A.I. as opposed to what?

One popular use of A.I. - specifically chatbots using LLMS - that I did not foresee is as a source of life advice. Sometimes, people refer to this in the context of therapy, as if the user is using ChatGPT or another A.I. as a substitute therapist. That implies a certain level of intimacy and privacy that probably applies to a minority of the many advice-seeking queries users offer every day. 

When thinking about the effects of anything, we often search for comparisons, and the comparisons we make are often shaped by metaphors we use - I think that's what is happening with how we think about the effects of using A.I. for advice-seeking. Instead of choosing a comparison that comes to mind the quickest or perhaps one that suits our existing biases for or against the phenomenon in question (e.g., how do the answers given by ChatGPT compare to those given by a professional therapist), we might choose our comparisons in a more deliberate way. Instead of starting with the connections our mind makes when learning of a few vivid exemplars, we might first define the field of inquiry - what is the behavior we're interested in, how many folks are engaging in it, and how can I observe a representative sample of it? 

The next step is to consider the behavior in the context of people's lives. Here, the choice of comparison is not what comes to mind for us, but our reasonable guess as to what people engaging in the behavior would have done otherwise. If they didn't have access to ChatGPT, who or what would they have gone to for advice (or would they have gone to anyone or anything for advice at all)? 

Therapists strike me as sources of very good advice on many topics. They're also better than self-help books because they can tailor their advice to you as an individual and they engage in a back-and-forth exchange. There's also some intangible humanity to your connection with a therapist that clearly helps. On the down side, it is hard to access therapy. There are only so many professionally trained therapists to go around. Efforts to make them more accessible by moving therapy online sacrifices some benefits of the therapeutic experience, namely the intangible human connection, in addition to leading to burnout from overbooked therapists. Even a society that is fully committed to serving the mental and emotional needs of its citizens runs up against the limits of therapeutic supply. 

Of course, people have turned to many other sources for life advice, including friends, family, clergy, authors, and artists. You may not approach a movie, TV show, or a novel with an advice-seeking intension, and yet its lessons may be your guide through any number of emotional or existential straits.

Then there are sources of advice that we encounter online: in spaces explicitly marked as such (and which derive their format and logic from newspaper advice columns) but also on YouTube, TikTok, and podcasts. Again, these life lessons may not be something we sought out, but they may still inform how we navigate challenging times in our lives. 

As I consider whether its a good idea for people to turn to ChatGPT for advice, I find that the most apt comparison - that is, the most plausible source of advice for most of the people asking ChatGPT for advice - is either googling it, searching YouTube or TikTok, or running across it on YouTube or TikTok via an algorithm. The quality of advice coming from these sources is, well, mixed. In many cases, the answers aren't as high quality as one would get from a professional, but its much more accessible, which is why its used more often. In some cases - googling something that is commonly googled and finding results from trusted sources - the quality is similar to that which you'd get from a professional. 

Are the types of life advice questions users ask ChatGPT more like the impersonal kind that people have, for the past 20 years, tended to google? Or are they more like the personal questions that people turned to friends, family, and - if they have access - therapists for? My sense is that a fair amount of young people have been getting that kind of advice from YouTube, TikTok, and other social media platforms for the past decade. In that sense, it is an appropriate point of comparison for that type of advice.

I'd imagine advice of this sort given by ChatGPT would be pretty homogeneous when compared to what you would find on social media platforms. The latter would vary greatly in values it reflected, the perspectives and experiences from which it drew. It leaves the existing variety of humanity intact, while ChatGPT probably flattens it. 

I guess I imagine cases in which people get bad life advice - "bad" in the sense that they result in some harm to themselves and/or others - being more numerous on social media platforms than on ChatGPT. I also imagine that the flat homogeneity of its answers won't necessarily spread to other aspects of culture more broadly, as some suspect it will. ChatGPT tends to qualify its advice and allow for some degree of variety and nuance in its answers. By merely asserting that there is some variety and nuance to certain life advice questions, ChatGPT would be contradicting the values of some of its users. This is less likely to happen on social media where answers are sorted by algorithm to confirm the existing biases of users. 

And so that would seem to be the trade-off: leave the echo chambers of social media advice intact - some of which generate harmful outcomes - or replace them with answers that guide most users away from harmful outcomes but homogenize...something. But is it really Culture that's being homogenized if people are encouraged to cope with crisis in particular ways? This is where my speculation reaches its limit and I feel the need for a more systematic examination of the life advice questions people ask ChatGPT and the answers they receive. 

Micro-blogging, Take 2

As a social media platform, you know you've achieved success when others start cloning you. It's easy to call to mind the successful copycat platforms that, in several cases, far exceeded their predecessors:  Facebook (MySpace, Friendster), Reddit (Digg). It's a bit harder to recall the many clones that never make it (Voat, Google+, Orkut), typically because the network effects that are intrinsic to platforms' success put those with small userbases at a distinct disadvantage or because they lack the infrastructure and/or revenue to support a rapidly growing userbase. In other words, there typically aren't enough people to make the place interesting or valuable, or there are too many people to keep running/moderating the platform for free. 

But Meta/Facebook/Instagram's introduction of Threads is different in this regard, giving us a chance to see what a clone could do if it didn't have to worry about those two problems. Threads has already successfully ported 100 million users from Instagram, maintaining the network structure among interest/affinity groups and connections between established influencers and their audiences. It also has Meta's massive infrastructure at its disposal - growth won't be a problem. And so we have a rare opportunity to see if this version of a micro-blogging platform - already operating at a scale similar to the existing leader, Twitter - will be all that different than what came before. 

Mark Zuckerberg has pitched Threads as a friendlier version of Twitter. Broad generalizations about the emotional valence of any social space are inherently oversimplifying - you can find pockets of friendliness and hostility among virtually any large group of people, online or offline. Still, it's entirely possible that one space could have the tendency to be friendlier than another - that's an empirically testable claim (provided you can agree on how to measure "friendliness"). 

Before trying to determine whether Threads has or is likely to achieve this goal (or whether such a goal is desirable, or if friendliness and ideological heterogeneity are mutually exclusive), it's worth considering how it might go about achieving it. Most obviously, more content moderation might tamp down overt hostility. Less obviously, there are facets of the platform that affect linkages among users - which users' posts are visible to other users. 

By importing lists of followers and popular accounts from Instagram, Threads imported a set of cultural norms, one that evolved over the last decade and privileged attractive or attention-getting still images over words, audio, or video. Broadly speaking, there's a kind of showy-ness to Instagram, a content ranking system that rewards positivity (some would argue to toxic levels). Then there's the sociotechnical context in which Threads is being deployed - as a kind of antidote to Twitter's perceived problem with negativity, conflict, and abuse. If Twitter wasn't an especially friendly place before Elon Musk took it over, it is much less so now. This might create demand for such a place, which Threads is well positioned to serve.

Then there's that pesky algorithm - the necessarily obscure formula that controls which posts appear at the top of your feed. Despite widespread skepticism toward algorithms, its hard to imagine a popular social media platform without one, particular one that aspires not to link small groups of people together (e.g., Facebook, Discord, GroupMe, and the way some people use Snapchat) but to give everyone the chance - however remote - to command an audience. Imagine ranking YouTube or TikTok videos chronologically, or at random. Some weighted combination or popularity, engagement (e.g., number of comments or shares), and predicted affinity (amount of time you've spent on similar posts) is the best way to keep users coming back for more. 

One way to go about ranking posts is to defer to the masses - showcase whatever is broadly popular, as Twitter does with its prominently displayed list of trending topics. Another way is to tailor it to each user's preferences - the niche approach favored by TikTok. The first kind of ranking creates a "main character of the day" a target for attention and ridicule on and beyond the platform. The second kind, supposedly, creates echo chambers (though evidence is mounting that, as intuitive as this understanding of personalized ranking is, it doesn't fit what most users actually see on social media). Inheriting its structure from Instagram, Threads seems to privilege, as Kyle Chayka put it, banal celebrities and self-branding. As masspersonal media where any user can potentially reach millions of other users, Threads cannot help but encourage a kind of performativity over connecting with a small group. 

Then there's the shift from images and short video to text. The whole reason Threads is being talked about as a Twitter clone is because its primarily intended to be used for mass conversation. In their branching/nested structure (you can reply to a reply to a post, with each reply "nested" under the previous message), conversations on Threads resemble conversations on Reddit, and it will be interesting to see if future designs of Threads nudge users to engage more in the replies.

But I wonder about the brevity of text and what that does to conversations. The whole point of Twitter - what put the "micro" in "micro-blogging" - was the character limit (originally 140, upped to 280). It's well-suited to a fragmented attention universe, but I wonder if the tone of Twitter (witty, sure, but also mean) is an inevitable symptom of its mandatory brevity. Is there something about short-form writing that is bound to regress toward snark? Is that simply the nature of the medium, regardless of the combination of people and level of moderation? That's what Threads might give us a chance to observe.

When subreddits go dark

Among the many unforeseen effects of ChatGPT's release, there is a change in policy at Reddit that has caused a significant disruption among its community moderators. Reddit has served as a valuable and, to date, free source of training data for ChatGPT and other large language model (LLM) AI - billions of utterances from hundreds of millions of people about thousands of topics over a 15 year span. These LLM AIs are already worth billions of dollars, more than Reddit was ever worth during its first 15 years. It is therefore understandable that Reddit as a company wants to stop the practice of giving its back catalog of data away for free. They're not the only ones keen to point out that the training data used by LLMs, while ostensibly free to access, were created and facilitated by others who, it could be argued, were indispensable in the creation of now-popular AI programs like ChatGPT.

This isn't the only reason why Reddit would want to turn off the spigot of free access to its vast archives of posts and comments via an API. An ecosystem of third party apps has flourished under this policy, resulting in the loss of untold hours of user attention to ads on Reddit's official app, and thus lost revenue. Many users have become accustomed to accessing Reddit this way, and are understandably upset at having to migrate to the official Reddit app, widely regarded as inferior to the third party apps. 

Then there's the issue of how subreddit moderators use the API to more effectively moderate their communities. They can use the API to quickly assess a user's posting or comment history to see if a disruptive comment or post is part of a larger pattern and thus worth banning the user (this includes spambots and trolls that, unmoderated, could overwhelm a subreddit with useless or disruptive content). They use them to determine when a question asked by a user has already been answered in the past, and to highlight that answer. APIs are also relied upon by some users with disabilities, as a way of access the platform. This post from the moderators of r/AskHistorians has a good summary of other ways in which mods rely on the API. 

Reddit as a company seems interested in addressing the disability accessibility issue, carving out an exception for third party apps specifically designed for users with disabilities. Beyond that, they don't seem particularly interested in walking back their decision to charge for access to the API...yet. 

The conflict between the administrators (paid employees of the company) and moderators (unpaid volunteers who manage Reddit's tens of thousands of active communities) is a familiar one - management vs. labor. As with any such conflict, labor's ability to get what they want assumes that they can't easily be replaced by more willing labor - be it human or automated. Can the company still produce something of value to the consumer without the willing participation of current labor? 

In most cases, replacement labor produces something different than what was produced by the original labor, and in most cases, its (at least initially) regarded as inferior (labor certainly has an interest in highlighting its inferiority). But the question of fungibility of labor, from management's standpoint, in the world of social media is a tricky one. The culture and communities that live on popular social media platforms - the things that makes them valuable - are constantly shifting. As in most cultures and communities in the physical world, users frequently lament these shifts, blaming new entrants to the community or powerful authorities. If they hate the changes enough, they leave. 

So, when moderators of a popular subreddit choose to go on strike, effectively killing that subreddit, what happens to its users? 

One possibility is that they leave the platform. This is, I would think, what the mods are trying to accomplish - driving traffic off the platform, hurting Reddit's bottom line, and getting management some bad press. Another possibility is that the users of that subreddit migrate to other existing subreddits - ones with moderators that didn't strike - and find that these other subreddits are roughly as good at satisfying their need for distraction, information, community, amusement, comfort, etc., resulting in a surge of activity on those subreddits. Yet another possibility is that new subreddits arise to meet the demand created by the absence of striking subreddits. "Splinter" subreddits - subreddits that are created to cater to disgruntled "refugees" from a subreddit that has changed in some disagreeable way - have always been a part of the subreddit ecosystem. Modularity is a defining feature of Reddit, something that sets it apart from the single, amorphous conversation on Twitter and the atomized, fleeting comments on TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram. In this case, it makes it harder for labor to force management to do anything. Unless a critical degree of solidarity among moderators is reached and sustained (a tall order, given the number and diversity of subreddits), its hard to prevent within-platform user migration. 

Reddit's design - a feed or list of posts aggregated from subreddits to which users subscribe - can make it hard to even notice the absence of a striking subreddit. When I went to the site, it took me awhile to realize what was missing; I was still seeing pictures of cute animals, funny things that people said or did, captivating vistas and infuriating news. Of course, the impact is going to vary from user to user. For some users, access to a particular subreddit can be as valuable as access to a close friend, one whose absence would result in a sense of profound loss. It's hard to see how many users are like that - management has an interest in making it seem as though they are a small, vocal minority while labor has an interest in making it seem as though most users are upset by the changes - so upset that they are already in the process of leaving.

It's possible that a large number of currently-popular subreddits die as a result of this disruption, and that a large number of users leave the platform and don't come back. It's easy to point to moribund platforms like Digg or MySpace that never found a replacement community that could sustain the business. But that doesn't take into account the current business climate for these businesses, news organizations, and even video and audio streaming services that seem (with varying degrees of success) to be training consumers to pay - in subscription fees or attention to ads - for what they consume. If the era of free high-quality user-generated-content is over, there may be no substitutable platform for disgruntled users to migrate to. 

It also may underestimate how organic and unpredictable large groups of people are. We get used to versions of these platforms - used to seeing a certain type of post or comment at the top of the feed, the popularity of which reflects the collective sensibilities of a voting constituency of users. That sensibility persists even in the face of high turnover among contributors - it is generated not by a stable group of super-users but by a rotating cast who cater to the preferences of the constituency. Disruptions like the current one can change the voting constituencies and thus change what we see at the top of our feeds. Perhaps mods' lack of free access to APIs will make it effectively impossible to manage subreddits beyond a certain size (say, 1,000 active contributors), leading to a Reddit with no large communities and more moderately sized communities that, when they grow unmanageably large, spawn offshoots - something a bit more like Discord. That version of Reddit might be far more diverse in its interests and sensibilities, and ultimately more successful, than the version we're now accustomed to.

‘The Curdling of the Internet’: The Open Public Sphere Internet as Threat Amplifier

A weekend retreat to a cabin in the woods provided me with time to finally get around to reading Jia Tolentino’s essay, ‘The I in the Internet.’ In a way, I’ve been thinking about what Tolentino describes as the ‘curdling’ of the internet for the past two years, since our research team started reviewing research on various forms of online hostility. More broadly, I’ve been thinking about the effects of social media on societies for the past decade.

I’m generally opposed to sweeping pronouncements about the negative effects of the internet, smartphones, or social media, mostly because it doesn’t seem to fit the evidence. Social media use, by itself, doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on well-being or depression; that is, if one person spends three hours a day on social media and the other spends one hour, or no hours, the person who uses more social media is no more likely to feel bad about themselves or about life in general. There’s also evidence that the internet exposes users to a wider range of opinions, rather than sorting users into filter bubbles or extreme echo chambers. Bad things may be happening in today’s world, and social media use might have increased at the same time, but that doesn’t mean that one caused the other to occur.

And yet, despite the apparent lack of evidence of a strong, negative effect of social media use on individuals, I can’t help but wonder if we, as researchers, are missing something, and how we might adjust so as to capture those things.

One way Tolentino’s feeling and the lack of individual, direct effects on social media users can both be true is if the internet/smartphones/social media are having a profoundly negative effect on society in general, but it occurs in some kind of indirect way. The most concise way of describing my hunch about this would be the ‘threat amplification’ effect. These technologies amplify certain voices, making certain kinds of people and behavior that were formerly invisible more visible. A sub-set of highly active social media users see the platforms as battlefields on which an ideological war is being fought, and so they post information that furthers their agendas, and/or a subset of especially passionate people simply express how strongly they feel about some issue. These expressions are perceived as threatening by a sub-set of other users, not necessarily because they contain explicit threats of violence, but maybe because they clash with some fundamental belief of theirs, or portend an escalation in the encroachment on their rights (e.g., the right to free speech; the right to exist; the right to defend themselves). These posts stick out to many people, draw attention to themselves in the way that any perceived threat in our environment sticks out to us. If future visibility of posts is determined through the amount of attention paid to them (via algorithms or 'most read' lists, etc.), then we tend to see more and more of these types of posts as time goes on.

Also, well-meaning users (journalists, re-tweeters, etc.) draw further attention to these posts in an effort to make sure that others see the threat because to ignore the threat would be hazardous. They might do so out of a sense of duty and compassion to others (i.e., they see others are in danger from the threat and must warn them) but might also do so out of self-interest, or in-group-interest. By drawing otherwise apathetic individuals’ attention to the threat, they may enlist them to join their fight. In such a way, much of the online discourse comes to resemble either a threat or a response to a threat.  

If we react to this by leaving the internet, by not participating, this may preserve our piece of mind, but it cedes the public forum of the internet to those holding more extreme views. So, perhaps we try to meet the threat with an equal and opposite assertion of our beliefs or values (which may, of course, be viewed by others as extreme and threatening). Or perhaps we just conform to the now-established norm of value-assertion-through-strong-takes in order to be heard (because in order to gain greater visibility in the form of likes, shares, and subscribers, it helps to conform to norms of what is popular), or simply because humans are prone to unconsciously conform to social norms of expression. All of these would lead to an internet that actually is becoming more threatening (again, defining 'threats' not in terms of what was intended, but how they are perceived by someone), and exposure to it would likely lead to increased polarization, depression, abuse, harassment, toxicity, etc. The internet may not have started out that way, but it could be the case that it is becoming that.

And that’s the tricky part. The internet that Robert Kraut analyzed 20 years ago in his landmark study of the effects of internet use had certain kinds of content and certain kinds of experiences and perspectives posted by users, and the internet that the research summed up in Hancock et al. has other content/experiences/perspectives, and today’s/tomorrows internet has/will have other content/experiences/perspectives. And if those three stages of the internet are sufficiently different from one another in terms of their contents, they may have very different effects. Thus, though we haven’t observed strong negative consequences of social media use, it’s impossible to rule out them occurring in the future, or right now, given the publishing lag and, perhaps, that we're looking at the wrong outcome variables.

The negative effects of internet use may not be depression, narcissism, or physical aggression. They may manifest themselves in voting behavior (e.g., voting for increasingly partisan, extreme candidates, so as to counter the perceived threat from the other side), or some other behavior that reflects a distrust in others (e.g., unwillingness to live in certain places or send one’s kids to schools with certain types of people, a kind of self-segregation). Eventually, this kind of mutual distrust may manifest itself in physical violence. Or perhaps we’ll view one another as very, very different and threatening, but ultimately leave one another alone, co-existing peacefully if not without mutual resentment (stranger things have happened).

But here’s an important limitation: everything I’ve called ‘the internet’ up until this point really refers to part of the internet: the open ‘public sphere’ internet: Twitter, Reddit, comments sections on news websites, the part of YouTube in which YouTubers engage in a kind of running commentary about the world; maybe certain users on Facebook and Instagram who use those platforms in this way. Tolentino does note that she's mostly talking about the 'social internet.' This is the part of the internet in which a single individual can post something that reaches many other individuals (one-to-many). But many of Tolentino's observations also seem to apply to news online, which is tightly linked to Twitter (the bubble that journalists live in is the bubble of the open public sphere internet). It’s worth remembering that the internet is a lot more than just this. It is Netflix and other streaming services: ‘top-down’ platforms in which content is created by a small group of professionals and consumed by a large audience. It is small-group communication via messaging apps (one-to-one, or several-to-several). Tolentino’s observations about online hostility probably don’t fit as well to small group communication online (which is 'social' and is online, though maybe it's pedantic to call it part of the 'social internet), and they only apply to Netflix and other mass media insofar as they try to reflect the zeitgeist of the open public sphere internet.   

The Open Public Sphere Internet as Difference Revealer

Now that there are so many people participating in public discourse online, the open public sphere internet has exposed groups to one another that are so unlike one another to begin with, in terms of their values, experiences, and perspectives, that independent of how aggressive or antagonistic they are, this difference is so shocking and threatening that people get freaked out. That is, it isn’t necessary to have people act in a hostile way toward another group, or in a strategic way so as to counter the messaging of others. Merely by expressing themselves, by showing who they are and what they believe, they may set others off.

Human difference was depicted and conceived in a certain way by mass media. It was often visual, concise, and fictional. So yes, traditional/legacy media depicted difference, but in a circumscribed way, made generic through the use of tropes and bracketed as fiction. While we weren’t consuming images of difference via mass media, we spent our time around people who are not terribly different in terms of beliefs, values, and experiences. We spent a lot of time around family, friends, schoolmates, and workmates. If we were out of sync in our beliefs or values, we often avoided those subjects in order to avoid conflict.

The differences that we see online are differences in values being expressed. Those differences always existed (there were always people who believed something that you would have found abhorrent), but we didn’t have to see them every day. We probably were never going to be particularly good at reacting to these differences. Many of us probably always would have perceived them as a threat to our own values. So, it could be argued that the internet is the first technology, the first moment in history, where we really have been confronted with values differences as they have always been. Of course, these online expressions are not pure reflections of any group's beliefs, are manipulated in various ways (though when we’re quickly scanning a feed and clicking on links, we may not recognize this). Nevertheless, despite the fact that they are not representative of the larger group, they are expressions of the beliefs and values of many real people. And maybe we feel this when we go online; we feel how real they are. They are not fictional characters dreamed up by a screenwriter. These are actual people who actually believe the exact opposite of what we believe.

It’s not surprising that people feel threatened by those differences. And so many folks react to the threat with a kind of siege mentality, and then many subsequent cultural expressions and public life become a reflection of that. And the only alternatives seem to be to carve out small clusters within online life via group messaging apps or forsake social media entirely.

What impact does the curdling of the open public sphere internet have on the world?

Why does any of this matter? Is it just a bunch of people bickering in cyberspace or does it have some clear connection to the rest of civic life? If some of us decide ‘to hell with it’ and only use social media for small-group communication and leave Twitter to the trolls, what would it matter?

I do wonder if the relationship between what is said on the open public sphere internet and power (political power, economic power) could change, or is changing. Perhaps when the open public sphere first became widely used in the United States, most people, including journalists and politicians, saw it as a kind of proxy for public opinion, overlooking the fact that only certain types of people expressed themselves. The apparent connection between what went on in the run-up to the 2016 election (expressions of extreme partisanship, particularly an insurgent group of Trump supporters engaging in a kind of online battle on behalf of their chosen candidate) and the outcome of that election (the election of that candidate) supports this view. 

But what if, in the coming months, the same open public sphere internet were to heap praise on Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren while continuing to deride Donald Trump and deriding or ignoring Joe Biden, and Biden or Trump end up winning the election? What if that inconsistency between opinion on the open public sphere internet and a democratic election outcome were to happen a few more times in high-profile elections in different democracies? Many people might come to believe that opinion on, say, Twitter, neither reflects nor causes shifts in larger public opinion. Once this is acknowledged, I do wonder if at least some people, either in the general public or in positions of power (e.g., widely-read journalists), would be less likely to take their cues from opinion expressed on the open public sphere internet.

There’s a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy aspect to it, I think. When people believe that Twitter is a bellweather, they look to Twitter and are subsequently influenced by opinion on Twitter. The evidence on which they initially base their belief that it is a bellweather might be suspect, but that doesn’t matter: once they believe it, they essentially bring it into being by assuming that it is public opinion writ large, are influenced by it as such, and, through their writing, influence others. That is, opinion leaders see a popular trend on Twitter and write about it as though it were popular more broadly. Others take cues from the opinion leaders and act on that information, turning it into a truly popular opinion. However, if opinion leaders stopped believing this (and again, it wouldn’t matter whether the reason they stopped believing it made much sense or was supported by evidence), they might ignore it and thus Twitter and the like would lose its power to influence public opinion writ large.

Maybe people in a certain social stratum are already leaning this way, avoiding social media (or at least the open public sphere internet) themselves, raising their kids to avoid it as well. These people are often quite powerful: upper class, working in tech, politically active. If they start ignoring opinion as expressed on the open public sphere internet, I can imagine all of it becoming like certain comment sections of certain news websites: it exists, it is ugly, but most readers simply ignore it, and it doesn’t really have much of an impact outside of itself.

In any case, it’s important to not simply assume that the open public sphere internet has a stable relationship with public opinion in general. I think it’s also worth thinking about the popularization of the open public sphere internet as the first moment in human history that we saw how different our views of the world really are, how directly they conflict with one another (there is also much agreement, though the current iteration of the open public sphere internet doesn’t seem suited to highlight that). It’s hard to imagine such a moment going smoothly. But perhaps it’s a matter of getting over the initial collective shock of it. Or perhaps we just need a little time to ourselves.

What's Wrong with News?

Since Jimmy Wales came to speak at the University of Alabama last weekend, I've been thinking more about WikiTribune, his new-ish news curation/creation venture. This seems like a rare opportunity to contribute to the building of a tool that has the backing of the creator of one of the most popular, influential, important websites in the world. Of course the venture might fail, because most new ventures fail and because news is a tricky thing to get right, maybe trickier in a lot of ways than building something akin to a library or encyclopedia. WikiTribune seems to be functioning right now as a collectively curated news aggregation website; it might evolve into something else in the future, but I'll assume that's what it is for now.

What might be the starting points for a platform like this? If news is broken (which seems a fairly uncontroversial take in 2019), what part of it could be fixed by a Wiki-type platform?

First, there's the issue of factual accuracy. A decent way of getting a newsfeed that only has news that is factually correct is just by linking to stories that are from sources that can be held accountable, that have a reputation, and that typically follow standard journalistic practices. You weed out the parody stories, the polarizing disinformation, the deliberate attempts to poison discourse with fake news. This seems like something a dedicated group of volunteers could do.

I feel like the factual accuracy problem isn't as widespread as some believe, that networks of upvoting and sharing bots only make it seem as though a handful of untrue stories are being very widely read and believed. Of course, there are most likely relatively small pockets of people who are actually believing in false stories and act on those beliefs, and despite their relatively small numbers, they can be very harmful to society. And various characteristics of popular social media platforms such as Twitter, YouTube, and Facebook (such as algorithms that don't vet information, the ability for anyone to post and share anything, being too big and too fast to moderate) increase the footprint and influence of false stories beyond what they were in the pre-internet says.

I doubt WikiTribune would lure the type of folks who seek out false stories away from their favorite hyperpartisan sites, but who knows what might happen if it eventually became even a tenth as popular as Wikipedia. Maybe it would end up as a kind of standard system for current events information vetting, a better middle layer between journalism and audiences than social media currently is. Most people would then recognize the false news stories and sources in a way that most people did before the internet: as a kind of inevitable fringe to the information ecosphere, relegated to a recognizable outskirt rather than popping up in the midst of a feed of journalism vetted in the traditional way (as tends to happen w/ news via social media). It's important to know whether factually inaccurate news exists, how much of it exists, and who is sharing and reading it, but it's also important to think about where, in our information environment, it resides. Is it concentrated or distributed? In the center or on the periphery?

During his talk, Wales brought up the problem of clickbait headlines: headlines that mislead audiences, play on our emotional, tribal, impulsive tendencies, exploit a kind of shallow curiosity. So, maybe WikiTribune curators use a kind of rough guiding principle: avoid posting clickbait headlines (or maybe just rewrite the headlines. Often, the stories are fine, but the headlines seem like they were written by search engine optimizers). Obviously, clickbait is a term with a fuzzy definition, but that's nothing new, and certainly doesn't stop websites, publishers, etc. from moderating various kinds of vaguely-defined content standard. Get multiple experienced coders to rate each headline's clickbait-iness, and when they agree, don't post it or re-write the headline.

Wales also brought up ads and their effects on content, one of which is to essentially incentivize the creation of clickbait headlines. But I guess I'm a bit unclear on how to account for the fact that many of the sources to which WikiTribune links are ad supported. Related to this, how does WikiTribune work with paywall news sites? Wales seemed to be pro-paywall, to endorse the idea that if more news sites were subscription-funded rather than ad-funded, the quality of information would improve. Would WikiTribune just give you a taste of the article, a kind of abstract or summary, something a bit more than a headline, some kind of compromise that would give the reader some value while not totally substituting for the story itself, perhaps pushing users to the full article in the way that Wikipedia might push users to the source material? That seems reasonable to me.

He also brought up algorithms. Perhaps algorithms also, in some way, guide news consumers and creators toward more clickbait-y headlines. If you have humans in the loop, maybe it would be easier to slow or stop the prevalence of clickbait and false news.

He also brought up the fact that Wikipedia is not totally open and it's not a democracy, and I think that's a way of setting this apart from the primary news aggregator of our time, Reddit. Reddit is ostensibly open, and is a kind of democracy: registered users submit and vote on content, thereby increasing or decreasing its visibility. Over time, this has led to certain kinds of news stories ending up on the front page. You might call it a product of 'hivemind.' It has a certain narrow tonal range, and a certain focus on particular topics that reflects the interests and values of the voting public.

There is recent talk of moderators playing a bigger role in directing what gets posted in subreddits, and the inevitable push-back by those who value unfettered speech and a democratic public sphere above all else. I doubt that push-back will fully subside on Reddit because voting for the noteworthiness of content is a defining characteristic of the platform. It's not ancillary in the way that 'likes' are to Instagram. But if you start a new site that simply doesn't have that as one of it's defining characteristics, you don't necessarily have that problem. Sure, a lot of people believe strongly in a flat hierarchy, an open democratic sphere, but I think that enough people have been repulsed by what that yielded to want something else.

Somewhat more controversially, we might consider the question of tone and emotion in news, and whether or not that needs 'fixing,' or could be fixed. Personally, I'm turned off by the abundance of outrage and fear that many news stories in 2019 evoke, but I recognize that an argument can be (and has been) made for the value of anger and fear in this sphere. Here, I think it's more a matter of personal preference, and not everyone would agree on this, but some would like, sometimes, to see a newsfeed that features less fear and anger. I feel like that's where a lot of popular democratic news feeds, like r/news on Reddit, end up: a kind of distilled outrage and fear.

Here, we need think about the purpose of news. Is it a kind of 'immune system' for societies that's sole purpose is to detect threats and alert us to them? Well then, it seems entirely appropriate that news would invoke anger and fear. Should news be more broad, emotionally, than that? Should it invoke wonder, curiosity, gratitude? You have subreddits like r/upliftingnews that cater to another point on the emotional spectrum, so it's not as if there isn't already a place for that in many people's information diets.

Then there's the matter of filter bubbles/echo chambers, and I don't know that there's much that WikiTribune could do about that. I think worries about filter bubbles and echo chambers are somewhat overstated and/or that we'll never fully solve that problem, and while we wait around for the perfect solution, we're making do with a pretty lousy news ecosystem that's run, by default, by impulsive clicks and a lack of accountability. I think pure democracy was one potential solution - giving the power of vetting and curation to anyone and everyone - but we've seen how well that went.

Wikipedia never solved the filter bubble problem when it came to creating an encyclopedia. The editors don't remotely reflect the readership, in terms of race, gender, education level, ideology, etc. Wikipedia isn't flawless, but it seems to be working well enough, and I gather that there is a sense within the organization that they should try to broaden the diversity of people who edit it to include more women and people of color. Should it also try to include more people who identify as politically conservative? Does it make sense to pursue intellectual diversity among information curators as well?

It looks like the current version of WikiTribune features a way to follow particular feeds curator by particular Wiki-editors. If that's the case, then what's to stop a couple of ultra-liberal or ultra-conservative editors from setting up feeds full of clickbait and partisan vitriol? Is there some overseer that decides when editors have gone too far, similar to the way that admins on Reddit ultimately have control over volunteer moderators? Might that decision as to what goes too far be motivated by one's ideology?

Yes. But I get the sense that Wikipedia has already dealt with similarly motivated people who have tried to turn Wikipedia into a more partisan information environment, and it has some sort of mechanism for dealing with them that seems to be largely effective. Is the mechanism entirely democratic and open? Probably not, but now might be the time that some of the public revisits the relationship between direct democracy and news curation and distribution.

Even if something similar to WikiTribune existed in the past (and I get the sense that that's the case) and ultimately failed, that does not determine whether WikiTribune will fail. There are many, many cases in which a creation didn't succeed because it was timed poorly. Maybe we had to wait to see how poorly open, democratic, free-for-all, algorithmic, impulsive curation of news would go before there would enough demand for something like WikiTribune to be sustainable. I'm just happy to see someone trying something like this right now.

If you can't stay here, where do you go? The sustainability of refuges for digital exiles

This semester, our research team has waded into some of the murkier waters of the internet in search of the conditions under which online hostility flourishes. We're still developing our tools and getting a sense of the work that is being done in this area.

Among the most pertinent, and recent, studies was a study by Eshwar Chandrasekharan and colleagues about the effects of banning toxic, hate-filled subreddits. I've always been curious as to whether banning (i.e., eliminating) entire communities (in this case, subreddits on Reddit) had the intended effect of curbing hate speech, or whether users merely expressed their hostility in another community. The study suggests that banning communities is an effective way to curb hate speech on Reddit: 'migrants' or 'exiles' of the banned communities either stopped posting on Reddit altogether, or posted in other subreddits but not in a hateful manner. The authors are quick to point out that these exiles might have just taken their hostility to another website. Given the fact that Reddit users cannot be tracked beyond Reddit, it's hard to determine whether or not that happened, but there is some evidence to suggest that websites like voat.co acted as a kind of refuge or safe harbor for Reddit's exiles: many of the same usernames that were used in Reddit's banned communities surfaced on voat.co. To quote the authors of the study, banning a community might just have made hate speech "someone else's problem."

I'm intrigued by this possibility. It fits with a hunch of mine; what you might call the homeostatic hatred hypothesis, or the law of conservation of hatred: there is a stable amount of hatred in the world. It cannot be created or destroyed, but merely transformed, relocated, or redirected.

Refuges like Voat.co are like cess pools or septic tanks: they isolate elements that are considered toxic by most members of the general community. In the context of waste disposal, cess pools and septic tanks are great, but I wonder if the same is true in social contexts. On the one hand, they might prevent contagion: fewer non-hateful people are exposed to hateful ideas and behavior and thus are less likely to become hateful. On the other hand, by creating highly concentrated hateful communities, you may reduce the possibility that hateful folks would be kept in check by anyone else. You're creating a self-reinforcing echo chamber, a community that supports its members' hateful ideologies, behavior, and speech.

Whether or not these online refuges are good or bad may be moot if they are not sustainable. In searching for more information about Voat, I was surprised to find that Voat isn't doing so well. Reports of its demise seem to be premature (it is up and running as of this moment), but it seems clear that it faces challenges. The foremost of these challenges is revenue.

I get the sense that people often underestimate how much time and money is involved in creating and hosting a large (or even moderately sized) online community, or community-of-communities. Someone needs to pay for the labor and server space. Advertisers and funders, in general, don't seem to be wild about being associated with these types of online communities. If there were a greater number of people who were willing to inhabit these refuges, people who had a lot of money and could buy a lot of things, then it might be worth it to advertise there and to host these communities. If the users had a lot of disposable income, they could use a crowdfunded model. But it doesn't seem to be the case that there are enough users with enough money to keep a large community running for very long.

Such sites could end up as bare-bones communities with fewer bells and whistles that are easier and cheaper to maintain, but they seem to encounter other problems. I get the sense that people also underestimate the difficulty of creating a community that produces frequently updated, novel, interesting content. Content quickly becomes repetitive, or boring, or filled with spam, or subject to malicious attacks. This is a real problem when the value of the site is content that is generated by users: bored users leave, creating a smaller pool of potential content suppliers. The smaller the conversation gets, the less alluring it is. These refuges will continue to be bare-bones while other online communities, video games, TV shows, VR experiences, and other ways to spend your free time add more and more bells and whistles. Why bother spending time in a small, repetitive conversation when there are more alluring ways to spend your free time?

Of course, defining 'hostility' and 'hate speech' is tricky, and the obvious objections to studies like this is that 'hate speech' is being defined in the wrong way. You get criticism from both sides: either you're defining it too narrowly and not including robust, sustainable communities like commenters on far right wing or left wing blogs, or you're defining it too broadly, categorizing legitimate criticism of others as hateful and hostile. It's clear to me that you can't please everyone when you're doing research like this. In fact, it's pretty clear that you can please very, very few people. I suppose my interests have less to do with whether or not we classify one speech or the other as 'hateful' or 'hostile,' and more to do with user migratory patterns, in particular those expressing widely unpopular beliefs (or expressing beliefs in a widely unacceptable way). It seems that people have their minds made up when it comes to the question of whether techniques such as banning communities are restricting speech or making the internet/society a safer, more tolerant space. But both sides are assuming that the technique actually works.

While some would lament the existence of refuges and others are likely willing to sacrifice a great deal to see that they persist, it's worth asking 'what forces constrain them? Why aren't they bigger? How long can they persist?'

Anonymity: Expectation or Right?

Somewhat recently, a public official was linked to remarks he allegedly posted online while using a pseudonym. The official had done nothing illegal, but his reputation suffered greatly after being linked to the remarks. That got me thinking about people's expectations of being able to express themselves anonymously online.

Let's assume, for the moment, that the official in question really did post remarks that, once linked to him, resulted in public disgrace. Anyone posting online using a pseudonym or posting anonymously likely has some expectation that his or her remarks won't be linked to his/her "real world," offline identity. At the very least, having remarks you made anonymously or pseudonymously is a violation of your expectations. I'd expect it to feel as though your privacy had being violated; anonymity gives you a kind of privacy. In fact, that's how I originally processed the story of the official: as a case in which an individual's privacy was violated. People generally regard privacy (however fuzzily defined) as a right (though people also have a way of justifying such violations if they feel that the uncovered sin is great enough).

On further reflection, I'm not so sure linking someone to comments they made anonymously is analogous to other violations of privacy (i.e., someone installing a camera in your bathroom). Perhaps we've come to conflate anonymity with privacy. When I say things to a friend in a private setting, I expect those things not to be recorded and played back in some other context. This kind of privacy of self-expression in a particular limited context (i.e., secrets) has been a part of many societies for a long time (though I'd stop short of calling it natural and/or a basic human right). But the ability to express one's self to a large number of people anonymously hasn't been around for more than a decade or so. Of course, there have been anonymous sources for a long time, and the protection of witnesses through the assignment of new identities has been a common protocol for a long time. But in terms of the frequency and ease with which the average person can express themselves anonymously on an everyday basis, I think it's a relatively new phenomenon. Additionally, things said in private and things said anonymously differ radically in terms of their impact. Whispering secrets among a small group of friends likely has one impact on the attitudes and beliefs of others while writing something anonymously online likely has another (typically larger) impact.

I can understand a society that wants to enshrine the first kind of privacy (whispering in private, off the record) as a basic right, but to lump anonymous self-expression (a relatively recent widespread phenomenon) in with this strikes me as rash. Certainly, many of us have come to take for granted the ability to say things anonymously that will not be associated with our "real world" identities, and it feels bad when our expectations are violated, and but that doesn't make it a right.

When considering whether or not something should be treated as a right, we tend to look backward, for precedent. I wonder about the limits of this approach. It demands that we make forced analogies that don't really fit. We select the analogy to the past that suits us ("posting anonymously is like publishing controversial political tracts under an assumed name," or, if you're on the other side, "posting anonymously is like the hoods that members of the Ku Klux Klan wore"). Instead, it seems to me to be worthwhile to consider the aggregate effects on society, now and for the foreseeable future, of enshrining something as a right. Would a world in which we had to live in fear of being associated with everything we say and do anonymously online be a better or worse world?

Reasons why anonymity is good: it makes it easier for folks who are seeking help for a stigmatized condition to receive help. It facilitates "whistle-blowing" and ensures confidentiality of sources, making it easier to hold powerful institutions accountable. Anonymity is also a kind of bulwark against surveillance and the permanence of online memory and the ease with which messages are taken out of context, widely disseminated, framed in misleading ways, and used against the speaker. This last one seems like a biggie. The tactic of using one's past words against one's future self was once a technique used by the press on politicians, but now it seems to be used by anyone on anyone. And so we cling to anonymous self-expression as a way to retain some freedom of speech.

Reasons why anonymity is bad: it permits hostility without consequences, on a massive scale and, thus, normalizes hostile thinking and behavior. Hostile people aren't as isolated as they were before; they can easily find one another and, together, justify their hostility as a defense of their rights, freedom, or as an act of justice.

So, if we lose trust in the ability of any communication tool to provide us with true anonymity (as would likely happen if a few more high-profile un-maskings were to occur), we're probably going to lose some good things and some bad things. Any attempt to determine whether anonymity should be defended as a right should consider the weight of those things. I think that gets lost in debates about the merits of, well, a lot of things these days. It isn't enough to link a particular course of action to bad consequences. You must consider all of the consequences as well as all of the consequences of the other plausible courses of action, to the extent that such things are possible, before arriving at a decision.

It could be that younger people who've grown up with the ability to express themselves anonymously may simply dislike the prospect of losing this ability so much that it may not matter whether we officially enshrine anonymous speech as part and parcel of the right to privacy. The demand for it might be so high that economically and politically (rather than ethically), it will be treated as a necessity. Conversely, the decay of true anonymity (and the fear of being "outed") may be an inevitable consequence of a highly networked world in which sufficiently motivated people can unmasked whomever they want, regardless of how badly the majority of folks wish that anonymity were a protect right.

Reddit, Gawker, and The Freedom to Say Horrible Things

As a Redditor and someone who is interested in how online communities work, it’s been fascinating/sad to see what happened at Reddit over the past couple of weeks.

The initial decision by the company to fire a beloved employee touched off an angry user rebellion which eventually led to the harassment of CEO Ellen Pao by a smaller group of users and the CEO’s eventual resignation. The whole series of incidents revealed to me that Reddit consists of two factions that can be defined by how upset they were at Pao. These factions always existed, but recent events make the differences more visible.

It’s important to note that the size of these two factions are not as easy to measure as it initially seems. The highly vocal, negative anti-Pao sentiment (and, more generally, strong emotions about anything) is conspicuous while the size of the other, less vocal group must be inferred by the fact that the vast majority of content on the site has nothing to do with Pao or the recent controversy. The first group is much more highly invested in the site than the second group – it likely consists of a greater proportion of moderators, heavy users of the site, and people who bother to up/downvote Pao-related posts. But the second group is likely larger. The first group consists of “strange bedfellows”: those with legitimate gripes about the seemingly arbitrary and poorly communicated decisions of their leader and those who are simply predisposed to expressing hatred. 

The small group of people with ill will is influencing the fate of the site, but it isn't being done directly through the upvoting/downvoting of content or through posts or comments on the site. Instead, sites like Gawker and traditional news coverage focus on the small, vocal group with ill will and drive public perception of the entire site, which influences who participates or invests in the website. 

The misperception of Reddit promulgated by news stories is so beguiling in part because people judge online communities in much the same way that they judge offline communities. But Reddit isn’t a community in the ways that offline groupings of people like universities, neighborhoods or even countries are communities. It isn’t structured to be one shared experience or reflect a single, shared set of values. Proof of this: my experience of using Reddit changed very little during this upheaval (it was still mostly pictures of delicious hamburgers, science AMAs, and gifs of hilarious failed attempts at handshakes). By creating self-organizing sub-communities or "sub-reddits", the structure of Reddit (and perhaps the structure of other decentralized social media sites like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube) facilitate distinct, individualized experiences. However, thanks to stories like the one in Gawker, this reality may ultimately matter less than public perception. 

And so I couldn't help but relish the irony when Gawker, immediately after mocking Reddit for having a crisis over what to do with hurtful, hateful content, had a crisis of its own when editor Tommy Craggs resigned after the Founder and CEO pulled a hurtful, hateful piece of content without consulting him. 

The cynical take on what happened at Reddit and Gawker is that these websites are getting popular and trying to make the next step toward profitability, making themselves appealing to advertisers by sanding off their rough edges and eliminating some types of content that the websites used to tolerate. In doing so, they are compromising the values of free speech and/or independent journalism. Gawker CEO Nick Denton states in an email to one of his employees that "These are the stories we used to do. But times have changed." Does this refer to the commercialization of Gawker and similar websites, or does it refer to the maturation of some of its leaders, a maturation which helped them realize that there are values other than free speech and getting web traffic, values like a consideration of the harm that words can do to others even when they are protected by law, and that sometimes these values come into conflict. Perhaps the phrase "times have changed" refers to both changes. Perhaps two forces - the commercial and the compassionate - are actually pushing in the same direction for once, against hurtful content, leaving libertarians on the other side, opposing both commerce and compassion (I don't like those odds).

In both the Reddit case and the Gawker case, the way in which the decisions to alter content were made (in a kind of sloppy, ad hoc way) left the company open to criticism. Personally, I side with the upper management of Reddit in their cleansing their site of hateful speech. With Gawker, it's trickier. I suppose I feel that they set themselves up by posting news stories that had so little value to begin with and were so obviously hurtful of others. Denton found himself, as he notes, in an impossible position: he had to either run a story that was "pure poison" to the reputation of the Gawker brand or know that some of his talent would resign in protest after he pulled the article.

But I think the major takeaway from this may be that the conflict at Gawker, like the conflict at Reddit, was kind of inevitable. You have hurtful content, and when you're small and the mainstream media doesn't draw attention to this content, you can get away with this. But once you get big and the eyes are on you, you either become associated with hurtful content or you change the brand's identity by restricting content, firing those who won't comply, and alienating part of your core users. Though I don't have that much sympathy for Denton, I find his remark about balancing the "calculus of cruelty and benefit" to be an encouraging sign for a purveyor of prurience (one that sounds oddly similar to Institutional Review Boards' policy regarding balancing risk and benefit in scientific studies).

To be sure, you can still say horrible, hurtful things on the Internet. Which raises the question: Where do Tommy Craggs and the libertarians leaving Reddit go? Do they all go to someplace like Vice Media? What does Vice do when all this happens to them? Is hate like energy: incapable of being created or destroyed, only redirected?

How much of the media we consume is really user generated?

Like most media users today, I enjoy two kinds of leisure media: user-generated content (UGC) and professionally generated content. The former costs WAY less to produce than the latter. On one of my favorite user-generated content websites, Reddit, there was a pretty good description of why cable costs so much, and a good part of it has to do with the cost of professional production of content. But if we're using our internet connection to access UGC, well then, we shouldn't have to be paying so much for the professionally generated content that we're not using. This got me to thinking: how much of the content I use is user-generated?

I don't think I'll ever abandon professionally generated content: I still love sports and a handful of television shows like Mad Men and Charlie Rose. I also loved relaxing at the end of a hard day by flipping on the TV and channel surfing. But I don't really do that anymore. I think that what has replaced that for me are two things: Facebook and Reddit, both of which are primarily UGC. Facebook occasionally contains references to content that was professionally created: a link to an article on NYTimes.com, a link to a video clip from a TV show posted on YouTube. But MOST of the information I encounter on there is generated by my friends: status updates, photos.

The same is true of Reddit. Let's take the most up-voted stories on reddit today as a sample. Of the 25 items on this front page, 16 of them are pictures or statements or links to content ostensibly generated by a non-professional (someone who did not create the content with the understanding that it would generate revenue for them personally). So again, its not clear cut. Facebook and Reddit and YouTube derive SOME of their value from professionally generated content, but it seems disingenuous to say that they're similar, in terms of what it costs to maintain the quality of the experience, to the former great American past-time: channel surfing.

I accept the fact that Facebook, Reddit, and sites like them provide a useful service by providing a venue for all this interaction between users. I accept that this takes a lot of hours of coding, and I accept that I must pay for that service in some way: with my attention to ads or having those companies mine my data or sell it to advertisers. But clearly, the overhead of running such sites is much less than running a television network: you don't have to pay writers, actors, set designers, animators, etc. So yes, I should pay for my time on Facebook and Reddit, but not as much as I should for my time watching a television network.

It wouldn't be that hard or time-consuming to code a random sample of Facebook, YouTube, and Reddit content as UGC or professionally generated content, and then to do a rough calculation of the true cost of producing and distributing this content. Another project for the back burner!

Rechargeable Value

In trying to think through how I will have media users rate the immediate gratification value of their media selections in scheduled and un-scheduled choice environments, I've run across some artifacts that make it difficult to re-schedule certain media experiences in people's lives and still have them be enjoyable or valuable to them. For instance, if you insist that people only send text messages between 3 and 5 PM each day, they may not get much value out of text messaging at those times because the motivation to send those messages was time sensitive. They needed to re-schedule an appointment or make arrangements for dinner that evening. I think we tend to over-estimate the time sensitivity of the value of such communiques (including online chatting). Would you really feel deprived if you had to wait a few hours before learning that someone cared for you or want to make plans for the next day, or learning a bit about how someone's day went? Probably not, but we've gotten so used to having the ability to message whenever we'd like and we don't see a reason to change.

So, there's at least the perception that the value (in terms of enjoyment and utility) of messaging is affect by time in this way. Other mediated experience can be time shifted without losing enjoyment or utility. People are fine with planning to Skype at certain times and would be fine with switching the time if needed. People are fine with shifting a TV show to fit their schedules. They'd probably like to watch it as soon as possible because they're anxious to find out what happens next and they'd like a dose of the pleasure brought on by the show as soon as possible. If I had a choice between the next Batman film coming out tomorrow and having to wait a year to see it, I would choose to see it tomorrow. I might even pay a bit more to do so. But if I had to wait an extra few hours or even a few days to see it, it wouldn't change the value of the experience. I'm sure I would still enjoy it.

There are some interesting exceptions to this rule, some non-interactive media experiences whose value are somehow contingent on the timing of the experience. News and sports seem to decline in value over time after their live broadcast in a way that other types of content do not. For some reason, live-ness (or, to use a grocery metaphor, freshness) matters. Of course, a classic game might still be fun to watch on ESPN classic years later and old news might be fascinating to some, but for the most part, "yesterday's news" isn't very enjoyable or useful.

I had an interesting experience when I deprived myself of a few kinds of media experiences that I partake in a lot: NPR, Facebook, and Reddit. I was away on vacation for a few days and just didn't have time to check any of these (that is what one does with these sources: they check on them). I then experienced more pleasure than usual when I checked these at the end of the vacation. It was as if their value had been recharged since the last time I checked on them. Many interesting bits of news about my friends and about the world had accrued since I had last checked in. When I'm in my normal media habit, I check on these things regularly, getting some utility and enjoyment, but then quickly exhaust their value, having used up the best parts, having to wait until people in my Facebook feed post interesting things, until Talk of the Nation has another media-related offering, or until enough interesting/funny things are posted on Reddit. When I check on them often, their values are quickly exhausted, but when I don't check on them for a bit, their value accrues and lasts longer.

This isn't quite how the value of traditional current events news works, I think. I wasn't adamant about going back and finding exactly what had happened in Washington or Libya while I was off the grid. An even more obvious example would be weather reports: I'm not going to go back and read weather reports for Ann Arbor for the days I was out of town. If there's some sort of commentary about the events, like I'd find in Slate, NYTimes, the New Yorker, or Grantland, then the pieces hold their value. The less commentary, the shorter the "expiration date" for the experience.

People check Facebook many times throughout the day because they can, because its there. Each time you check it, you can only go so long before you've read all the good stuff and you're making due with the dregs. The same goes for any continuously updating site: blogs, Twitter, online newspapers, etc. If it weren't, if you had to check it between 3 and 5 each day, you might be able to read longer and enjoy it more, not having to make due with the dregs. You're dealing with a fully charged-up experience. You might even say that this is true for email accounts: if they're accounts you typically get pleasurable emails in, then you'll have more of a chance of getting that pleasure of an inbox full of pleasurable messages if you wait longer to check your email. If you only get messages that you consider to be unpleasant, then the longer you wait, the more unpleasant the moment of checking will be. The trouble is that its too hard to resist the not-fully-recharged version because its always accessible.