Have you ever read the acronym DYOR? It is not the name of a misspelled French fragrance, but the abbreviation of Do Your Own Research. A kind of financial mantra born in the depths of web3, used as a form of self-absolution during the great circus in which digital tokens were being sold for astronomical sums. A motto that sounded like a magic formula to absolve those who were selling yet another bubble disguised as a cultural revolution.
And yet, this little anti-hoax acronym reveals something deeper, almost philosophical: are we still truly doing our own research? Or have we handed over curiosity and critical thinking to the hands of algorithms?
Until a few years ago, the act of searching for something online had something exploratory about it: you typed, you navigated, you took wrong turns, got lost in links and detours. A small cognitive adventure. Today, instead, we live in a digital ecosystem that anticipates us, predicts us, serves us ready-made answers. Algorithms, these new invisible oracle, know our tastes, our inclinations, and probably even our moments of weakness.
It is convenient, of course. But what happens when we start trusting them too much? When we allow artificial intelligence not only to suggest a movie or a restaurant, but also to tell us which investments to make, or worse still, which artist to buy? The scenario that opens up is both fascinating and disturbing: a new Renaissance led by machines, or the silent end of aesthetic free will?
Reflecting on these issues is Jo Lawson-Tancred, author of the essay “Artificial Intelligence and the art market,” in which she analyzes the emergence of platforms offering art-financial consulting based on machine learning. In other words: entrusting the choice of a work of art - and an investment - to data. According to the author, we are still in an embryonic stage: collectors do not yet fully trust an algorithm’s advice. But the ground is being prepared, and quickly.
Driven by curiosity, I decided to test one of these AI platforms by asking it to recommend some contemporary artists to invest in for under ten thousand euros. After a series of ethical disclaimers and legal caveats worthy of a notary, a surprisingly reasonable list appeared. Among the suggested names, one caught my eye immediately: Marina Apollonio, “a historic figure of Italian Op Art, recently rediscovered by the market. “Small works or multiples may still grow”, the AI informed me in a conspiratorial tone. I get the feeling the algorithm already knows too much about me, that it is flattering me, almost stroking my ego as a fan of optical art.
And so I wonder: how difficult will it be, in the future, to maintain a truly critical capacity? When even our most intimate tastes are shaped by invisible suggestions, how much will really remain ours? Art, which for centuries has been the realm of intuition and the unexpected, risks becoming yet another minefield of data, forecasts, and predictive models.
Perhaps the true luxury of the future will not be to own the right artwork, but to know how to choose it by ourselves, without an algorithm whispering it in our ear. Because, by letting ourselves be guided too much by the advice of machines, we risk forgetting how to do the most human thing of all: to think with our own heads.
