In The Joy of Unfollowing Maureen O’Connor takes on the idea that it’s possible to “do social networks wrong”. Here’s her take on whether it’s possible to “share too much” on Facebook or Twitter:

No. There is no such thing as TMI on the Internet. We are living in a post-TMI age, and everyone needs to deal with it. Preferably by using the “unfollow” button.

There is such a thing as too much information for you. There is such a thing as information the speaker will later regret. But if an audience is willingly and pleasurably consuming the information, then by definition, that is the right amount of information for them. Assuming the information in question is yours to share — your life, your ideas, your stories, your pictures, your theories about elf genealogy in Lord of the Rings — you cannot share too much of it. There are no captive audiences on the Internet. […]

If you follow someone on Twitter and you find that her tweets are too much for you, then you may unfollow her. If you continually recoil at TMI, it’s because you lack the willpower to stop consuming (or foresight to avoid) the information in question. That’s your fault.

We are responsible for the information we take in. We can’t blame other people for that. The hardest (and most important) thing to do, is to realise that it’s ok to let the vast majority of information pass us by.

(link via The Loop)

Poorna Bell’s So Long, FOMO is making the rounds today:

At nearly every restaurant table I saw, there was at least one person (if not most) who spent most of their time taking photos or video to put on Facebook later, or searching for something on the internet, or playing games or just checking for texts. For more and more of us, technology is taking over, invading even our most personal and private of moments.

This idea that technology is turning us into antisocial monkeys is getting pretty old. Putting photos on Facebook helps you connect with others around the experience. Searching for something on the internet helps you move conversations forward (or change direction completely). All these activities are inherently social. Jason Feifer’s impassioned rejection of Sherry Turkle’s doom-and-gloom ideas provides a very good counterargument to all the fear-mongering:

Turkle imagines that any interaction with technology somehow negates all the time spent doing other things. She also imagines that we must devote ourselves in only one way to every task: At a dinner table, we are only serious and focused on conversation; at a memorial service, we are only mournful. That is not the way we live. It’s never been the way we live. And that’s the beauty of technology, which Turkle cannot see: We can use it for all purposes, to express joy and sadness, to have long conversations or send short texts. We made it. It is us.

It’s time for us to realise that we are evolving the way we communicate with each other, and that’s ok. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be mindful about how much time we spend staring at our phones, but we should recognize how much more social our devices are making us. Clive Thompson points this out in his book Smarter Than You Think:

What are the central biases of today’s digital tools? There are many, but I see three big ones that have a huge impact on our cognition. First, they allow for prodigious external memory: smartphones, hard drives, cameras, and sensors routinely record more information than any tool before them. We’re shifting from a stance of rarely recording our ideas and the events of our lives to doing it habitually. Second, today’s tools make it easier for us to find connections—between ideas, pictures, people, bits of news—that were previously invisible. Third, they encourage a superfluity of communication and publishing. This last feature has many surprising effects that are often ill understood.

And we should also remember that it’s not up to us to tell people how to experience the moments that are important to them. As usual, XKCD says it best:

It took me a while to get through Michael Pepi’s The Postmodernity of Big Data. It’s dense, and the premise seemed so far-fetched that I wasn’t sure it would be worth the time investment:

But beyond economic motivations for Big Data’s rise, are there also epistemological ones? Has Big Data come to try to fill the vacuum of certainty left by postmodernism? Does data science address the insecurities of the postmodern thought?

Yes, I know, that sounds like a bit of a stretch. But I’m glad I stuck with it. The essay brings up some really interesting thoughts around the certainty promised by Big Data (even though some view it as nothing more than a clever marketing campaign for something that has been around a long time), and how that might be a response to the relativism of postmodernism:

Though both are projects that address positions about empiricism and meaning making, postmodernism and Big Data are in some senses opposites: Big Data is an empirically grounded quest for truth writ large, accelerated by exponentially expanding computing power. Postmodernism casts doubt on the very idea that reason can unearth an inalienable truth. Whereas Big Data sees a plurality of data points contributing to a singular definition of the individual, postmodernism negates the idea that a single definition of any entity could outweigh its contingent relations. Big Data aims for certainties — sometimes called “analytic insights” — that fly in the face of postmodernist doubt about knowledge. Postmodernism was confined to the faculty lounge and the academic conference, but Big Data has the ability to dictate new rules of behavior and commerce. An e-commerce outfit is almost foolish not to analyze browsing data and algorithmically determine likely future purchases, or as Jaron Lanier put it in Who Owns the Future, “your lack of privacy is someone else’s wealth.”

Consider this your difficult but satisfying weekend reading project.

Alexis Madrigal — who is turning into one of the most interesting journalists of our time — goes deep on Netflix’s 76,897 (often bizarre) micro-genres in How Netflix Reverse Engineered Hollywood:

Netflix has meticulously analyzed and tagged every movie and TV show imaginable. They possess a stockpile of data about Hollywood entertainment that is absolutely unprecedented.

Netflix is putting in a staggering amount of effort on the structured data of their TV shows and movies. And of course, it’s all for one reason — to get to know you better:

They capture dozens of different movie attributes. They even rate the moral status of characters. When these tags are combined with millions of users’ viewing habits, they become Netflix’s competitive advantage. The company’s main goal as a business is to gain and retain subscribers. And the genres that it displays to people are a key part of that strategy. “Members connect with these [genre] rows so well that we measure an increase in member retention by placing the most tailored rows higher on the page instead of lower,” the company revealed in a 2012 blog post. The better Netflix shows that it knows you, the likelier you are to stick around.

And now, they have a terrific advantage in their efforts to produce their own content: Netflix has created a database of American cinematic predilections. The data can’t tell them how to make a TV show, but it can tell them what they should be making. When they create a show like House of Cards, they aren’t guessing at what people want.

What’s interesting is that similar things are happening in other forms of media as well. Spotify and Rdio’s knowledge of our listening data can be used to inform record labels what type of albums they should invest in. And as David Streitfeld reports in As New Services Track Habits, the E-Books Are Reading You, a new crop of companies are helping authors figure out what type of books they should write:

The move to exploit reading data is one aspect of how consumer analytics is making its way into every corner of the culture. Amazon and Barnes & Noble already collect vast amounts of information from their e-readers but keep it proprietary. Now the start-ups — which also include Entitle, a North Carolina-based company — are hoping to profit by telling all.

“We’re going to be pretty open about sharing this data so people can use it to publish better books,” said Trip Adler, Scribd’s chief executive. […]

Scribd is just beginning to analyze the data from its subscribers. Some general insights: The longer a mystery novel is, the more likely readers are to jump to the end to see who done it. People are more likely to finish biographies than business titles, but a chapter of a yoga book is all they need. They speed through romances faster than religious titles, and erotica fastest of all.

All of this raises familiar questions about the loss of serendipity — finding interesting things we’re not looking for. But I still think this is an unnecessary fear.

Sean Madden makes some interesting points in American-Centric UI Is Leveling Tech Culture — and Design Diversity:

Just as user-centered design transformed technology in the 1990s and early 2000s, cultural fluency needs to transform it today: user experience (UX) design that’s familiar enough with a user’s cultural background to meet him or her halfway.

Cultural fluency demands abandoning the idea that functionality is a universal language, and that “good UX” is culturally agnostic.

He goes on to give some examples of this cultural bias:

Consider the use of gestural interfaces in a world where gestures mean very different things in different cultures. Or using scrolling for timelines when time horizons (among other culturally sensitive dimensions) represent different values to different societies. Even the idea of touching our screens is a culturally sensitive UX action.

We see this not just in how people use products differently, but also how we interact with them during the user-centered design process. Last year I started working on a talk called The challenges and opportunities of user-centered design in developing nations. Somewhere along the line I ran out of steam with it, but I still think it’s an important topic. For example, a usability lab in an office full of Macs and giant screens can be quite intimidating to users if you’re doing research on low-end phone usage, so that’s something you have to account for. Even our user-centered design methods need to be user-centered, but it’s unfortunately something we tend not to pay much attention to.

Craig Mod’s newsletter is one of the few emails I always look forward to reading. In the most recent one Craig gives some advice for people in their 20s:



To the younger folks reading now: If you’re willing to live in that small apartment, forgo that fancy food and expensive clothing, and uphold a semblance of disciplined and focused work ethic, you can probably hack more experience into your life than you’d imagine. […]
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The emotional textural quality of my memory of life then is so intense because it was a period of only the ephemeral. Those years can only reverberate in my gut because there is no material thing upon which to place those feelings. No physical token to help me remember. It’s a period of my life where I learned to walk a city (because it was cheaper than eating through a city, or five-star hoteling a city), learned to find great pleasure in the night-sounds of one piece of town winding down or the stirring of another the dawn following.
> 
>

His thoughts brought me back to my own story, and the similar circumstances I was in when I first moved to the US years ago. I moved into my first apartment with only a blow-up mattress I borrowed from my then-fiancé, and a coffee machine she bought me as a housewarming gift. I bought my first chair for $20 at a Salvation Army store, and since I didn’t have a car I had to leave my passport with them so I could borrow a dolly and push the chair back to my apartment (what a sight that must have been to passers-by).



But you know what? It was an amazing time. It taught me not to take anything for granted. It taught me how to really get to know a city (on foot — always on foot). And it taught me the value of working hard, and always keeping an eye out for things to make me laugh, especially when it’s not going well.



Starting from the bottom of a mountain teaches us that there’s more to life than standing at the top. What matters is the people you’re with and the conversations you have and the lessons you learn — not how far up you go. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be ambitious. I’m just saying that as long as you enjoy the views with those who give your moments meaning, who cares where you’re standing?

Clive Thompson takes on the “social media is bad for teens” narrative in Don’t Blame Social Media if Your Teen Is Unsocial. He discusses some findings by Microsoft researcher Danah Boyd:

What she has found, over and over, is that teenagers would love to socialize face-to-face with their friends. But adult society won’t let them. “Teens aren’t addicted to social media. They’re addicted to each other,” Boyd says. “They’re not allowed to hang out the way you and I did, so they’ve moved it online.” […]

The result, Boyd discovered, is that today’s teens have neither the time nor the freedom to hang out. So their avid migration to social media is a rational response to a crazy situation. They’d rather socialize F2F, so long as it’s unstructured and away from grown-ups. “I don’t care where,” one told Boyd wistfully, “just not home.”

Thompson and Boyd are joining a growing number of authors who push back against the notion that technology makes us stupid, social media is bad for us, etc. I’m currently making my way through Thompson’s book, Smarter Than You Think: How Technology is Changing Our Minds for the Better. It’s really great so far, and I’ll write a full review when I’m done, but his core argument comes down to this:

What are the central biases of today’s digital tools? There are many, but I see three big ones that have a huge impact on our cognition. First, they allow for prodigious external memory: smartphones, hard drives, cameras, and sensors routinely record more information than any tool before them. We’re shifting from a stance of rarely recording our ideas and the events of our lives to doing it habitually. Second, today’s tools make it easier for us to find connections—between ideas, pictures, people, bits of news—that were previously invisible. Third, they encourage a superfluity of communication and publishing. This last feature has many surprising effects that are often ill understood.

Also consider Jason Feifer’s impassioned rejection of Sherry Turkle’s doom-and-gloom ideas1 in Google Makes You Smarter, Facebook Makes You Happier, Selfies Make You A Better Person:

Turkle imagines that any interaction with technology somehow negates all the time spent doing other things. She also imagines that we must devote ourselves in only one way to every task: At a dinner table, we are only serious and focused on conversation; at a memorial service, we are only mournful. That is not the way we live. It’s never been the way we live. And that’s the beauty of technology, which Turkle cannot see: We can use it for all purposes, to express joy and sadness, to have long conversations or send short texts. We made it. It is us.

I’m coming around to the idea that online connections are as real as “IRL” connections2. We’re just going through a reframing that happens every time a new technology comes along, and that’s ok. I also think we need both sides of the argument — pessimists as well as optimists — to help us work through it all and find our middle ground.

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1. Yes, I know, I’ve written about her stuff quite a bit. It’s time to start looking at the other side of the argument. ↩

2. Also see my post The fetishization of the offline, and a new definition of real. ↩

‘Tis the time for introspection, and this year we all seem to wonder about the future of online publishing — and in particular, what role the personal blog will play going forward. Jason Kottke kicks us off with The blog is dead, long live the blog:

Instead of blogging, people are posting to Tumblr, tweeting, pinning things to their board, posting to Reddit, Snapchatting, updating Facebook statuses, Instagramming, and publishing on Medium. In 1997, wired teens created online diaries, and in 2004 the blog was king. Today, teens are about as likely to start a blog (over Instagramming or Snapchatting) as they are to buy a music CD. Blogs are for 40-somethings with kids. […]

The primary mode for the distribution of links has moved from the loosely connected network of blogs to tightly integrated services like Facebook and Twitter.

Even though I don’t want to believe Jason, his words ring true. And that bugs me, because I really like this site (which I haven’t called a blog for a long time, but hey, semantics). After a few days of overthinking things, Frank Chimero came to the rescue with Homesteading 2014, in which he explains his plans for his own site going forward. The whole thing is worth reading because it’s a great summary of the problem with endless content streams, but here’s the key part:

I’m returning to a personal site, which flips everything on its head. Rather than teasing things apart into silos, I can fuse together different kinds of content. Instead of having fewer sections to attend to distracted and busy individuals, I’ll add more (and hopefully introduce some friction, complexity, and depth) to reward those who want to invest their time. […]

So, I’m doubling down on my personal site in 2014. In light of the noisy, fragmented internet, I want a unified place for myself — the internet version of a quiet, cluttered cottage in the country. I’ll have you over for a visit when it’s finished.

Count me in. The strategy resonates with me, and besides, I don’t want to see the “blog” die.

This week we saw quite a few articles on the rapidly changing online publishing scene. In particular, there is a lot of analysis going on about the sudden and unexpected traffic domination by sites like Buzzfeed and Upworthy, as readers (or rather, clicks…) move away from more established outfits like the Huffington Post.

To set the stage, Alexis Madrigal wonders if 2013 will be The Year ‘the Stream’ Crested. He refers to the endless updates on social networks, which are always presented in reverse chronological order — a design that inherently implies that new=good and old=bad:

When the half-life of a post is half a day or less, how much time can media makers put into something? When the time a reader spends on a story is (on the high end) two minutes, how much time should media makers put into something?

The necessity of nowness plus the professionalization of content production for the stream means that there are thousands and thousands of people churning out more crap than can possibly be imagined. 

In a story that proves Madrigal’s point about an inevitable, exasperated move away from this “nowness”, Robinson Meyer asks Why Are Upworthy Headlines Suddenly Everywhere? He explains that beyond the obvious reason — clickbait headlines work because, well, people click on them — lies a change in Facebook’s algorithm that rewards “viral” stories more than recent stories. In Facebook’s words, “stories that people did not scroll down far enough to see can reappear near the top […] if the stories are still getting lots of likes and comments.” Meyer continues:

Simultaneous to this traffic upheaval, an entire vocabulary and syntax for headlines that people click and share — and oh, boy, do they click and share — had presented itself on the social web. For publishers trying to grab more traffic from Facebook, the path became clear. Borrow, adapt, employ the Upworthy style post haste. Assure readers your content was nothing but wondtacular. And so began the wondtacularization.

So “nowness” is replaced by whatever can get the most clicks, regardless of its age. On the surface this move away from “the stream” sounds like a good thing, but we need to dig a little deeper. Another interesting tie-in to these stories is Farhad Manjoo’s Why Everyone Will Totally Read This Column. It’s a profile on Neetzan Zimmerman, who is in charge of posting “viral” content on Gawker (with remarkable success):

He posts only about a dozen items a day. Almost every one becomes a big traffic hit — an astonishing rate of success. I’ve worked on the Web for years, and I still have trouble predicting which of my stories will be hits and which will appeal only to my mom. Mr. Zimmerman has somehow cracked the code.

His secret, he says, is a deep connection to his audience’s evolving, irreducibly human, primal sensibilities. Usually within a few seconds of seeing an item, Mr. Zimmerman can sense whether it’s destined to become a viral story. “I guess you could call it intuition,” he says.

And now we get to the crux of it. What happens to the truth when all focus shifts to a story’s ability to go viral? That’s what Ravi Somaiya and Leslie Kaufman explore in their NYT piece If a Story Is Viral, Truth May Be Taking a Beating. They explain how this never-ending hunt for more clicks means that it doesn’t even matter if a story is true or not:

When the tales turned out to be phony, the modest hand-wringing that ensued was accompanied by an admission that viral trumps verified — and that little will be done about it as long as the clicks keep coming. “You are seeing news organizations say, ‘If it is happening on the Internet that’s our beat,’” said Joshua Benton, director of the Nieman Journalism Lab at Harvard. “The next step of figuring out whether it happened in real life is up to someone else.”

So this is the environment we find ourselves in right now:

Start with an entire industry built on the sandy foundation of ad revenue. Throw in a particular style of headline that feeds off people’s “primal sensibilities”. Add a Facebook traffic machine that is continuously tweaked to pick up these stories and recycle them endlessly on people’s news feeds. And what do you get? A race to the bottom where viral trumps verified, lowbrow beats intellectual, and cheap clicks beat in-depth reporting and considered opinion. Suddenly the Postliterate society doesn’t sound like such a crazy prediction any more.

My fascination with how internet memes change language gets another healthy boost with Annalee Newitz’s excellent article We who spoke LOLcat now speak Doge:

In the internet meme war between cats and dogs, the dogs are currently winning. The “doge” meme features an image (often of an adorable shiba dog), annotated with distinctive phrases representing the thoughts of the dog — or the dragon, or whatever is being depicted. What has the internet gained in its move from LOLcats to doges?

I can’t decide which part to quote, so I just went for the opening paragraph and hope it will entice you to read the whole thing. Has there ever been a time like this, where language is changing so quickly and so completely?

Also, grammatical humor rocks.

Also, I love the internet.