My digital home

June 27, 2024 • 1743 words • 9 mins

Tags: digital ownership social media attention

What is a digital home? Isn’t this just a blog?

Earlier this year, I decided I wanted to invest my time in developing my own website. My main goal is writing and sharing long-form content with friends, family, and strangers on the internet.

This might sound to you like a blog, but if I had just wanted that, I’d just create a substack and post away. I intentionally am seeking to develop my own website, my own digital home.

Platforms like Friendster, MySpace, and Facebook in the early 00’s were the first to give regular people their own space on the internet. This led to a surge of users creating personal profiles to chat with friends or connect with strangers who shared their interests. The internet was still in its early utopian days, driven by a mission to connect individuals across the globe in this novel, instantaneous, and magical way. And at the same time, most of these services were free, funded by traditional early-internet banner ads. In their early years, the main goal of these platforms was to increase user engagement and grow their user base, with millions and then billions of users creating profiles over the next decade.

Only in the second half of the 2010s, after damage was done (Facebook’s manipulation of Brexit and Trump campaigns by Cambridge Analytics¹ ²), did people realise the toxic funding model that they had been trapped into: advertising. More specifically, aggressive user tracking, invasive data collection, and targeted advertising. I doubt that people realised how much data (and hence power) they were giving away to these corporations back in the early 2000s, as digital social profiles and instant chatting with friends was too great of a novelty. Users never owned their digital spaces, and they were inadvertently paying rent to these digital landlords with two valuable currencies: their data and their attention. This really insightful data would later be sold to advertisers so that they could sell the newest shiniest products. Additionally, recommendation algorithms became ever more powerful and addictive, locking people into these platforms. With each new platform, users would create profiles, upload content, and generate activity, ultimately making profits for advertisers and large tech companies. Every single new profile was never truly owned by the users.

Much later, and thanks to data protection laws, users could request their data to be removed and leave the platform, but they still wouldn’t own the space. Platforms became less and less about encouraging civil discourse and being a digital town hall, and more about driving user engagement to addictive thresholds and making money. Social media used to be about seeing what your friends got up to, but now most of the traffic directs you to companies or influencers that sell you stuff. Moreover, what the platforms deem “radical users” are vulnerable to digital eviction (i.e. account banning) - this might include hate speech, political extremism, that we might (or might not) want out of public discourse, but it also includes laypersons trying to make a living; e.g. sex educators banned for doing their job (talking about safer sex - oh no!), tattoo artists for showing a covered boob when the focus is clearly the tattoo art piece. Bearing in mind, people get blocked from their own accounts with little to no notice - i.e. shutting down the platforms that people use to make a living overnight. And don’t forget, these platforms have made money from these accounts based on the attention they mobilise. Finally, these companies are not democratic in any way. These are privately owned companies with private interests run by small groups of (often US-based) individuals.

Ads killed our attention, let’s get it back

The more memorable, attention-grabbing, and targeted an ad, the better. For the advertiser at least. This has shaped the internet and, in fact, our attention spans. Ad-based social platforms have favoured short-form content like tweets, as well as image and video-based content like Instagram and YouTube. These are chosen because they are the most addictive content formats, which in turn drive engagement, meaning we will be shown more ads. Social media platforms chasing these stupid metrics have really fucked us up. Our attention has become as fragmented as our social feeds, where we can go from watching war crimes on a news account to a shoe ad to some sponsored yummy recipe video. Long-form text devoid of images, on the other hand, who has time or attention for those? - pat yourself on the back if you’ve made it this far into this article, btw.

Platforms, in theory, offer a great solution for every individual to share their thoughts and experiences with friends and family, to join the public discourse, and be informed citizens. And, to be honest, god knows where we would be if we only had partisan traditional media (newspapers, mainstream media TV channels, etc). Unfortunately, all these platforms fall short of this beautiful utopian goal when they are tied to profit-making industries such as advertising. Apart from shortening our attention spans, these profit-making, eye-catching, attention-grabbing machines have polarised political opinion and peoples.

A restaurant guide I own says, “Information is dead, long live opinion.” and I agree. In a digital world bloated with short-form crap, long, personal, informed opinion feels like a soothing herbal tea.

Solution? An internet that we own

Blogging and personal site platforms have existed for a long time (Blogger (1999), WordPress (2005), Medium (2012), Ghost (2013)), but none of them ever drew as much attention as FITSY (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, YouTube). Short-form, multimedia content on centralised platforms always seems to win.

More recently (2017), Substack skyrocketed in popularity. It was novel, finally a centralised platform that put long-form content front and centre, inviting a massive influx of experienced writers: bloggers, novelists, essayists, etc. Yet, I fear Substack will let us down as well. It is yet another California-based platform that benefits from user attention. Substack seems to have been good enough at keeping advertisers at bay, but they always find a way in, through influencer-writers, sponsored content, or brand accounts. Recently, amidst a wave of Twitter users’ exodus, they introduced a Notes feed (short-form content 😢), made it the homepage, and later introduced video and audio (podcasts, article voiceovers) support, seemingly in the interest of empowering creators to connect with their audiences. These sorts of measures invariably shape the content that writers create and shape the creator base. And again, as a creator, you have no real say over the changes implemented on your home platform. Another issue with blogging platforms is that I don’t really have control over how my own content is presented to you (layout), and then there’s the opaque recommendation algorithms.

I am lucky to have a background in technology so I can host my own minimalist website that you might be visiting right now. I am not a web developer, but honestly, that is not needed nowadays. If you’re not a tech person, mataroa.blog helps people host minimal websites with content they would always own; they seem friendly. This site belongs to me; it’s always mine, and I don’t think anyone will bother taking it down. There are no likes or followers, but I’m fine with that too. This is what I advocate for: decentralised, minimalist, or personally customised sites that prioritise long-form content and constructive discussions.

My Space

Leaving all the heavy thoughts behind, I want to focus on the importance and softness of this being–my–digital–home. My own, cosy home, to share my thoughts, to craft, to rearrange as I please. To welcome familiar faces and perhaps well-travelled readers from across the internet. I think one element of what makes a home is the ability to craft your own space, to paint the walls, for example, something most people can’t do in their rented flat.

And so, that’s why I focus so much on this being my digital home, my digital space, and not just a blog. I’ve often been asked what my site is going to be about (after reasserting that it is not a blog). And I often respond with, “everything.” My thinking doesn’t feel bound to a small selection of categories, even though it probably is, but I don’t want to reduce it to a few bland categories, e.g., homemade cooking, travel advice, and self-improvement tips. That’s what the modern internet feels like, forcing us to describe ourselves within boxes. My mind is occupied by a constellation of thoughts that I will not reduce down to three restrained categories. Another aspect of this space being mine is that it’s not for an audience or an algorithm. It is first and foremost for myself. It fulfils a purpose even if nobody ever reads it. Some parts of my digital home will be crafted for me, and some for others to come and join me, just like I would in the physical counterpart.

Writing on my public site is vastly different from writing in my private notes—I do that all the time either way. Putting it out means confronting public scrutiny (even if it’s just my friends and family). It means I’ll put more effort into extracting the essence of my thoughts, which, in turn, helps shape and consolidate them. Writing “outwards” improves my writing, which, in turn, improves my thinking.

Digital neighbourhoods? Make your voice be heard

I encourage everybody to get their own digital space, to share long-form writings with their friends, families, and communities. Give yourself the opportunity to write your perspective, your life experiences, and boldly share it. Put it out there. Make it count. I personally love hearing what my friends are passionate about and deeply understanding their curiosities. And often there isn’t time or space for it in everyday or casual interactions. It feels important to create that space. It will never replace an in-person, long-winded conversation, but it’s a great addition to them and something so rarely found on the current internet, where we spend so much bloody time! I don’t care about what some celebrity, politician, or influencer has to say. I care about what the people who live in the communities and spaces I frequent think.