A Look at the Patreon Model

The fact nobody supposedly makes a living on Patreon has never been an issue to me. It is a supplementary form of income that allows artists, cosplayers, writers, podcasters, and more, to put their work behind a paywall or to receive donations from fans. Unlike how Patreon advertises itself, it is not the ideal model for creators to survive off of freelancing. Still, it serves its purpose and enables creators with a platform to have a little bit of extra money each month. The problem that I’m seeing more and more of is the gigantic gap between Patreon’s profits and priorities versus that of the Patreon artists.

In Keith Parkin’s Medium article in 2017, he asked, “Is Patreon a Scam?” In the article, Parkins highlights the platform’s controversy where it was proposed that patrons pay an extra 0.37 cents per pledge, thus hurting less popular creators who rely on their accumulation of 1 USD subscriptions. In the quoted twitter thread, Julie Dillon argued that even those few extra dollars a month can be life changing, and that it hurts to have the platform dismiss this. Of course, the changes were rolled back and Patreon apologized, but the change ultimately revealed the core philosophy and priority behind the platform. The change would have been devastating for small creators (who make up the majority of Patreon), somewhat profitable for larger creators, and incredibly profitable for Patreon. Twitter user @Burrito_Tim calculated that with his pledges, the platform would receive 118% more after the change. Again, even though this new policy was rectified, Patreon is in a position to decide that the demands of investors and their own pursuit of profit outweighs the bad PR of small creators’ outcries. After all, according to Patreon, they only value the “truly life-changing creators.”

In 2017, Patreon received around 60 million in investment capital from Thrive Capital after already having received 30 million from them in 2016, and 17 million in 2014. According to Dan Olsen, Patreon has only actually earned 55 million in revenue since 2013, which makes it highly unprofitable expense right now for those who have invested in it, thus placing further pressure on the platform to generate revenue streams that serve neither the consumer nor the creators.

After the Patreon CEO’s recent announcement that the platform’s current model is “unsustainable,” twitter user Dan Olsen predicts, “series of ill-advised feature rollouts, like they’ll probably go gonzo and build a livestreaming platform or pivot to Fortnite or buy Teespring or something equally confusing, with a slow degradation of the core user experience. Like you’ll sign in and there’ll be six popups asking if you’ve tried Patreon Mega and extolling how it can help you mega-engage with your audience, while you’re just like “can I have a commission button so people can make one-time payments?” and they’re like “no.” Unfortunately, the increasing demand for Patreon to focus only on trying to draw more Hank Green-type clients and profit off of them means the site is often neglecting its primary user base.

There will also likely be a big push to find ways to further monetize creators and have them pay for a better experience. So what is the solution then? I definitely think there needs to be a cooperative platform version made for and by creators. The cooperative version ideally would respect both the small tier and top tier creators, have more payment options that would allow for grouping together as channels and one-time commission payments, and it would have a model that does not overcharge for payment transfer fees. It would serve the creators, rather than treating them like serfs. Until then, creators using Patreon at the mercy of a platform that is at the mercy of venture capitalists. We need more platforms for creators that will put proportionally put money into the hands of workers rather than the pockets of corporations that are looking to just expand the value of the platform so they can sell it for a profit. When the latter happens, the “target audience” of the platform becomes its venture capitalist investors, and what follows is censorship, and a website that ultimately does not prioritize its users.

Citations:

https://twitter.com/FoldableHuman/status/1092870599985123329

https://theoutline.com/post/2571/no-one-makes-a-living-on-patreon?zd=1&zi=pmnmzelf

https://medium.com/dark-mountain/is-patreon-a-scam-a9d0e38bd69e

So Much Depends/ Upon/ So Many/ Business Models

In any ecosystem, heterogeneity is a healthy thing. We love flowers and they’re beautiful, but if Vancouver *only* had flowers—no trees, no grasses, no vines or bushes, the ecosystem would collapse. Likewise, if we only had, say, Maple trees and violets and no other trees or flowers, we would have an impoverished ecosystem because only a select few other plants and limited animals would be able to survive here.

The same is true of any market. The danger of any business model—Patreon, Kickstarter, or ad-generated revenue—becoming dominant is that each of these models allows for a certain type of content to survive. Patreon works ideally for artists who have grown a platform elsewhere and have an ongoing artistic practice that would exist with or without patrons—that is, it works best when the income earned is supplemental as opposed to substantial. Of course some people do survive off of their Patreon income, but as we’ve seen, that’s an incredibly small percentage of people using the platform, and I think putting this expectation on the platform is unreasonable.

Kickstarter, on the other hand, works best when it’s enabling a project to move forward. As opposed to Patreon, which has little-to-no community or tools for discovery, it is possible to find projects on Kickstarter without knowing *exactly* who—or what—you’re looking for. For this reason, having a following is definitely beneficial but not absolutely necessary in the same way it is with Patreon. Where Kickstarter (and other crowdfunding) platforms excel is actually in building awareness and support for projects—monetary and otherwise. For this reason, it’s best suited for large, one-off projects that exist outside of an artist’s regular practice.

The existence of ad-generated revenue is also essential because it allows for “free” content, or at least content that is widely and openly accessible without the user having to pay money. Because the Internet is so ubiquitous in, and in many ways, essential to modern life, it’s important that there are services, communities, and content that are accessible without a fee. This is, of course, outside of the conversation about privacy and the politics of collecting information in lieu of a fee, which isn’t necessarily an ideal substitute for a fee. That being said, however, while I use Facebook (for communicating with fellow cohort members and for finding out about/RSVPing to events,) I’m not sure that I would pay for it. Personally, I’m okay with the exchange of some online privacy for a service that I feel is useful but not absolutely essential.

Part of what makes the Internet as great and useful (and at times scary) is that it allows for so many different types of content and creators to flourish. As with almost anything, however, one size does not fit all, and too much of a good thing is not a good thing. In my opinion, the Internet benefits from creators with an ongoing artistic practice, creators with big ambitious ideas, and free services, and for all of these to survive, there needs to be a variety different business/funding models to properly support them.

Something’s Gotta Give: The Perils of Dominant Business Models in Online Environments

The readings this week focused on two different business models: traditional online advertising and the modified, modern patronage model made popular through the platform Patreon. In this post, I focus on the ad readings, whose general consensus seems to be that the current advertising system is broken—people don’t like online ads (based on views and/or clicks), so AdBlock Plus is extorting publishers and content creators like some kind of digital mafia boss, with those who rely on ad revenue helpless to stop it. This makes actually making any money very difficult, especially when we tend to pass on the responsibility of dealing with the current broken advertising model, and then use the excuse of “neutral” platforms, software and extensions to explain why it is not our job to fix them/why they cannot be fixed. Of course, no platform, software, or extension is neutral. At some point in the process, a biased human being is on the other side of the screen making very biased human decisions about how things are designed, and how they operate. If we want to fix the system, we shouldn’t “[…] build systems that let us pass the buck to someone else, in exchange for passing them a few bucks”; we should demand and take responsibility for the things that affect us. Or, at least, that’s Anil Dash’s argument.

I think this is easier said than done.

The problem with a single business model becoming dominant in an online environment, and in fact in any environment, is that no one model is infallible. Being completely reliant on a single revenue stream makes you vulnerable should that stream dry up. Furthermore, when a business model becomes dominant, it limits the incentive for business owners to create or build new models or go looking for other revenue streams—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! This lack of creativity and stagnancy makes the model vulnerable as the market evolves, until everyone is in crisis because, say, traditional online advertising no longer works as effectively (if at all) in a digital environment. This “panic mode” either forces creativity and an evolution of the model, or demands its replacement with something more sustainable—and the cycle continues. This loop can be seen in the evolution of TV and radio advertising: forced to compete with Netflix and rapidly changing social climate, TV advertisers have been forced to become clever in their ads.

With the rise of ad blockers, it looks like we’ll soon be seeing the same shift in online advertising—though if advertising will change, or if business models will shift to remove it from their revenue streams completely still remains to be seen. Either way, something’s gotta give.

The Middleman: Medium vs. Platform Cooperativism

Medium describes itself on their about page as, “A customizable reading experience, made just for you.” They are selling themselves explicitly as a platform that is created with the reader at heart, focusing more on good quality content for users, rather than trying to please advertisers. To experience unlimited content, free from all ads and pop-ups, readers need to become members for $5/month or $50/year. If you’re one of the readers who signs up for Medium because you want to support good journalism, your money isn’t actually going directly to the journalists and writers, Medium also takes a cut. The idea of the ‘middleman’ makes us uncomfortable but it isn’t inherently wrong. Medium is simply providing a service that gives people a place to publish and find and audience. I believe that the success of Medium can be used as an outline for a platform co-op that would leave the revenue in the hands of the creators. In order to discuss this alternative business model I will first review why the subscription model is working, then how it could be transferable to a platform co-op model of publishing.

The Medium model has become very successful, proving that people are willing to pay for content that they value, despite the fact that stats suggest many Canadians aren’t willing to pay for news online. People will pay for quality content that they know will be engaging, credible, easy to find, or from a source whose personality they enjoy. This is great news considering the American Press Institute stated in 2017 that, “The future of journalism will increasingly depend on consumers paying for the news directly, as content distributors like Facebook and Google take up the lion’s share of digital advertising dollars.” So why is it hard to get some people on board?

There are many reasons why people are not interested in paying a subscription fee for journalism. Arguments include: they can find the same content for free elsewhere, they can’t justify the purchase given the number of other subscriptions they are already paying for, they can’t afford it, they don’t trust the source, and the list could go on. These reasons are justified but is there another model that has the potential to convert some of these nay-sayers? In comes platform co-op. People are more willing to pay for a publisher’s content when they are aligned with the values and mission of that organization. With discussions rising about Facebook and Google running the advertising game, people are become wary of giving their money to monopolizing giants, but what about a platform that they can own, contribute to the success of and really see how their money is being used? Platform coopertivism may prove to be a successful model for a new subscription\-based publisher to rise up.

Mai Sutton on Sharable defines a platform co-op as, “a digital platform — a website or mobile app that is designed to provide a service or sell a product — that is collectively owned and governed by the people who depend on and participate in it.” Since many of the readers who are paying for subscriptions are interested in supporting the ideas that they are reading about, there may be enough interest to create a platform that is owned and operated by a co-op interested in keeping the revenue within their community, ensuring that writers and journalists are paid equitably for the work they put in, without a middle man taking a cut.

As a publishing student, I see so much benefit in becoming a member of a platform like Medium. The audience, convenience and support is there, but it is a bit unsettling that Medium is walking away with a higher paycheque than the journalists I would be trying to. I believe that companies deserve to take a cut for the services they offer, but this capitalist structure is not the only way of doing business. I don’t think it would be easy to get right, but a platform co-op publisher would be an interesting model to see in action, and one that I could definitely get behind!

small>MEDIUM>large

The Medium model is a fair exchange. They provide human-curated content which is properly edited for clarity and brevity. In turn, the user pays for access to this content. Of all such sites, I feel Medium is the most transparent and elegant. Evan Williams and his team clearly voice their dislike of the exploitation of writers and thus Medium set up a pay-wall to judiciously compensate contributors and ask for a fair payment for their effort. I really like the Medium model because it benefits everyone involved: the readers, the writers and the mediator themselves.

Most of my class fellows are hesitant to pay for Medium, which is mostly just text and requires active attention. It is easy to understand why they would rather pay for services like Netflix/Spotify: these services entertain and help unwind. At the end of the day, no one wants to log on to Medium and read some well-written articles.

An article I found on Medium talks about how the platform is the same before and after a subscription. This person writes for Medium themselves and they fail to understand the entire reasoning of this pay-wall. The pay-wall guarantees that Medium’s writers get paid. Medium subscription is like monitored patronage which subscribers take part in. The user becomes a patron to the content creators.

Another reason why I like the Medium model is that it has no ads, which means users’ data is not being sold to bigger companies that will exploit said data to place pesky ads. Services like Spotify that offer “free” versions are not really free either: they take users’ data and manipulate it to place ads, interrupting the user experience. It’s a free market of content that anyone can utilize in order to share their unique thoughts and perspective.

I am especially influenced by Medium’s Do Not Track (“DNT”) browser settings. Medium explains this:

If you are browsing with DNT enabled, you can read Medium in the logged-out state and our analytics will not receive information about you. Also, embeds within a page (such as a YouTube video) will not load without your actively clicking through a DNT overlay. By doing this, we allow you to choose whether any data is sent to a third-party embed before it is sent. If you click into an embed while browsing DNT, it may cause data to be sent to the third-party hosting the embed.

Medium’s answering call to my worries about being tracked through the internet is why I have a soft spot for the platform and the decisions it has taken to keep itself afloat.

 

 

Thoughts on the Medium Model

The with growing dominance of adblock (which has decimated digital ad revenues), it is worth speculating how publishers can adapt by creating models that enable website traffic and monetization without alienating readers. Medium’s recent model changes put into play an interesting structure: a membership model that, for 5 dollars a month, enablers readers to access “the best” of Medium’s content. Before deliberating on how publishing can apply such a model, I want to first look at what is and is not working with the system.

Continue reading “Thoughts on the Medium Model”

Subscription Model in Publishing: Not Like Netflix/Spotify

This week, we talked about the Medium’s subscription model during the class. In The rationalization of publishing, Medium’s founder Evan Williams believed that since publishing could not be supported by advertisements alone currently, a subscription model will be the best solution. He compared this model to Netflix/Spotify and argued that:

  1. People who care about understanding themselves and the world will pay for information
  2. People who care about reading will pay for texts as they pay for videos and audios
  3. People will pay for high-quality content rather than reading free but poor-quality content online

I agreed with his arguments. However, I do not think that TV/music is an appropriate analogy for publishing. In my opinion, reading has a lot of differences from watching TV or listening to music. Therefore, publishers should be careful when applying the subscription model.

First, the market for publishers tends to be smaller than TV or music producers. There are fewer people who read than who watch TV or listen to music.

According to the Pew Research, “Overall, Americans read an average (mean) of 12 books per year, while the typical (median) American has read four books in the past 12 months”. Let us assume they spend 10 hours on each book (it is hard to assume the average because depending on the genre and page number, it will take a different length of time to finish a book), then an average American spends about 120 hours on reading in a year and a typical American only spends 40 hours on reading in a year.

Let us look at the data for Netflix. By the end of 2017, Netflix had 117.58 million subscribers. It also claimed that in average, its users watched 140 million hours of content on a day. According to the numbers, the averages time for one subscriber to spend on Netflix on one day is a little over 50 minutes.

Then what about the time that people spend on digital reading?

In 2017, Medium only had 60 million monthly readers (not exactly subscribers) and in total, these users spent 4.5 million hours reading on Medium in per month. This means that each reader only spends 4.5 mins on Medium per month.

A big difference, huh?

The subscription model works for Netflix or Spotify because a huge number of consumers watches TV or listens to music now. For a keen online reader, paying a subscription fee to get the unlimited access to good quality articles is a great deal but how many keen online readers are there? For people who only read four books a year, unlimited access to books is not very appealing. However, they might be one of the one-time book buyers out there in the market which the subscription model does not work for.

Another significant difference between reading and the other two media is that there are better alternatives for readers rather than subscribing to a certain platform. If I quit Netflix or Amazon Prime today, I do not know where to find a better solution. I could go to a movie theatre which only provides me with a few options, or I could pay for a cable which would be very troublesome and expensive to get considering I don’t even own a nice TV now. Without the subscription model, I can still read a printed book, an ebook or listen to an audiobook, either bought by myself or borrowed from libraries or friends.

I am not saying that subscription model would not work for publishers. Except Medium, there are also subscription services for Ebooks such as Kindle Unlimited, Oyster or Scribd. In the article Subscription Services for E-Books, the author pointed out that the sales of physical books are “fairly stable” and he concluded that “the reading public doesn’t get subscription e-book services — or at least doesn’t get them yet”. However, I think the readers did not get the subscription model because the physical books (or the experience of reading a physical book) are still in need.

Overall, I think the subscription model will work for publishers, but only to a certain extent. In the publishing world, the subscription model will not be as dominant as it in other fields such as TV or music.

Platform Coöperatives and Online Publishing, Together at Last

Within the service sector of the economy, the emerging  system of ‘platform capitalism’ relies on “self-employed” workers using a platform (be it hardware or software) that is owned by a third party entity to facilitate their service delivery . This results in a situation wherein labour is sold directly to the consumer rather than an employer, using the platform as a proxy  to establish the guise of self-employment. The result is that there is no real change to the fundamental relationship between labour and capital, yet many of the standard operating costs are shifted to the employee, who also forgoes the benefits and protections that centuries of class struggle has carved out for the traditional wage labourer. Continue reading “Platform Coöperatives and Online Publishing, Together at Last”

Platform Cooperativism Takes to Publishing

I’m going to take a stab at applying platform cooperativism to publishing, which I actually don’t think is that much of a stretch from established chapbook/anthology cultures.

It starts with five authors. No, it starts with only two. They’re best friends. They went through writing school together, but they haven’t had any luck submitting their work to literary journals. They’re frustrated with the gatekeeper system, so they decide to publish a chapbook together using their own money and limited understanding of design/layout. It’s a bit ramshackle, but it’s a sincere effort. They tell their friends and they bring some by to small art spaces around the city. Some of their friends express an interest in putting together a similar project, so the next time around, there are five authors. With the growth of the group, their reach also expands, and they’re gaining the interest of writers and creatives outside of their immediate social circles. They start to think of themselves as a collective. They stumble over involving people that they don’t directly know, but the city is small and the people interested are still friends-of-friends, so they start holding meetings and thinking about putting together another chapbook.

From my understanding, the story so far is one that many independent presses more or less have in common—it’s also analogous to various artists throughout history who have been unable to find mainstream success, so they’ve broken out and done their own thing instead (for one very notable example, check out the history of the Impressionist movement, following the initial Salon des Refusés  of 1863.)

How I’m imagining this venture could mature into a platform cooperative, however, is if they continued to publish anthologies as opposed to  collections or pieces written by one person. I say this because it seems more compatible with the cooperative model—in the Shareable article, “What is a Platform Co-op?” the contributors talk about the importance of the platform providing a service or selling a product, as well as the centrality of the platform being collectively owned and governed.

I think it takes a great deal of goodwill and organization to set something like this up, but perhaps the collective could be run by an editorial board and an executive board. People on both boards would be voted in, and every member of the collective would contribute a certain amount of money. Collective members could submit pieces for inclusion in that year’s issue, and the editorial board would decide what to publish. A portion of proceeds would go towards supporting the publishing etc., but anything earned beyond that could be paid back to the collective members.

Obviously this sort of idea is only scalable to a point, but I do think it’s possible. It almost feels like a hybrid between a Patreon-like model and a true platform cooperative, but I think it’s the most realistic way to apply the idea to publishing.

Work Cited

Mai Sutton, Cat Johnson, and Neal Gorenflo. “A Shareable Explainer: What is a Platform Co-op?” Shareable. August 16, 2016.

 

Subscriptions and Ads… not such a bad thing

I’ve never really felt compelled to subscribe to any sort of magazine, newspaper or online community. Partly because of there hasn’t been anything I’ve been interested in enough to do so and I guess the idea of having to pay for content that I could probably find a way to get for free seemed silly. This weeks class and reading made me reflect on how is this different from my subscription to Netflix, Spotify, or Adobe. A subscription to something like Medium is far less expensive than one of these other things I currently subscribe to. I would say perceived value has a lot to do with the subscription choices I’ve made. With all 3 of my current subscriptions, it allows for multiple users which I split with a friend or family member, thus my perceived value of these things increases.

With that said, I do think that a subscription model is preferable as the end user. Although I do understand that not all types of business cannot survive with just one type of revenue model. Having taken up a production/management position for my job in conjunction with this program has certainly given me an understanding and appreciation of how business function. I would say that I used to be indifferent to ads (especially on website). I have become more aware recently how advertisements would keep popping up for sites and products that I’ve visited. While, it’s a little creepy, I do understand that these are the way businesses ensure that products are visible making increasing the likelihood of a sell-through. On a personal note, I would be very interested how they are able to do this!

As consumers, I think it’s important to understand the purpose and role that advertising or subscriptions has for the publisher and reader. I think it’s very easy to say that ads or subscription shouldn’t exist on site or on any type of medium. At the end of the day it is the means that that select producer has chosen to be able to deliver their content. Hopefully, it’s not overkill! I also think that ads and platforms should be better aligned with each other. To me, there is nothing more off-putting than noticing a mis-aligned add.  Although as we continue to learn, small publishers and business aren’t equipped to compete with large companies, so perhaps they’re not really in a position to be selective with their ads.

To Pay or Not to Pay? Why I’ll Start Supporting Creators

Though I’ve only very recently begun to think about paying for subscriptions (the last two years or so), I can pinpoint the exact moment when my thinking began to shift: I had been complaining to my brother that one of my friends was going to charge me for art I’d asked her to make for a piece of fanfiction I was writing, and had been really upset that she hadn’t offered to do it for free. I had written her a ton of fic in the past, I’d changed my travel plans to visit her in both Germany and Italy during the semester I’d been in Europe, and I’d been shocked that she hadn’t offered to do this for free when I thought we were friends.

My little brother was not sympathetic.

He first asked why I didn’t think my friend should be compensated for her labour, then pushed further by inquiring if I didn’t want to support her in her creative endeavours. I was gobsmacked.

I had honestly never thought of paying my friends for their creative labour before. Mostly, this can be attributed to how I grew up: I was always taught that you don’t charge your friends (or you at least give them a serious discount) because you love them, and that’s just how you behave towards the people you love. Other parts can probably be explained away by the general undervaluing of the arts: even in last year’s federal budget, the Canadian government failed to recognize the precarious position of 650,000 cultural workers, and “some forms of museum funding still remain at levels lower than they were in 1972”. That’s not even considering the fact that the arts are severely underfunded in Canadian grade schools[1]… which is where you’d generally learn to appreciate and value various kinds of art.

Needless to say, my opinions shifted. Later, when I began to consider the possibility of publishing written fanworks in printed anthologies, I became aware that my attitudes towards monetizing print and visual art were also very different. Namely: I believed visual art to be inherently more expensive. I was willing to pay $20 to commission a piece of fanart, but I couldn’t conceive of compensating a fic writer for the same service. For a printed anthology, fine… but where I was willing to pay for art whether I received a print or it stayed on my screen, an online fic was something I very firmly believed was and should stay free of charge.

I think this might have had to do with a subconscious viewing of fanfiction as lesser due to its primarily female reader and authorship—but I think it also had to do with the way Western society values the visual over text. When was the last time you went into a place that displayed and showcased books? Museums don’t tend to have selections of books on display unless they’re very old, and libraries are not viewed as having nearly as much cultural capital as museums. Furthermore, if you want to have access to a special collection, you need permission to do so. Part of the reason as to why this is may also be is due to the fact that text is so very ubiquitous, both in print and online—we’re so used to seeing it that we have certain expectations when we do. I think that a lot of these expectations have to do with form: I expect to pay for a newspaper, so I’ll subscribe to a newspaper. I expect to pay for a print book, so I pay for a print book. But the idea of monetizing long-form content unaffiliated with traditional news sources, or monetizing the creation of online fanfiction, are fairly recent and had been indiscriminately free when I started using the web.

I have never paid for a subscription to any online magazine or blog. I tend to find quick fixes through switching browsers, or moving on to view free content. This is, I think, for all the reasons listed above, as well as the fact that my historical lack of disposable income has meant I’ve had to be very selective in where I allocate what few dollars I have to give. That doesn’t mean I’ll never pay, but right now, my priorities revolve around rent and groceries and allowing myself the odd night out when I spend all day reading on a screen. After I graduate and get a job? Chances are, my priorities will have shifted towards wanting to read long-form articles—ones I pay for, this time, in order to properly compensate authors for their labour.

 

[1] If the linked article doesn’t convince you due to its 2013 timestamp, take a look at this one, written specifically about Ontario and it’s practices (2018).

Personality++

I came to internet consciousness while the blogging wave was kind of dying. Things moved rapidly from there. With Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube sucking up most of my online attention. Most of my age-fellows have a similar early memory of the internet.

However, the past few weeks have given the internet a personality I could not possibly have known about. Blogging-era sounds like a very mature, intelligent online space. A space where only people with some credit and a degree of intelligence were heard and had a voice. With no pictures, videos and similar gimmicks to distract the online user, the text had to be tasty. Bloggers were intelligent people, with smart, relevant opinions and a gift of the gab. That was how you attracted an online following. It was hard work that asked for diligence, time and consistency.

The contrast between then and now is stark. This contrast only emphasizes the fact that nowadays you just need to look a certain way to be internet-famous. The authors are right to be nostalgic since they would put in so much effort into one blog post and have it reach a small, interested audience; whereas now an “influencer” need only post a well-edited image and gain a wider audience that responds fiercely.

I appreciate this fierce response. I appreciate the fact that there is a little somethin’-somethin’ for everybody. Online, an old person with a passion for Salmon runs is as catered to a three-year-old’s crazy obsession with Baby Shark.

The authors’ reflections have brought about a change in how I feel about the internet: I feel a little warmer towards it. The internet is being sculpted into something new and I might be nostalgic about something ten years down the line.

No Place Like Home

The readings from this week have really made me start to question what I have been accepting at face value in the past. I see the web and the way it has evolved as an inevitable process, but I haven’t stopped to truly consider the effects that technological evolutions are having on my life and the lives of those around me, despite the fact that the web is something that most of us use every day and is rapidly shaping our societies right before our eyes.

The metaphor of the web as a place we live in such as a library as described by Frank Chimero in “The Good Room” doesn’t quite resonate with. Maybe it’s because of nostalgia I’m still hanging onto about my identity as a ‘print person’. I prefer reading on paper and getting my content and entertainment face-to-face/in person, which I attribute to the inundation of digital devices that I have to use in order to stay up to date and hold a job in society. Since I’m constantly glued to a screen for work, I want to be off of a screen for play. The web is a powerful tool, but as I use it now, it isn’t a place I feel at home in. Though it’s not a strong metaphor for me, it could be a trigger for the nostalgia some of the authors express in our readings including Hossein Derakhshan in “The Web We Have to Save”. Derakhshan misses the blogging communities of the past where he didn’t need to have a huge social media following to have his content read. Blogs to him were special diverse ‘places’ where unique thoughts and ideas flourished. I wonder if he would agree with Chimero that we should be purposefully shaping the web into places where everyone feels welcome, adding that a little piece of how things were before, should be preserved as the web evolves.

Echo made an interesting point on the Elizabeth Kolbert article, “Who Owns the Internet?” about Google being a digital colonizer. I found this quite compelling, because it is in direct opposition of Chimero’s concept of a “good room” for everyone on the web. “The Weird Thing About Today’s Internet” by Alexis C. Madrigal shows us how tech giants like Google and Facebook are, “the most powerful companies the world has ever known…” and they are absolutely taking over. They are the digital versions of the ancient empires trying to overtake as much land as they can, and make all people who operate on that land, follow their rules. Maybe that’s another reason why I don’t feel at home anywhere on the internet.

As the “Google and advertising” reading from week five by Richard Graham will also demonstrate that Google is discouraging diversity in languages on the web (perhaps inadvertently but it is an incredibly important consequence to consider). When creating for the web, this is something we need to keep in mind to make sure minority or ‘less profitable’ languages are not wiped off of the digital world. To be purposeful in the design of our spaces on the web, inclusivity plays an important role.

When we are purposeful with what we do with the web, we also need to make sure that we are not just labouring and producing content for other companies to profit. Google is determining what content is worth and not worthy of promotion and whether that content is a compelling factual essay on today’s political climate or an alt-right promotional video is of no consequence to them. We’re renting land from Google for the convenience of using their multitude of services, but we aren’t careful in considering what this transaction truly means for how content is disseminated.

I appreciate the opportunities that the web affords us and the excitement of seemingly infinite possibilities for its use. I believe there is so much good that it offers including bringing communities together, teaching people new information that they wouldn’t have access to otherwise, reaching out to people in rural areas, and developing products and services that truly do help humanity, but in order to ensure there isn’t some looming tech giant, twisting the underpinnings of those great services for its own needs, we need to be creating purposeful work and consider other possibilities that could allow us to operate outside the traditional capitalist focused models. This is a plug for the week four readings coming up on peer-to-peer services and platform cooperativism. Just because I believe what’s taken shape was inevitable, doesn’t mean I should accept it, and I am thankful to be learning about people who are shaking things up. We can be part of this change for the better!

Lemme Google This Real Quick

I overheard a conversation between my coworkers, a 50-year-old guy from the Bronx and a second year engineering student, the other day where they were talking about the impact of the Internet on the younger generation. The conversation went something like this:

The 50-year-old from the Bronx: “Man you kids have it so easy. You grow up thinking that what you see on the internet is true, all of it. Because that’s where you get your information these days. My kid the other day told me to just “look it up”. The truth is, the Internet only confirms that the truth is what you want to believe. You only read articles that reaffirm your viewpoint. The internet doesn’t know everything. Back in the day, we didn’t have access to the Internet, and in our hometown, the information we got was what we got.” 

The second-year engineering student: “Lemme google this real quick.” 

It reminded me of an annotation Alex made in the “How Internet gets us” that I’m still thinking deeply about. She shares that “the internet doesn’t know everything, though, and it’s that kind of thinking that gets us into trouble. It’s not there to be a spouse, or a friend, or a person… it’s a receptacle of information that is both true and untrue, and it’s up to users to sift through that information and form their own opinions.” 

I still wonder if we use the web as a tool for our confirmation biases. I, too, used to believe that the world wide web was the infinite place where we could get answers to anything: what’s the name of the 50th president? How long is a flight to Japan? What does publishing mean? When we go on the web to search for answers to our curiosities, sometimes we go in wanting to information to support our underlying beliefs. Sometimes we don’t know anything at all, but the more times we see an article of information, the more we believe it is true. I wonder if it is the mere exposure effect that helps circulate our ideas of what the truth is. Gillian Fournier in “Psych Central” writes that the mere exposure effect is a “psychological phenomenon whereby people feel a preference for people or things simply because they are familiar.” If People Magazine, US Weekly, and Meghan Markle’s dad, and Meghan Markle’s dog shares that she hates Kate Middleton, then somehow somewhere the idea must be true right? 

We familiarize ourselves with the web, to a point where it feels a place we belong to. But I’m starting to believe that the web is not only one specific place, like a library. The web doesn’t know everything; so can it be one particular place? Does the web know the answer to what the web is? Maybe on a literal dictionary definition level, but from webpage to webpage, the web knows no more than us all. The web then feels more like little places clustered together as if a digital community. Similar to the idea we learned the last lecture, the internet was built to decentralize conglomerates of information so information can be boundlessly communicated everywhere. Can the web be the same? 

While reflecting the role of the web and the Internet on our daily lives, I couldn’t help but feel a little afraid. We have become so reliant on using the web to find answers to any of our questions. The web should not become our only lives, consuming us as a whole. The web is a place for us to create. We should hold the authority to choose the impact the web has on our lives. We can have offline and online conversations to make well-informed decisions on what truth is.

To continue my nostalgia in midst of these anxieties, I’ll do another mini digital detox by going to bed early and dreaming of a life without the web. Little did I know the nightmare is still waiting for me when I wake up. 

Yahooligans to Decentralized Communist Internet

Over the past few weeks, I have really enjoyed reading all the articles about how the web has evolved and some of the nostalgia to past times. It has led me to question whether I’m nostalgic for anything on the web.

To be honest, for the first few years of getting my computer, I used it for Microsoft Word and playing CD-ROM games. In terms of the web, I remember it was connected to dial-up internet. I definitely do not miss that. There was also that fun search engine, Yahooligans, that I was taught to only use.

Though it looks fun, what we have now with Google is a million times better.  I remember it taking 30 minutes to download one song through Lime Wire. Not fun. I remember MSN Chat fondly. But I still do the same stuff now just on Facebook messenger instead. AIso I have the added bonus of video chatting and calling. And selfie filters.

I was still a kid when the Web was becoming widespread and I didn’t really use or understand its full potential or what people were hoping to do with it. I definitely wasn’t thinking critically about it. So reading articles from those who used the Internet as adults is really interesting. Similar to learning history, it is important to know what the Internet was like. So I don’t mind these nostalgia pieces. Even if they do romanticize it a bit – but that goes hand in hand with nostalgia.

Ther user-experience, user-interface, the speed, and our global connectedness has definitely improved over the years (at least I think so). I don’t mind the commercial aspect of the web as long as there’s transparency. Many of my friends have made a living off of the web by building an audience and selling content and I commend them for it.

I think what’s important to keep in mind is that these articles on the past are useful tools in looking towards and shaping the future. What comes next? In the Alex Singh twitter thread, there were some ideas thrown around: “decentralized communist internet”, “Industrialized internet”, “a shift to smaller communal and more personal or private online experiences”.   Looking at one of the B-side readings there was an article about peer-to-peer community run networks. The idea of looking back to the past to form a new future is highlighted in this quote:

“One thing that inspires me is that the original idea of the internet was a network of networks,” Hall says. “Different organizations like universities or the Defense Department would form their own network, and then they would join them together, and that is how the internet formed. We’re just getting back to the idea. We formed a network, and we join our network with other networks, and get rid of the ISP layer that we don’t really need.”

Using an idea from the past, people have been able to create their own mesh networks, changing the current systems in place.

I believe the same thing is happening with some new innovations such as Web 3.0 or decentralizing the web. In this Guardian article, it explains how Tim Berners-Lee (the founder of the web) is coming up with technology to store our data so that it remains our property. We are then able to move it around to different apps and websites without surrendering any control. It seems like a reinvention of what the web used to be where people owned their content and there was more privacy involved, just with some new technology.

I’m generally someone who enjoys change. So I’m looking forward to what the future has in store for the web. In the grand scheme of things, we’ve only had the web for such a short amount of time so we need time to make mistakes, improve, make mistakes again, and keep it evolving.

There’s No Place Like (A Digital) Home


When the web was in its nascent years I was too young to understand the possibilities it held. Although I did grow up digitally, and I think it helped that my dad was a computer programmer and our basement was packed full of PCs (at least 6 or 7) that he was constantly rolling his chair back and forth to. The whir of the fans was audible from the hall. Aside from coding he also ran a blog, one of those original blogs that Kottke reminisces over. According to my mom it was a place for him to vent and rant about all the things he disliked about the world, and there were other bloggers who hyperlinked to him and joined in the conversation. These are the times Derakhshan, Kottke, Meyer and Kolbert are nostalgic for, that they remember as golden years where the web was the next open space to pioneer. My personal anecdote was taking place in the late 90s and early 2000s to give context. To me, reflecting back on this now I see my dad as the equivalent to a cranky old man yelling at the kids to get off his lawn (digitally). At the time, I was none the wiser and was tinkering away on my own digital expeditions, dutifully typing in the URLs I knew by heart to take me to the websites deemed safe by my parents.

Since I was five-years-old I was learning the way of the World Wide Web and discovering the places I fit in. There was always something tangible about the web for me, that each webpage had its own feeling and some were more welcoming than others, so when reading Frank Chimero’s “The Good Room” I deeply identified with connecting physical space with digital space. At eight-years old I was already coding my Neopets page to my liking with simple HTML (putting in a little MP3 player, changing the background and type colour etc). At 10-years-old I was starting to explore beyond the designated websites to meet my curiosity and needs. I was (and am) a writer, and I wanted to find other writers because I wanted to get feedback and not feel like I was just writing into the void. A need to find a digital space that meets my current creative needs is always what has pushed me to migrate from platform to platform.

This is when I found a community of writing RPGs, where you could collaborate with other writers and develop your characters in the agreed upon setting. The platform we used was a repurposed chat-board (for the life of me I can’t remember the platform’s name), but the URL would look like www.RPG_name.platformname.com. There were limits with the look and construction of the website, but as I got older and found more digitally experienced communities it went from the default structure and colours, to a more customized platform where programmers had worked their magic with HTML to the point where these platforms barely retained their original structure. Of course, this added to the “feel” of the place, but what made the website home or not was the community who existed on the platform. We never knew each others real names, only our created monikers (which is a whole other tangent I could go on, about having the ability to rename yourself and create a persona that you want without judgment). But what we did know, was that we were a supportive network of likeminded writers who helped each other hone our writing styles. Where are they now, who knows? And those URLs have long since expired or turned to digital ghost towns.

With the fallout of these RPGs I migrated to Tumblr at 15-years-old, where I began to code the digital nook I’d carved out for myself. The complaint here, as discussed by Alex Singh, is that this nook isn’t really mine, that this nook that I’d created really belonged to Tumblr and I was a visiting guest while they profited off the content I created. Which is true, because look at that nook now. Since Tumblr went on a censorship kick it removed over half of the content I’d curated, and so what if I’d spent hours coding my “blog” to look and feel the way I wanted it to because Tumblr didn’t care. They don’t care about artists’ creative expression or the need to have a community to express that, all they (aka Yahoo, who owns them) care about is turning a profit and getting back on the App Store. These benevolent overlords are only benevolent so long as it serves them, and this is what happens when they decide a venture is no longer profitable: you get kicked off your digital plot of land. Now here I am, wandering the digital landscape again. I’ve been a nomad all my life, and the metaphor I’d use is more like a traveling bard hopping from village to village… and moving on when I either get evicted or the village burns down.

As time goes on I find myself seeking more and more “open” spaces where I’m free to build the place and community that I like, or to at least create my space where an already established community exists. This is why I currently feel un-homed, because for the first time in nearly 20-years I don’t have a digital space that feels like my own. Alex Singh’s twitter thread claims that we’re working under a digital feudal system––Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc. where we create the content and the platform reaps the reward. Alex pines for the time of digital nomads, where we were free to roam. I can understand the desire to have a non-commercialized webspace that is that limitless space of possibilities it once claimed to be, instead of feeling like your choices are limited to bouncing between the various social networks. Because what happens when you don’t fit into one of those networks? Where does your digital-self belong? I’m still searching.