Product Reviews Are the Next Great American Art Form

One of my former English students, a funny and observant Russian, once said something about American culture that I think about every day. He said rich Americans spend hours of research before buying any product that costs less than $10. Meanwhile, his parents in Russia will buy large appliances that break immediately, then replace them the next day with the same exact product for the exact same result.

I laughed along, refreshing for the fifth time that week my search results for the best child lunch box. I still hadn’t decided if the BentGo was worth the extra $8 compared to similar brands.

I find product reviews unreasonably entertaining. I get some of my best laughs and most useful information from them. Years ago, I read a tweet that went “White people’s Yelp reviews be having plot twists and shit.” And I laugh every time I think about this meme, knowing it would literally be me as the titanic was sinking googling “best life vest brands reddit”

Under any given toothpick on Amazon, tens of thousands of people have contributed prose about their experience buying and using them. I sometimes get lost in these mini five act dramas, enjoying the style and cackling at something or other that strikes me in the tone. In most cases reviewers gain nothing from the writing, only the pure satisfaction of an impulse to share and create.

As an opening, “I have little to do on a Friday night, so I read every review just to see what others thought and whether my opinions mirrored anyone else’s,” has stuck with me for years. Who said that again, Proust? No, Bradley R.? Damn.

And it’s not just amateurs. The product review as a literary form has already entered the canon. The New York Times and New York Magazine each have entire publications devoted to product. They publish dozens of articles every day with headlines like, “42 Items I Bring in My Carry On.” “The 9 Best Pants I Bought This Month.” “74 Items I Use to Organize my Kids’ Snack Drawer.” “Everything I, A Famous Novelist, Ate in a Week.” (Do the featured people ever cook? No.) Shopping is the vehicle through which these writers tour their personality quirks and wit. The things they consume and endorse are taken as clues into who they are, and we read these pieces with the same interest that we would a profile, maybe more, because they include links to buy and spend. How long, do you think, until one of these articles wins the Pulitzer? The product review could become the next great American contribution to literature.

Shortly after giving birth to Nino, I was added to a very sweet group text of neighborhood moms. Advice was exchanged, intimate problems divulged, meetups organized, and above all, links to baby products were shared. By the time the babies could crawl, the big group chat had splintered into smaller group chats of women who clicked on a more personal level for advice and meetups. But the product recommendations kept coming. By the time the babies reached 18 months, products were the only content that ever fired up the original chat. For literal years, I would awake to dozens of updates on the thread, as a package of baby wipes had been subjected to a late night, neighborhood-wide search criteria befitting a college or a car. Each mom helpfully chimed in on the pros and cons of durability, texture, and moisture composition. My Russian student’s voice would come to me. You are literally living in the land of plenty, just buy all of them and see what you like!

But I take a very sympathetic view of this oddly specific, American behavior. How can you blame us? We have no social safety net, no community infrastructure, no trustworthy regulations. Thanks to corporate profiteering, 95% of us have heavy metals and microplastics doing synchronized swimming routines in our bloodstreams.

the microplastics from my OXO cutting board when they hit my aorta

And, to be a little uncharacteristically patriotic for a second, there is also an etiquette at play based in our American culture of friendliness and inclusivity. Product recommendations, especially for cheap, accessible items, are democratic and humble (I’m not an amazing mom, I just bought this cheap old thing), and often genuinely helpful. Advice, on the other hand, can be pushy and off-putting. Or maybe I just think so because I’m living in a hyper individualistic society where my life and culture likely looks nothing like my neighbor’s. And because I do, recommending products is an accepted and welcome form of social bonding.

As someone who often fantasizes about living in a country like France, (you know, one with real culture) I get the feeling that French women don’t bond over recommending cheap Amazon products. They are famously discrete. And they can afford to be. They don’t text the neighborhood group chat about personal hygiene products. Why expose yourself like that when you can walk to the nearest pharmacy and find something perfect? A bossy elder neighbor will tell you exactly what to do to make sure your baby eats properly. Well check your privilege, some of us don’t have decent pharmacies or bossy neighbors. In France, I’m told, your doctor makes house calls. In a world where doctors make house calls, the group chat isn’t lighting up over 30% off on electronic snot suckers.

When Nino was a baby, he developed a horrifying rash that multiple doctors misdiagnosed. One out of network dermatologist visit left him looking straight out of a horror movie, and screaming like it too. Our pediatrician was no help. Mind you our pediatric group is basically McDonald’s. It’s quick, it’s convenient, and the staff are so stressed you’d think they are gig economy doctors who moonlight as uber drivers. (If you have a kid in New York, you know the one).

It was product reviewers on Reddit and Amazon who took the time to explain, and finally cure his rash. Of the half-dozen doctors we had seen, not one spared the time or sympathy of these faceless reviewers on the Internet, where random people were inexplicably generous with their time and detailed with their descriptions. The product they recommended arrived at my door the next day, and I was elated when over the course of the next weeks it began to work as promised.

In retrospect, I had a feeling from the writing style alone of the reviews that the product would work. My blood started to tingle as I read, sensing I was in the presence of truth. Like I said, product reviews are the next great American art form. And I know great American writing when I see it. This was downright Hemingwayesque. Six words:

“Skip the doctor. Just buy it.”