I Decided to Fully Trust Google Autocomplete With My Life for 24 Hours, and It Was a Mistake

My search history now belongs in a psychological case study.

I have this problem where I treat terrible ideas like they're personal dares from the universe. Some people have survival instincts. I have whatever the opposite of that is. A death wish dressed up as curiosity.

So when I wondered what would happen if I let Google autocomplete dictate my life for 24 hours, my brain didn't say no. My brain said oh we're absolutely doing this.

Because what's the worst that could happen? A tech algorithm that knows my darkest searches and browsing habits making decisions for me? Totally fine. Nothing concerning there.

The rules were simple. For one full day, I had to:

1. Start every search with a basic prompt

2. Accept whatever Google suggested to complete it

3. Follow through on whatever it told me to do (within reason and legality)

Google's algorithm knows me better than my therapist at this point, so this was essentially letting my digital shadow self take the wheel. And that shadow self? Turns out she's chaotic as hell.

The first hour was fine. Deceptively normal. That's how they get you.

I started with "how to make" and Google completed it with "how to make pancakes." Basic. Safe. The digital equivalent of a firm handshake. I made some mediocre pancakes and thought hey, this experiment is cute and harmless.

That feeling lasted approximately 47 minutes.

By mid-morning, things took a turn when I searched "is it normal to" and Google finished with "is it normal to talk to yourself." Which, honestly, felt like a personal attack given that I had been narrating this entire experiment out loud to my empty apartment.

But the real chaos started when I typed "I should" and Google suggested "I should learn to play the violin."

I tried learning violin once. It ended with me giving it up like everything else in my life. I have no real desire to pick it up again. But rules are rules.

So I spent two hours researching violins online, calling a music store, and getting a very detailed explanation about violin ownership that included the phrase "it's basically a commitment to annoying everyone for at least six months." The sales guy sounded genuinely concerned when I explained why I was calling.

"So you're looking into violins because... Google told you to?"

"Yes."

"And you gave up on violin before?"

"Correct."

"But you're seriously considering learning to play again?"

"I'm required to follow through on the research at minimum."

The silence that followed contained entire galaxies of judgment.

By lunchtime, I had typed "what to eat" and Google suggested "what to eat when you have diarrhea." I didn't have diarrhea. But guess what I ended up having for lunch? Plain white rice, bananas, and toast. The BRAT diet basically. Because Google said so.

Did my digestive system need that kind of meal? No. Did I eat it while watching violin tutorials online? Yes.

The afternoon brought "how do I know if" which Google completed with "how do I know if I have anxiety." After taking three online anxiety quizzes, I learned that yes, I do have anxiety, and also this experiment was actively making it worse. Science.

But the real breaking point came when I typed "where can I find" and Google suggested "where can I find myself." Which sent me into a mental spiral I wasn't prepared for.

Because where CAN I find myself? Is it on a violin? Is it while eating the blandest meal known to mankind? Is it by blindly following the algorithmic suggestions of a search engine that primarily wants to sell me things?

I spent an hour sitting on my floor, questioning everything. I didn't even have a search to follow. Google had broken me with philosophy.

When I recovered, I typed "what should I do with my" expecting it to say "life" or "evening" but instead it completed with "what should I do with my hands during a presentation."

So I spent 40 minutes practicing hand positions for a presentation I don't have. Standing in my living room, trying different hand gestures while practicing in front of my giant living room mirror. I caught a glimpse of myself mid-gesture and realized I looked like I was trying to cast a very professional business spell. This is what rock bottom looks like.

Nighttime searches got weirder.

"Why do people" became "why do people eat tide pods." This led to a disturbing rabbit hole of internet challenges I wish I could unsee.

"How long does it take to" became "how long does it take to learn Korean." I downloaded Duolingo and spent an hour learning how to say "hello" and "where is the bathroom" in Korean. Useful if I ever visit Korea which is never because the economy.

But the final search before bed really highlighted the beautiful absurdity of this experiment.

I typed "should I" and Google completed it with "should I get bangs."

At 11:30pm, there I was, standing in my bathroom with my phone, watching YouTube tutorials on how to cut your own bangs. My hair had done nothing wrong. It didn't deserve this threat. But Google had spoken.

I stared at my reflection, scissors sitting untouched on the counter. Some lines you just don't cross. Getting bangs on a whim at midnight based on a search engine's suggestion? That's where I draw the line. Even I have limits to my terrible decision-making. I closed YouTube and said "not today, Google" to my reflection.

When I woke up and the experiment was over, I had:

• A shopping cart with several violins I hadn't purchased yet

• A basic understanding of Korean greetings

• Rice leftover from my fake diarrhea meal

• A Duolingo streak I now feel weirdly obligated to maintain

• Hand gestures suitable for a TED talk I'll never give

• An unsurprising suspicion of algorithms

• My hair, thankfully, still intact and bang-free

The thing about letting autocomplete run your life is that it seems harmless until you realize it's basically letting your previous searches, global trending topics, and Google's mysterious marketing priorities make your decisions.

My algorithm apparently thinks I'm a musically-inclined, anxious, Korean-speaking violin enthusiast with digestive issues and a desire for a new hairstyle. A portrait of me that is both entirely wrong and uncomfortably specific.

The most terrifying part? By the end of the day, some of the suggestions started making sense to me. Maybe I should learn Korean. Maybe giving the violin another shot despite my traumatic past with it is the career pivot I've been missing.

But get bangs? That's where I draw the line. Even algorithms need boundaries.

Which means either the algorithm knows me better than I know myself, or I'm susceptible to digital peer pressure from a search bar. Both options are concerning.

So what did I learn from this experiment? That Google autocomplete is basically a Magic 8 Ball with access to your search history and shopping habits. It's a wildly unpredictable force that will send you looking for violins one minute and personal meaning the next.

Would I recommend this experiment to others? Absolutely not. But will that stop you from trying it? Probably not. Because we're all just curious creatures with smartphones and poor impulse control.

Just promise me one thing. If Google tells you to get bangs? Run. Run far away