How to know your future
Raise your hand if you prefer your coffee with alternative milk such as oat milk, coconut milk, or almond milk.
Now, raise your hand again if you were already enjoying your coffee with alternative milk a decade ago. I can see only Mark still stuck in 2014.
The trend forecasting agency WGsN foresaw the rise of plant-based milks taking over the market back in 2017.
In a report, they highlighted Ole as the brand to watch, and their prediction was spot on. Between 2018 and 2022, sales of plant-based milks surged by 25 times, generating a staggering $195 million in revenue last year.
It's no surprise that in their 2014 report, WGsN boasted about their ability to forecast the future with 95% certainty up to 7 years ahead.
Around 2014-2016, they released reports predicting that we would embrace yoga, swap heels for sneakers, tune into Kpop, adorn our homes with plants, and even consider AI companions.
When I first delved into the world of trend forecasting agencies a decade ago, I vividly recall excitedly calling my younger brother and gushing about these visionary predictors.
It felt like stumbling upon unicorns; these individuals possessed the unique ability to foresee our preferences and choices, almost like seeing into the future.
Let me share a tale of how foreseeing the future is possible.
When you entered a room, what was your first instinct? Observing people, their attire, expressions, and gestures. Eavesdropping on conversations, maybe stealing glances at their phones or bags. Absorbing scents, perhaps deciphering their lunch choices.
This act is known as Kyomu, a Japanese term for reading the room. Trend forecasters like us constantly engage in this practice, scanning for signals, detecting patterns, envisioning the world as one vast global room. We analyze social media, monitor Google Trends, interpret market sentiments and stock prices, all in pursuit of patterns that underpin our forecasts.
Trend forecasting, I often say, resembles surfing. It equips you to anticipate and ride the waves of change. The most successful companies, akin to adept surfers, seize opportunities when they spot them.
Take Netflix, for instance. Recognizing the colossal gaming industry's potential, eight times larger than Hollywood, they birthed a TV series inspired by video games and fantasy novels. This gamble paid off handsomely, becoming one of Netflix's most successful ventures, captivating 76 million viewers worldwide within a month of its release.
In the heyday of trend forecasting, companies relied on these reports to shape campaigns and products, captivating consumers like us with tailored offerings. It was an idyllic era until it wasn't.
Despite wielding advanced tools, deciphering the global room has become a Herculean task. The deluge of content inundates us; compared to Audrey Hepburn's two movies annually, TikTok stars churn out 22,000 clips per year, each lasting a mere 32 seconds. Our voracious appetite for content mirrors reading Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" daily, tethering us to screens for 11 hours daily.
Speaking of screens, from a solitary TV in households of yore, we now juggle eight interconnected devices on average. This fragmentation has shattered the once-unified global room, dispersing us into myriad isolated chambers evolving at breakneck speed.
The dissolution of this communal space signifies a loss of discernible patterns, and in turn, trends. Shared trends foster cultural cohesion. Yet, algorithms confine us within solitary confines, obscuring shared experiences.
Consider B Bunny, Spotify's reigning artist for three consecutive years, overshadowing even Beyoncé. Meanwhile, a Chinese fast-fashion brand reigns supreme in 113 nations, eclipsing even stalwarts like Nike in 10 regions. How can phenomena be ubiquitous yet elusive? Algorithms, acting as custodians, partition us, stifling cultural exchange.
The forthcoming generations—Alpha and Beta—eschew shared cultural touchstones, heralding an era devoid of communal experiences. Unlike the '90s, marked by collective adoration for Britney Spears and Leonardo DiCaprio, future cohorts may lack these shared cultural references. This digital diaspora threatens to sever the threads binding us.
Recently, I encountered a kindred spirit—a young girl reminiscent of my former self. Our conversation unveiled a vibrant tapestry of shared interests, from Discord servers to WhatsApp groups, centered on Dungeons and Dragons, Minecraft, and Final Fantasy. Despite our disparate rooms, a sense of camaraderie blossomed, akin to residents in a panelak, united by virtual corridors and shared experiences.
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