same and different. Imitating others and distinguishing ourselves from them. So when is it one versus the other?

Turns out it depends a lot on
who
those others are.

I
. Note that ordering in groups has little impact on whoever orders first. Since no one else went before them, he can still choose whatever he likes and feel distinctive.

II
. Some differentiate by taking the contrarian position and hating what everyone else likes. Everyone else might just looooove the compost cookies at Momofuko, but me? I'm not impressed. Most people like Jeff Koons, but I think his stuff is just warmed-over Andy Warhol with a touch of Marcel Duchamp. By actively disliking something everyone else likes, people can differentiate themselves. Using their accumulated knowledge as a way of standing out from the crowd, rather than fitting in.

III
. On the flip side, conformity is often seen negatively. It's viewed as relinquishing personal control or allowing oneself to be pushed around. Novels like George Orwell's
1984
or Ayn Rand's
The Fountainhead
warn of the dangers of assimilation and laud independent thought. Movies present dystopian futures where people are merely interchangeable cogs (until the hero or heroine, distinct from the rest, swoops in to save the day).

IV
. One might wonder whether this is less about differentiation preferences and more about what people can afford. Wealthier people can afford a broader range of cars, so maybe there are just fewer makes and models in the Walmart lot because working-class folks can't afford all the high-end cars. While that is certainly part of what is going on, it's not all of it. Car colors reveal a similar pattern. Car brands that cater to the middle class tend to offer their cars in a broader range of colors than brands that tend to cater to the working class. The average BMW, for example, is available in more than twice as many colors as the average Honda. Even dimensions like color show a distinct difference in differentiation.

V
. Social class has a variety of other interesting effects. Take someone's occupation. One of the first questions people from middle- or upper-class contexts ask when they meet someone is “What do you do?” Among the middle and upper classes, one's job is considered a defining element of who you are. People pick their jobs because it is something they are interested in and passionate about, and they see those choices as expressing them as a person. It's a signal of their identity. But in working-class contexts, “What do you do?” would likely not be one of the first things you'd ask someone. Or if you did, it might offend people. Because, for many working-class individuals, their occupation is a means to an end rather than a signal of identity. It's what they do to pay the bills. It's what they do because they need to provide for their families.

VI
. Working-class individuals are so much more than what they do, and to them, many other dimensions of their life are more important. It would be demeaning to assume that a defining feature of who they are is what they have to do to pay the bills.

“You can't be a nonconformist if you don't drink coffee.”

—SOUTH PARK

One morning in early 2010, Nicole Polizzi looked in her mailbox and got a pleasant surprise. Amidst the bills, catalogs, and junk mail, there was a large box. And inside the box was a brand-new Gucci handbag.

The beige and ebony tote was covered with Gucci's famous interlocking G pattern and accented with light-gold hardware. At $900, the bag was one of the hottest that season and would have made any fashionista swoon.

Nicole was even more excited, though, because she hadn't ordered the bag. She had received it for free.

But here's where the story gets interesting. It wasn't a friend of hers that sent the bag, or even Gucci itself. Nicole had been sent the Gucci bag by one of Gucci's competitors.

You might not know Nicole by her real name, but you've probably heard of her nickname, “Snooki.” Famous for her crazy
rants, trashy clothes, and diminutive stature (4'8”), Snooki rose to prominence as part of MTV's reality show
Jersey Shore
.

The show played to the worst guido and guidette stereotypes.
^I
It starred a group of underemployed twenty-somethings who were often drunk, obnoxious, and prone to bar fights. Muscle-bound guys with orangey fake tans, spikey hair, and a love for fist pumping when their favorite song came on (or for any other good reason). Girls who wore full makeup to the gym, bickered constantly, and thought leopard-skin tights added a touch of class.

Snooki was the best of the worst. She argued that the ocean was salty because it was filled with whale sperm, got into a fistfight with a high school gym teacher, and put forth amazing opinions on everything from same sex relationships (“Guys are douchebags and I hate them all. They don't know how to treat women, and I feel like this is why the lesbian rate is going up in this country.”) to politics (“I don't go tanning anymore because Obama put a 10-percent tax on tanning. I feel like he did that intentionally for us. McCain would never put a 10-percent tax on tanning because he's pale and he would probably want to be tan. Obama doesn't have that problem, obviously.”).

Snooki became one of the breakout stars of
Jersey Shore
, and her outlandish personality earned her fame and notoriety. She often appeared on daytime and late-night talk shows, created a spinoff show with her friend “JWoww,” and was frequently photographed by tabloids and celebrity magazines.