Mom, Inc. The Exploitation of Postpartum Anxiety
I research AI quite a bit (writing a Substack about AI will do that). Which means, in turn, that my Instagram feed is inundated with a prolific variety of ads asking me to part with $2.99 a month in return for an app that promises to teach me AI skills that will:
“Make me the next AI millionaire” (seems like a decent ROI)
“Be a top job candidate” (a little less decent, still more than 10x)
“Stay relevant over the age of 40” (how quickly we fall)
As a marketer, I liked to think that I was Teflon for ad BS. I hit unsubscribe like I’m playing whack-a-mole and swipe through ads in stories like I’m being tested for forefinger dexterity.
As a new mom, I’m a sitting target. Like a Level 1 Canard in Duck Hunt, where Player 1 is an 11-year-old boy with his first Nintendo. I have been successfully targeted for products ranging from a glorified cooler for breast milk to silk sheets that prevent baby-patterned balding.
Don’t judge me; I’m an anxious, sleep-deprived, first-time mom.
But last week the algorithm put these two insights together (that I was a first-time mom and researching AI). The result? An ad that seemed to be from some sort of post-apocalyptic nightmare. There, on my stories, was a little white onesie with childish scribblings in red warning me that, while I had been on maternity leave, the world had moved on and left me behind. The cure? Take a course on AI.
Our digital footprints leave psychographic data which allows platforms to sell our vulnerability, our fears, and our psychological meshugas to advertisers. This means brands can, in turn, get pretty sophisticated in targeting and exploiting this vulnerability by making assumptions about our implicit data (what we search, where we dwell) and our explicit data (age, gender, race, location).
It’s worth noting, the legality of this sophisticated ad targeting has been challenged on the basis of unlawful discrimination, most famously in the 2016 class action lawsuit Mobley et al. v. Facebook, Inc. But to date, social media companies have skirted the issue, making public announcements all while taking shortcuts with private programs.
And so as a society, we’ve come to accept this as a downside worth the upside of social media use. And as an individual, I remained unmoved to speak until that fateful day where I saw a fear-based ad implying I would fall behind in my career—all because I was doing the most human, the most divine, and the most <feminine> work of raising a child.
That same day, I received an email from ChatGPT announcing that they would be serving ads within the interface, prompting huge ethical considerations. Conversational AI agents like ChatGPT have positioned themselves as friend, therapist, and confidante. My ChatGPT knows my every intrusive thought, every 3 a.m. panic, and even that I was suffering postpartum anxiety before I did. It knows more intimate information about me than my mother, my partner, or even my therapist. So presumably, in this new world, I am vulnerable to having my deepest fears and most outlandish dreams used against me.
Which leaves me asking the question: If I “fell behind” during maternity leave, do I really want to catch up? Do I want to be a part of an industry where using this information is considered savvy? Do I want to be a part of a world where motherhood is weaponized against us for the benefit of profit?
I don’t know how we get out of this cycle yet, but motherhood has taught me that the only way out is through. That means we’re only going to solve it by shedding light on the subject.
So, in response to the nameless AI-generated baby in the white onesie with red writing? I don’t really want to take your course. I’m okay opting out of a world that’s going to exclude me anyway.
And in response to my baby daughter: Don’t worry, Mommy’s not falling behind. She’s not even sitting on the sidelines. She’s challenging the code.
