I stared at the menu intensely.
My eyes scanned the text over and over, searching for two words.
Mole enchiladas.
I knew this establishment made this savory dish. After all, I’d ordered it darn near every time I’d come here.
Maybe it had moved to a different spot on the menu. Maybe they’d given it a different name.
But as I searched for the twentieth time, I found no respite.
Finally, I gave in and asked the server for help.
We don’t offer the mole enchiladas anymore, he replied. We changed up our menu.
I scanned the offerings once again, looking for an alternative. And as I did, my mood soured.
Please make a selection.
It’s a simple command. But not always a simple ask.
You see, those four words give us what we want. But not always what we truly desire.
There might be too few options. Or too many.
In either case, the Goldilocks Problem can rear its ugly head. We’re unable to find that option that fits just right.
Such is the quagmire of decision-making. What we’re looking for often fades into the background, usurped by what we have at our disposal.
We go from thriving to settling in an instant. And cognitive dissonance sinks in.
This discomfort permeates our lives. We make more than 35,000 decisions a day, and we likely consider a fair amount of them to be suboptimal.
And yet, we can’t afford to punt on them entirely. No decision is still a choice. And it’s generally the worst one.
So, how do we navigate this quagmire, and somehow get the most out of it? It’s a question that people on all sides of the decision-making process are trying to figure out.
Sheena Iyengar and Mark Lepper are not household names.
If they walked past us on the street, it wouldn’t cause a commotion. And they’re unlikely to be the topics of watercooler discussions.
But perhaps they should. Particularly for one bit of their work.
Back in 2000, Iyengar and Lepper — both acclaimed psychologists — published an academic paper. Its text was dry and dense, but the concept it described was irresistibly juicy.
The paper summarized an experiment the psychologists ran at a grocery store.
Researchers set up a table near the jam aisle at the store. On that table, they put up a sign with a basic offer.
Try a jam sample and get a coupon to save on jam.
This offer was no different than what we might see at our local Costco. Try something and save on buying it.
The mundane sample setup was intentional. But it came with a twist.
On one day, shoppers saw 24 different jam samples on the table. On another, they saw only six.
This change in sample sizes had an impact. People were more likely to take a sample when there were 24 to choose from. But they were far less likely to buy any jam bottle when presented with that many samples. Even the discount coupon was mostly worthless in that case.
What was going on here? Why were people more inclined to try than to buy?
The answer can be found in what academics have called The Paradox of Choice. Essentially, we want infinite options, but can only handle a finite few when making a decision.
The findings of The Jam Experiment, as it came to be called, have reverberated throughout our lives. Most notably, we’ve seen everything from restaurant menus to tech bundles streamlined into a few options.
This is ostensibly for everyone’s benefit. We won’t freeze like a deer in the headlights when faced with infinite options. And because of that, businesses can serve us more efficiently.
Yet, it does lead to a strange dynamic, as both sides of an interaction operate with their hands tied. All too often, our desired choice isn’t on that streamlined list, forcing us to settle. And with this dynamic at play, it’s hard for businesses to get our loyalty.
Several years ago, Elon Musk made a big claim.
Someday, human-driven cars would be outlawed.
In a vacuum, it seemed like a sensible statement. After all, driving is a dangerous activity that can carry deadly consequences.
And yet, it left me in a rage. For I love to drive, and I loathe the thought of such a right being snatched away from me.
I’ve held a grudge against Musk ever since that moment. Regardless of his successes with the electric vehicle giant Tesla or the other ways he’s benefitted society, he’s persona non grata to me.
Of course, there are plenty of others who bristle at Musk’s vision. Oil executives, legacy carmakers, and gearheads — just to name a few.
This diverse group sees everything Musk stands for as a threat to their existence. They’re preordained to be the yin to his yang.
I, on the other hand, am not.
For I am in the middle of the vehicle divide. I can foresee a day when I might drive an electric vehicle. If it’s as practical for me then as driving a gas-powered SUV is now, I’ll make the switch.
But regardless what’s fueling the engine, I want to be able to jam on the gas pedal or hit the brakes. I want that option to be at my disposal.
My anxiety over this matter is real. After all, I’ve seen plenty of other forums where that middle lane has been taken away.
Moderate politicians are practically an endangered species these days. Tales of the everyman have faded from Hollywood and our streaming entertainment. The market for quick-serve eateries has stagnated.
The lessons from The Jam Experiment are at play. The Paradox of Choice has been mitigated, and our decision set has been optimized.
But it’s all gone too far. The options at our disposal no longer suit us. And our only heuristic is which choice we loathe slightly less.
All the while, our selections validate a set of increasingly polarized options. And the fissures in our societal fabric follow.
It’s time to end this viscous cycle. It’s time for the powers that be to lean into the middle ground, and to put better options on the table.
These options might not be glamorous. But they will be representative of our needs and desires. They’ll allow us to stop settling and start loving our choices again.
And in the end, isn’t that what truly matters?