Invented in the 1970s, the graphical user interface (GUI) lowered the barrier of entry for personal computers. The requirement to have a technical understanding of how to operate the computer was more or less eliminated by introducing this layer of abstraction. While at the time it might not have seemed like a door to a new world had been opened, 50 years later, the interface has been seen as crucial to capturing and retaining users so much so that an entire field has been created for the design of effective user interfaces. Unlike the personal computers of those early years, today, interfaces not only allow users to interact with their personal device but also a network of machines distributed throughout the globe. The interface no longer is limited to returning information but can now alter the flow of matter in the physical world.
As I pull out my phone to order an Uber, I type in my destination and hit "Request." The interface, as a layer, covers up everything beneath the surface. The legal, financial, and technical disappear behind a digital curtain.
As I wait, I realize that Uber itself is an interface—a layer between me and the machine that is the car. The need for any technical understanding of the car disappears. Freed from the need to operate the machine, I now have time to respond to emails, read the news, or scroll through social media. What a relief for those who have to spend every day commuting to have the option to relax. But an interface is not something that can be turned off; it is imposed on users. It interferes. The bright blue glow on someone’s face as they stare at an interface reminds me of the idea from Deleuze and Guattari that the face is the expression of subjectivity. To me, there is something beautiful about a blue face illuminated in a dark room that captures the current moment.
My phone vibrates. I can sense it’s a notification from Uber reminding me my driver is almost here. I couldn’t explain to you how I know, but that’s the thing about bodies; they’re inseparable from cognition. I rely on the notifications to tell me when it’s time to leave. This idea makes me realize that my mind really is extended in the way that David Chalmers & Andy Clark say it is. Putting together the idea that cognition is embodied and the mind is extended, I begin to think of the Uber as my extended body. Since cars aren’t new, the personal car can be seen as an extension of one’s body. In my living room, I have some art depicting men on horses hunting animals. Staring at it, the idea of an extended body seems less like science fiction and more real. While horses were replaced by personal cars, Uber might be the next mutation in the genealogy of the extended body. Unlike the personal car, Uber extends our body into a network. In a sense, the body becomes disorganized. Every Uber is a new body. Uber is the networkification of bodies.
As I walk outside, I see the car with its hazard lights on. Thinking of the Uber as an extended body, I realize that in this time I don’t own my body. Ownership is being replaced by rent. The ephemeral connotation that I have with rent makes me confident that I won’t have memories of these cars. Memories will be offloaded into my extended mind in the form of Uber receipts.
As I open the door to the 2024 Black Toyota Camry, I wonder how different the world looks today compared to the person who opened the door to the first Uber in 2009. Uber, like the graphical user interface, is a door that we opened and entered. Inside the metaphorical door is a specific world that unfolds with every ride. I search the internet for how many Uber rides there are a day. Google tells me that number is 23.4 million. With each ride, that world expands.
Once in the car, I put my seatbelt on out of habit. Habit comes from the Latin word "Habitare," which means “to live.” Over 7 billion people a year live with Uber as an extended and ephemeral body.
The driver and I are talking about Uber. In a sense, we’re gossiping about the person not in the room. Even if people were raised hearing that they shouldn’t gossip, everyone seems to do it. The same seems to go for using Uber. The long list of reasons why one shouldn’t use Uber makes me feel a sense of guilt every time I use it. I’m thinking of the show Shark Tank and how founders will explain their businesses by saying “it’s Uber for X.” As the world becomes more like Uber, will guilt become more common? Perhaps the interface conceals everything that might spawn a sense of guilt.
As we arrive at my destination, I say goodbye to the driver who is already accepting his next rider. As I exit, I watch as my networked body turns the corner on its way to become someone else’s. My phone receives a notification. I know it’s asking me to rate my ride. As I open it to give him 5 stars, I think about the theoretical 35 billion stars that will be created in the Uberverse this year.
