Necessity was my predictive shopper, it turned into my life coach
by Shelly Shore, Cruzzbunch Consumer Anthropologist
I used to spend my days hunched over my laptop in a dimly lit home office, surrounded by the artifacts of a life spent studying other people's consumption habits. Half-empty coffee cups, stacks of ethnographic research papers, and an ever-growing collection of products I'd bought to "understand consumer behavior" cluttered every surface. My wardrobe consisted entirely of shapeless cardigans and elastic-waist pants ordered in bulk from Amazon – comfortable for someone who spent 12 hours a day sitting and observing, writing and theorizing.
That was before Necessity rewrote my life.
As a brand anthropologist, I'm supposed to maintain professional distance from my subjects. But when I downloaded Necessity – the AI-powered "pretail" app that claims to predict and fulfill your needs before you know them – I didn't realize I'd become the specimen under observation.
The first package arrived three days after installation: a vibrant teal blazer and matching scarf, with a simple note reading "You Need This." I almost laughed. Me, in teal? My entire aesthetic could be described as "academic beige." But something made me try it on.
The woman in the mirror looked... possible. Like a version of me that could exist, if I'd made different choices. The cut of the blazer suggested a waist I'd forgotten I had. The color made my pale, screen-lit complexion look almost vibrant.
That was just the beginning. Within a week, my bathroom cabinet's usual array of half-used drugstore products had been replaced with a carefully curated skincare routine. My grocery deliveries shifted from microwaveable comfort food to fresh ingredients and recipe cards. A yoga mat appeared, followed by class bookings.
I kept telling myself this was research. I'd analyze the algorithm's behavioral modification strategies, write a paper on predictive commerce and identity formation. But every morning, I found myself following Necessity's suggestions: Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Try the new coffee shop two blocks over. Wear the dress, not the cardigan.
The changes were subtle at first. My posture improved from the yoga. My skin cleared from the new skincare routine and better diet. The walking routes Necessity suggested got me out of my apartment and into sunlight. My body, long treated as just a vessel for my observing mind, began to feel more present.
By week three, I barely recognized my reflection. Not just physically – though the woman who looked back at me was noticeably different, with better color, clearer eyes, and clothes that actually fit – but in the way I carried myself. Necessity hadn't just changed what I consumed; it had fundamentally altered how I moved through the world.
The real shock came when I ran into my old grad school friend Eloise at a wine tasting Necessity had booked for me. She almost walked past without recognizing me. When I called out to her, her double-take was almost comical.
"Shelly?" she blinked. "I thought you were some tech CEO! What happened to the woman who used to wear the same coffee-stained sweater to every seminar?"
I wanted to explain that I was still that woman – just optimized, enhanced, unlocked. That an AI had somehow seen past my self-imposed limitations and reshaped me into someone who did more than just observe life from behind a screen.
But how do you tell someone that an app knew your true self better than you did?
On day 31, my scheduled end date for this "experiment," I sat down to write my analysis. But looking at the empty document, I realized something: I didn't want to dissect this experience. I didn't want to reduce it to algorithmic patterns and consumer psychology theories.
For the first time in my career, I wanted to be the person living the story, not the one studying it.
The old Shelly would call this a dangerous loss of objectivity. But the woman I am now – the one Necessity helped me become – sees it differently. Sometimes the most valuable research comes from letting yourself be transformed.
Besides, I have a yoga class in 20 minutes. And my new self doesn't like to be late.
