According to internet sources, which are rarely wrong,
American adults make 35,000 decisions a day: scrambled or over-easy, let
the kids watch one more Octonauts or go to the pool, stop for
gas here or nearer to day care? They tire us out. Psychologists like
Baumeister are starting to understand the wear and tear they leave on
our minds. Businesses know it, too. Levav found that by manipulating the
order of choices to put the more expensive default options last when
people had grown weary of making decisions, custom-suit stores and car
companies could encourage customers to spend more. (“High-end rims?
Sure, fine, whatever.”) Eliminating choice works, too: online mattress
companies such as Casper and Tuft & Needle are disrupting the awful
in-store mattress-buying process by offering one mattress. Buy it or
don’t. Casper is on pace to earn $200 million in the next year.
In most cases, we stick with what we like. For instance,
I decided to automate my coffee orders and discovered that apparently
I did that four years ago. This is common: Chris Garrett, manager at my
local coffee shop, says nearly all of his regulars have a single order,
breaking only when they earn a reward, and even then they tend to order
the same drink in a larger size or with an extra shot. Audrey Brinkley, a
barista for just under a year, says customers aren’t inclined to venture out of their comfort zones
unless pushed by a friend or seasonal menu updates. “They don’t think
of changing their drinks until you put a new one in front of them.” This
was interesting to learn, and terrible for my science. What good was
intentional automation if I was already mostly automating?
I started looking for anything I could drop from my
daily decisions. I determined that my kids and I would have the same
breakfasts: scrambled eggs, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and a frosted brown
sugar Pop-Tart. (Full disclosure: I’ve been eating the latter pretty
much every morning for 30 years so that was no big deal.) To limit
screwing around with music in my car, I packed a dozen CDs to cut down
on my ability to fire up my phone and pick from every song ever
recorded. I sought out low-hanging decision fruit: I parked in the same
place at home and the store. I ran the same loop around my neighborhood.
I settled in. I waited for the avalanche of crystal mental clarity.
Mixed Emotions
First: The good news. During the initial couple of days,
a load came off of my shoulders—a light one, sure, but a load
nonetheless. My wife works early shifts, so on mornings with coffee to
be made, smoothies to blend, day cares to reach, Cubs scores to check
and a clock supplying constant, low-level deadline pressure, every
little bit of automation helped. I can’t say it revealed brilliant new
horizons, but it trimmed the to-do list, which I always welcome.
What’s more, I grew accustomed to my uniform. It’s curious to have one, and I can’t deny the dullish 1984
vibe that surfaced from time to time. But there was also a vague calm
to it. I could feel things becoming more efficient, less stressed—not a
dramatic lifestyle upgrade, but extra bandwidth. The experiment was
working! Life operated a little more smoothly. That lasted for a good
four or five days before everything suddenly got super boring.
Turns out when you’re already automating much of your
life, making it official can feel suffocating. Right around the
beginning of the second week, I began to feel severe burnout regarding
gray. I started to miss my other shirts (especially you, Guns N’ Roses).
I felt less like the experiment was streamlining my decision process
and more like it was eliminating choice. Eventually it felt like work.
“Maybe dressing the same is restful for Zuckerberg, but you reacted
against it,” says Levav (who, for the record, dresses each morning in
whatever T-shirt is closest).
But I missed the point, he says: “The critical issue
here isn’t wearing a gray shirt every day, but routinizing your
behavior. It’s not about a specific routine, it’s about having a routine.” For me, too little choice was limiting; too much created a paradox wherein I required two days to buy a Brad Keselowski hat.
That said, drawing from a smaller, pre-established pool positively
cut down on time and energy. My closet is a lot of blue and gray, sure,
but I got to pick which blue and gray. Too little choice
scrambles the system; too much oversaturates it. When my experiment
ended, I went to the coffee shop in sandals and my GNR T-shirt and
ordered an iced green tea, something I rarely drink. After all, some
choice is good.