All the Lies We List

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"The list is the origin of culture. It’s part of the history of art and literature. What does culture want? To make infinity comprehensible. It also wants to create order -- not always, but often. And how, as a human being, does one face infinity? How does one attempt to grasp the incomprehensible? Through lists."

These are the words of philosopher and novelist Umberto Eco. It surprised me to hear someone who ostensibly built a reputation on being Very Smart and Philosophical as being so fascinated by -- and even supportive of -- the humble, ubiquitous list. As a marketer, I know I've grown sick and tired of them. Maybe you have too, whether in your job or as a consumer. The tips and tricks. The cheats and hacks. The 7 simple steps to succeed. The 15 times Friends made us laugh hardest.

I'm sick of it. Sick of it, I tells ya! (Could there BE any more lists on the internet?)

But ... I also get the appeal. Lists feel certain and, despite my daily To-Do list, attainable. As Eco puts it, we like lists because we don't want to die. There's a control we feel browsing a list that we might otherwise feel we lack in life as finite creatures.

Lists also seem tantalizing. I like that word to describe a very specific type of content. Tantalizing. It evokes an immediate obsession we feel once presented content that promises the slightly unreachable. Someone has gone and dug up something that we didn't or couldn't. Hearing the headline, we drool like a dog before bacon. Or like a Jay before bacon.

"I gotta have it. I GOTTA know! Gimme. That. List."

In 2009, Umberto Eco created an exhibit all about lists in the Louvre (the Louvre!). He wanted to explore the essential nature of lists, as well as display the works of poets and artists who list things in their art. There's a higher calling to that sort of list than the usual internet roundup, isn't there? Like so much art, I don't think it's the final product that makes it meaningful so much as the intent and the labor preceding it.

Some of history's greatest artists and thinkers seemed to have embraced the list too. Aside from Eco and his exhibits, you'll find lists in the works of Homer, James Joyce, and Thomas Mann. You'll find lists all across history, documenting the culture of various periods or specific schools of thought. Lists can be found cataloging discoveries as routine as new plants or incredible as the stars, as well as collecting names of saints or war heroes. Routines and habits have long been documented. Ingredients. To-do lists. Menus. Instructions.

When you think about it, lists are rather incredible creations. I think anything that makes complexity simpler deserves a place in our lives ... depending on the intent and labor preceding it.

We have to wonder, what's the intent behind most lists we find that profess to teach us something about our jobs? Is it actually to round up the Top 10 of something, or is it really to list 10 people that they wanted associated with their brand ... or even to share their content?

What's the intent behind our lists? And how did that inform the subsequent the labor? Do we endure the painful but worthy process endured by most great curators? (Maria Popova of The Marginalian, formerly known as Brain Pickings, comes to mind.) Or do we slap together a bunch of stuff that somehow serves us more than the audience? Worse, do we cram our own products or projects into the list? ("What? I'm proud of what we do! And hey, I put us fourth, not first...")

Lists themselves aren't bad. Of course they're not. But the intent and the labor leading up to a list might deserve more interrogation, both when we consume lists and, more importantly for our efforts to resonate with others, when we create them.

I'm sure my cynicism about the list is due in part to their ubiquity today. But mostly, I think my angst comes from the Trojan horse nature of so many of these things, created by people in business as a means to sneak-sell us. Maybe they list their own product or service or content as part of the roundup. Maybe they contact us asking us to share their lists. ("You're featured!") Or maybe the agenda is more hidden. By publishing a list of how THEY did something and promoting it as gospel truth, they'll become more influential.

Said another way: lists often lie.

That Ultimate Guide is not ACTUALLY the playbook everyone can use, start to finish. It's one way to do something, and it may not work for anyone and any time, other than that one creator at that one time.

That episode sharing someone's career journey isn't REALLY the full series of steps they took to succeed. After all, the podcaster had to fit a lifetime into their runtime.

Those 10 books aren't TRULY the "top." They recalled a few, scanned a few more, borrowed from previous lists, and created a subjective ranking. What was the methodology? What went into creating this list? What was their intent behind the piece?

Was it made for us? Or for them?

I'm sick of it. Sick of it, I tells ya.

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Obtuse Onions

The following is a list I found on the back of a container of French's Crispy Fried Onions. Those are the wildly unhealthy but delicious topping to the wildly unhealthy but delicious green bean casserole my mom makes each year on Thanksgiving.

Shredded green beans. Cream of mushroom soup. Crispy fried onions inside and on top. I need a nap after one serving of the stuff.

Each year, as we scoop more and more warm, gloppy goodness onto our plates, we joke to each other. "What? It's a vegetable!"

Nope. It's a vice.

The best parts are this Clearly A Health Food are those crispy onions -- onions, I recently learned, which don't just want to tickle your tastebuds but persuade your purchases.

Behold:

Ostensibly, this is a list to help you make my mom's glorious side dish. Really, this is a Trojan horse for other branded products -- except the belly of this horse is made of glass and the soldiers inside are just sitting there covering their eyes with their hands going, "Haha, you can't see me!"

(Cut to me, dressed as a Greek warrior, pointing my spear at the horse.)

You're, like... RIGHT there. Does this actually work on people? Really?

RECIPE: Green Bean Casserole

1 can (10 1/2 oz.) Campbell's® Condensed Cream of Mushroom Soup

Wait, hold up. It can't just be any cream of mushroom soup? It has to be Campbell's? Are you sure? Really? Hmmmm.

I love two things about this. (Is "love" the right word?) I love how bizarrely specific it feels once you read it. Like, to make this dish requires this ONE BRAND of an ingredient sold by a bunch of other brands.

I also love the idea of all the internal emails and meetings that took place over at French's HQ to decide that (A) we have to include the registered trademark symbol next to Campbell's, otherwise how will they know not to launch a company with our name? ... and (B) "Condensed Cream of Mushroom Soup" MUST BE CAPITALIZED.

This is the most corporate brand of goopy soup that's ever souped. I love it so much. (Is "love" the right word?)

The list continues.

3/4 cup milk

1/6 tsp. McCormick® Pure Ground Black Pepper

That is ... chef's kiss. This is the the coup de grâce. The cherry on top. The twist of the grinder on top of this healthy salad. (It's a vegetable, Dad, I swear. Super healthy.)

We're talking about ground black pepper here. 50% of the flakes could be actual soot from an actual volcano, and if you tasted some slight spice after a bite, you'd go, "Yep, pepper. Cool. Moving on."

That's not good enough for French's Green Bean Casserole though. For this dish to work, apparently, one of the ultimate examples of "undifferentiated food commodities" MUST be McCormick (bold, registered trademark) Pure Ground (because any ol' ground won't do) Black Pepper.

French's please.

Look, I understand that most of us don't sell actual commodities like black pepper, but too often, we end up creating commodities and then trying reaaaally hard to convince someone else that it's somehow special and unique. Often, it's because we don't think critically enough about the intent behind the work. Is our goal to generate N results this month ... or to help others? What if helping others is what yields results? What if it leads to MORE results at that?

The intent behind our work is so often clear to others, even if we fail to make it clear to ourselves. So we better be sure that we do, lest we come across as transparently fake or pushy like French's. Yes, I personally want to see results from my work, but I have to pull a mental jujitsu move on myself in order to execute properly. I have to pin to the floor that part of me that wants to turn the screws tighter, to juice the numbers faster, to "generate" results from a project. I need the part of me that wants to serve others to win out, to remain on top, and to guide the work.

The more we do that, I'd argue, the better our results will be. The more we make a difference in the work or lives of others, the more they will respond. There's a beautiful reciprocity to be found in this line of work, if only we'd approach the work with the right intent -- and allow that intent to inform the labor. Then, our resulting projects -- lists or otherwise -- may feel much more worthy of being on display, whether in a museum or on a website.

We have the chance -- today, right now -- to act more like the historian or librarian who endeavors to curate something meaningful. We can put in the work to distill complexity into simplicity. THAT could be the value we provide if and when we turn to the list as our output. But make no mistake, despite the simplicity of the final piece, the hard, emotional labor came first.

What is your intent? Who do you serve? What is this for? And what must you do to craft it well?

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Why am I sick of lists?

Because most lists lie.

The people behind a given list might have the wrong intent, or else they haven't endured that emotional labor necessary to create anything of genuine value. WE are who their work is for ... but WE did not figure into their process.

Too many people and teams profess to teach or inspire, only to hand us a laughably transparent Trojan horse for their own selfish aims. Trojan horses made of glass. Ingredient lists made of registered trademarks. Roundups, rankings, and interviews made of friends or prospects.

Eco's view of lists were as cultural totems, the final artifact of a long process of curiosity and creativity. But in the working world, how often is that the kind of gift we receive ... or create?

It's time for us to ditch the hidden agendas. If that means ditching lists entirely, I'm all for it.

They aren't that healthy anyway.

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