Back when fitness trackers first became popular, I grew enamoured of the idea that a device tied to my wrist could give me invaluable information about the sometimes-inexplicable workings of my body. I’m a zealot about information. I’ve long believed the more you have, the better decisions you make.
Some counselled against strapping spyware onto a limb. Who collected that data? Where was it stored? How would it be used? One friend, who normally doesn’t fall for conspiracy theories, tried to convince me that these trackers were part of a medical establishment eager to monetise whatever vital statistics they could collect.