Individuals are unlikely to make much money by selling their own data, yet the same data in the aggregate can be worth a lot. Gregory Barber, from Wired, who recently tried to put his facebook data on the market, managed to make a grand total of 0.3 cents.
The economics here are a bit like the economics of voting. If it were legal, and you tried to sell your vote and your vote alone, you might not get much more than 0.3 cents. That vote is unlikely to prove decisive. Yet average and marginal value do not coincide. If someone could buy a whole block of votes, which in turn could swing an election, the price could be much higher.
Spotify, like Netflix, wants you to stream. That’s the point of a streaming service. To achieve that both platforms do two things: they make sure that the system nudges you into endless streaming (e.g. by auto-playing episodes) and they produce content which streams well.
The Baffler argues that there is now a new type of music, part of a new kind of genre (they call it streambait pop), which basically satisfies the demands of this kind of consumption and produces songs which flow, songs that work well in the background, lyrics which you can always be listening to without really noticing them.
The Spotify sound has a few different variations, but essentially it’s a formula. “It has this soft, emo-y, cutesy thing to it,” Matt says. “These days it’s often really minimal and based around just a few simple elements in verses. Often a snap in the verses. And then the choruses sometimes employ vocal samples. It’s usually kind of emo in lyrical nature.” Then there’s also a more electronic, DJ-oriented variation, which is “based around a drop . . . It’s usually a chilled-out verse with a kind of coo-y vocal. And then it builds up and there’s a drop built around a melody that’s played with a vocal sample.”
The formula wants the content to be atomic, to work well on its own. Its context is the playlist:
“It’s disposable AF. It’s too disposable. New Music Friday has seventy-plus songs every week. Who is actually supposed to hang on to any of those songs? There’s too much!” This is a symptom of the attention-driven platform economy as well: the churning stomach of the content machine constantly demands new stuff. In such an economy, music that doesn’t take off is dropped once it has outlived its usefulness—either as a brand prop or as playlist-filler.
Patricia Marx, The New Yorker:
The moment is equivalent, perhaps, to the juncture when fish crawled out of the sea and onto land. At the reception desk of a robot-staffed hotel in Japan, sharp-fanged, hairy-chested dinosaurs wearing bellhop hats and bow ties poise their talons at the keyboard; at a pizza restaurant in Multan, Pakistan, bosomy figures on wheels, accessorized with scarves around their necks, deliver food to your table; at a gentlemen’s club in Las Vegas, androids in garters perform pole dances.
The difficult part is not to teach humans to trust robots, but to teach them not to blindly accept them.
The truth is that what the algorithm says, we will do. Once it’s clear that something is convenient for us, we drop any initial resistance. And so software design choices end up becoming our default choices — the places that a map decides to emphasise, the suggested route, the results at the top of the search, the related items, and so on.
These suggestions might even help us — they are, often, convenient. Nonetheless, it’s important to ask why they’re there, to notice which details were tuned down or ignored to favour the default.
C’è un’immagine che piace molto a Zuckerberg e che a Zuckerberg piace aggiornare una volta all’anno. È una mappa del mondo che racconta una storia, quella che piace a Zuckerberg, sugli utenti di Facebook — le connessioni degli utenti collegano i continenti fra loro, delineano i bordi delle nazioni e descrivono un mondo globale e interconnesso, fatto di cosmopoliti. Non c’è una mappa sotto, ma solo connessioni e utenti che assieme formano la mappa e comunicano.
A Zuckerberg la mappa piace perché rappresenta le connessioni; mostra come Facebook abbia connesso e ravvicinato comunità distanti fra loro. Quello che la mappa nasconde è come, al contrario, la maggior parte delle interazioni che avvengono su Facebook siano locali — le stime dicono che le connessioni che attraversano i confini nazionali siano fra il 12% e il 16%. Le altre avvengono con i vicini di casa, con le persone che già conosciamo.
Secondo Ethan Zuckerman la mappa delinea un mondo immaginario, che porta sia Zuckerberg che Facebook a focalizzarsi su problemi secondari e fittizi, invece che lavorare per rafforzare i legami delle comunità locali:
Zuckerberg is being led astray by his own map. The most challenging problems Facebook faces are not those of ensuring that all humanity is connected. The challenge is to manage the connections we already have. Facebook’s tendency to connect us most tightly with those who share our perspectives and views is part of the web of forces leading to polarization and the breakdown of civility in politics in the US and elsewhere. The tendency to pay attention to the struggles and difficulties of our friends distances us from struggles in other communities, even as networks make it more possible for us to connect with those directly effected. Before we take the next step in human evolution, we need to look closely at the downsides of the connectivity we’ve already achieved.
Mike Monteiro racconta la sua relazione con Twitter — un posto inizialmente dove stringere amicizie e incontrare sconosciuti, diventato poi sempre più difficile da gestire e ostile verso i propri utenti:
At some point in 2006, or possibly late 2005, Noah Glass walked into our office all excited about something. That in itself isn’t news because Noah was always excited about something. Dude had an energy. Noah worked across the hall from us on the sixth floor of a old broke-ass building in South Park. He came over all the time. He was friendly like that. Here’s why we’re talking about this particular visit: Noah was excited to tell us about a new thing he was working on. “You can use it to send group SMS.”
But lately I’ve noticed the platform feeling increasingly grabby, to the point where they’ve broken the fourth wall with me and now the whole experience is no longer enjoyable. They’ve gotten so brazen in their tactics to keep users engaged (ENGAGED!) I think it’s no longer possible to be a casual Facebook user. […]
This is what happens when the metric of how much time users spend using your thing supersedes the goal of providing legitimate value to your users. The tricks, hooks, and tactics Facebook uses to keep people coming back have gotten more aggressive and explicit. And I feel that takes away from the actual value the platform provides.
Anch’io registro un numero sempre più consistente di notifiche fuffa, del tipo guarda cosa stavi facendo un anno fa, celebra due anni d’amicizia, questo tuo amico ha appena postato una foto, sono tre giorni che non fai x, etc.
Dave Winer su Medium 3.0, la cui differenza principale è l’aver rimpiazzato il like con degli applausi — che uno può applicare infinitamente e ripetutamente allo stesso articolo. Gli (mi) sembrano un po’ agli sgoccioli:
We’re in the long tail of the demise of Medium. They’ll try this, and something else, and then another thing, each with a smaller probability of making a difference, until they turn it off. At that point, if that happens (disclaimer: I’m often wrong), it will be a disaster. A lot of important stuff was published on Medium over the years.
Winer suggerisce a Medium un’altra via, prima di gettare la spugna: smettere di essere una piattaforma chiusa (con obiettivo unico quello di monetizzare il contenuto degli scrittori che attraggono), e diventare un software aperto, una base, sulla quale altri possano costruire.
Come sottolinea Nick Heer, molte delle testate che Medium era riuscita a convincere a passare alla sua piattaforma, meno di un anno fa, se ne sono andate o hanno intenzione di farlo — perché i loro contenuti si perdono dentro Medium, dove tutto si somiglia:
Earlier this year, Film School Rejects and Pacific Standard moved away from the platform; this month, the Awl announced that they went back to WordPress with their old custom theme. The Ringer and Backchannel also left Medium. Once again, I can tell those sites apart from each other.
The number of restaurants, bars, and other local establishments that, thanks to crappy web sites they can’t update, post their daily specials, hours, and important announcements only via Facebook is growing. That’s maddening. Want to know if we’re open this holiday weekend? Go to Facebook.
Go to hell.
Treat Facebook as the private walled garden that it is. If you want something to be publicly accessible, post it to a real blog on any platform that embraces the real web, the open one.
It’s supporting their downgrading and killing the web. Your post sucks because it doesn’t contain links, styling, and you can’t enclose a podcast if you want. The more people post there, the more the web dies. I’m sorry no matter how good your idea is fuck you I won’t help you and Facebook kill the open web.
Facebook non è parte del web. È un’entità chiusa ostile al resto dell’ecosistema.
Quelle volte in cui riesco a ignorare per giorni i social network, lo stream di notizie, twitter, blog, e a sparire brevemente da altri luoghi sociali della rete noto, come Kottke, che dell’assenza non frega nulla a nessuno:
Not a single person noticed that I had stopped using social media. (Not enough to tell me anyway.) Perhaps if it had been two weeks? For me, this reinforced that social media is actually not a good way to “stay connected with friends”. Social media aggregates interactions between loved ones so that you get industrialized communication rather than personal connection. No one really notices if a particular person goes missing because they’re just one interchangeable node in a network.
This, ultimately, is why yesterday’s keynote was so disappointing. Last year, before Facebook realized it could just leverage its network to squash Snap, Mark Zuckerberg spent most of his presentation laying out a long-term vision for all the areas in which Facebook wanted to innovate. This year couldn’t have been more different: there was no vision, just the wholesale adoption of Snap’s, plus a whole bunch of tech demos that never bothered to tell a story of why they actually mattered for Facebook’s users. It will work, at least for a while, but make no mistake, Facebook is the only winner.
Ben paragona la situazione fra Snapchat e Facebook — in cui una innova e l’altra copia senza ritegno — alla situazione fra Apple e Microsoft di anni fa. Snapchat si è definita, nei documenti presentati per la quotazione in borsa, una camera company — intendendo la fotocamera dello smartphone non solo come uno strumento per scattare fotografie, ma come un nuovo input di partenza. Un nuovo cursore:
In the way that the flashing cursor became the starting point for most products on desktop computers, we believe that the camera screen will be the starting point for most products on smartphones. This is because images created by smartphone cameras contain more context and richer information than other forms of input like text entered on a keyboard. This means that we are willing to take risks in an attempt to create innovative and different camera products that are better able to reflect and improve our life experiences.
Zuckerberg, durante il keynote d’apertura della conferenza di settimana scorsa (F8), ha praticamente ripetuto l’obiettivo che Snapchat si è data. La visione di Facebook è copiare Snapchat, e fino ad ora lo ha fatto bene (se non altro in Instagr.am — di Messenger non parliamo che è meglio) e con successo.
Ma non c’è altro. Non c’è una visione. C’erano, al contrario, un sacco di demo di prodotti inesistenti e futuristici.
New York Times:
In Mr. Zuckerberg’s telling, there are few boundaries for how this technology would evolve. He said he envisioned a world in which people can eventually point smartphone cameras at a bowl of cereal and have an app create tiny sharks swimming in the bowl of milk.
Fra visioni di delfini che nuotano nel latte, e videoconferenze con avatar che fluttuano, il futuro secondo Mark è scemo.
Il The Atlantic ha un lungo profilo su Ev Williams, il CEO di Medium (e prima di Twitter, e prima ancora di Blogger). Si parla di open web, e di quello che Williams sta facendo per salvarlo, anche se personalmente non sono del tutto persuaso dal suo discorso (di come e del perché Medium sarebbe diverso — più aperto? — di altri social network):
The open web’s terminal illness is not a story that he alone is telling. It is the common wisdom of the moment, espoused by Times columnists and longtime tech bloggers. The developers who wrote Drupal and WordPress, two important pieces of blogging software, both recently expressed anxiety over the open web’s future. Since so many of these social networks are operated by algorithms, whose machinations are proprietary knowledge, they worry that people are losing any control over what they see when they log on. The once-polyphonic blogosphere, they say, will turn into the web of mass-manufactured schlock.
Something like this has happened before. Tim Wu, a law professor at Columbia University, argues in his book The Master Switch that every major telecommunications technology has followed the same pattern: a brief, thrilling period of openness, followed by a monopolistic and increasingly atrophied closedness. Without government intervention, the same fate will befall the internet, he says. Williams cites Wu frequently. “Railroad, electricity, cable, telephone—all followed this similar pattern toward closedness and monopoly, and government regulated or not, it tends to happen because of the power of network effects and the economies of scale,” he told me.