QAnon, Radicalization, and the Cult of Personality (A Social Media Post)
“More than once I should have lost my soul to radicalism if it had been the originality it was mistaken for by its young converts.”
― Robert Frost
1. QAnon and the Phenomenon of Radicalization
Addiction, algorithms, the commodification of attention, the collection of data—these are only the base issues with social media and the rise of influencer culture. What happens when the algorithms direct you to darker vortexes, when they grab your attention, lead you into more fringe addictions? What happens when you graduate from kitten memes, pocket knife reviews, haul videos, and porn to something more radical (and radicalizing).
If you’ve read an ounce of news over the last few months, you’re aware of QAnon, a right-wing conspiracy hub for those claiming…
President Trump is engaged in an underground fight against uber-elite pedophiles, or
That the compound adrenochrome “represents a mystical psychedelic favored by the global elites for drug-crazed satanic rites, derived from torturing children to harvest their oxidized hormonal fear—a kind of real-life staging of the Pixar movie Monsters, Inc,” or
That Bill Gates is related to the devil, or
Trump and the Q Team are turning 5G Towers into Tesla 432 Hz harmony towers.
(For a great piece on QAnon and the impacts of religion, read this piece for RNS by Katelyn Beaty.)
QAnon theories populate the online world and are disseminated through social networks like Facebook, which NBC News reported has “more than 1,000 of those QAnon groups, totaling millions of members.” (See “How QAnon Rode the Pandemic to New Heights—and Fueled the Viral Anti-mask Phenomenon.”) The results? Members “doomscroll” QAnon posts for hours, riff off the material, receive applause for new insights. They forge connection over shared ideas, reinforcing insights no matter how baseless. Facts over feelings. Facts be damned.
One of those members—Melissa Rein Lively, the subject of the above-cited NBC article—took the conspiracies to the street. In a local Target, she made her way to mask display, and in a profanity-laced tirade, vandalized it. It was performative disobedience, captured via cellphone video for the benefit of her QAnon community. Why’d she do it? According to the article,
Rein Lively said she was "craving connection" in the weeks before the Target video, that she "couldn't just go and sit with a table of people and have a glass of wine like I'm used to."
Isolated, alone, and without the usual social outlets, she found herself drawn to online conspiracy groups. And over time, she found her views moved by the masses. Ultimately, she found herself radicalized. And though Rein Lively lost community respect and her career over the incident, someone won. But who?
2. Radicalization and the Right to Win
Dylan said it best “the times, they are a-changin’.” And in this era of rolling COVID lockdowns and social distancing, the people are struggling with those changes. Community is waning. Isolation is waxing. And human as we are, we all long for connection. And as I wrote earlier in this series, fear, anger, pride, and the like are powerful unifying tools. In the social media bubble, they can bring a community together in no time.
The purveyors of fear, anger, pride, and the like build massive audiences, draw people into their online communities on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok. Often, these sorts of online personalities blend fact and conjecture, offer editorialization mixed with conspiracy. And as their communities grow, the algorithms offer more support, recommending their content to more and more viewers (particularly on YouTube). What’s more, new growth brings a sort of confirmation bias to the community members. “The opinions of the purvey must be right,” the logic goes, “because, after all, could a lie really attract so many people?” And as the audience falls deeper down the rabbit hole, as they find themselves becoming more radicalized, who wins?
Follow the money; see the man at the top of the pyramid; watch him laugh his way to the bank.
You can find examples of these sorts of communities all over the internet. Alex Jones, the conspiracy-theorist founder of Infowars honed the technique to an art form. The mystery men behind QAnon’s “Q Drops” are following suit. But lighter versions exist in almost every corner of the digital world. Consider Taylor Marshall, a Catholic talking-head who weaves traditionalist values and conspiratorial conjecture to question the validity of the Pope (and indeed, Catholicism itself). Consider the evangelist John Hagee who, in 2015, claimed the coming of the four blood moons was an omen of the end times. (He’s still pushing this conspiracy theory, claiming that Russia took ground in the Middle East after the fourth blood moon and that it’s preparing an eventual invasion of Israel.) Consider modern politicians who do not debunk conspiracy theories that help their campaigns. Consider, consider, consider. Then ask yourself: Are they shilling these conspiracies for a price?
Radicalizers use speculation, conjecture, and conspiracy—all of which are unprovable in fact—to gather a community. The radicalizers question all authority but their own. They dismiss facts that undermine their authority. They ask the community to fall in line, to support and spread the message, to make viral videos. They sell books, supplements, ask for donations, beg for your vote. They amass influence and power. They set themselves at the head of the table, make endless toasts to their unmatched insight. All the while, they march their followers into deeper devotion. And they’re using social media as the tool to do it.
Today, consider the radical voices you hear on the internet. Ask yourself:
Are they using conspiracy theories (even if implied) to capture my attention?
Do they cite sources for the facts they use?
Do they come under any authority but their own?
Are they trying to sell me something?
If the answers make you uncomfortable, unfollow these internet voices. Unsubscribe. Walk away. And above all, find a more rooted community of connection.
The TikTok Heist (It's All About the Data)
The social networks have us right where they want us. Addicted as we are, plugged in as we are, we feed data to the beast—product searches, social media preferences, movie picks, book reviews, the bars and restaurants we frequent, vacation destinations, music preferences, sexual preferences, political preferences, animal preferences, any old preference. They eat our data, devour it, store it away like fat for the winter. They use that data to create unique user profiles. And what do they do with that profile? They sell it to advertisers—makeup brands, resort destinations, bespoke journal makers, whomever—who target you with products tailored to your liking.
To call it an invasion of privacy is a misnomer. There’s no invasion. It’s a simple exchange of commodities: We give them our personal data in exchange for the illusion of a public platform. And in a sense, this is how an efficient free market is supposed to work. We give something to get something. But in a digital world that’s not quite so transparent, do we always know what we’re giving? Are we certain which data is scraped from our social media profiles and which is not? Even more, do we know what’s happening to that data?
Over the last two weeks, the social platform TikTok has been in the news. (Full disclosure I am not a TikTok user.) I first caught wind of the debate when President Trump floated the idea of banning the video-sharing platform in the United States. And admittedly, I was tempted to believe the move was a distraction technique. After all, the pandemic has been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster. But instead of reacting to the news, instead of taking to Twitter or Facebook, I did a little digging. I searched for the center of truth. And what was that center of truth?
According to the Wall Street Journal, TikTok created a work-around allowing it to mine data from millions of users who utilized the platform on a Google Android device. But that’s not all. According to the Journal:
The identifiers collected by TikTok, called MAC addresses, are most commonly used for advertising purposes. The White House has said it is worried that users’ data could be obtained by the Chinese government and used to build detailed dossiers on individuals for blackmail or espionage.
(Follow this link to read the article in its entirety.)
I’m no expert in data collection, digital marketing, or international espionage. And sure, TikTok’s collection of user data might have been innocent. It might have been for advertising purposes, just like the other social media companies. (This is, in fact, TikTok’s claim.) Still, it begs the question: Who regulates, governs, and protects against the mismanagement of your personal data? Do we really trust the social media companies to govern themselves, particularly when there’s such an incentive to turn a buck on personal data?
At the beginning of this series, I made a bold claim: Social media companies are running a giant Ponzi scheme, one in which they promise downstream influence to those who pass personal data upstream. But what happens when the Ponzi scheme crumbles? What happens when the tech giants have scraped your data clean but can’t deliver any more influence? Worse yet, what happens when they sell that data to the highest bidder, a bidder with potentially harmful aims? When that day comes (and it will come), will all this social media wrangling have been worth it?
WAKE UP TO YOUR ADDICTIONS
The Social Media Groove (And an Update on the Experiment)
I’m continuing my series on Social Media and the Influencer™ Culture and how it’s disrupting our society. It’s turned us all into idea machines, into personal marketeers. It’s incentivized us to gain (F)ollowers and build (I)fluence by playing to the darker emotions—anger, fear, pride, lust, and the like. It’s created a culture of denial, and it’s led too many of us to believe that good ideas and deep work can’t be pushed forward without using the social media apparatus. In all of this, it’s created a milieu of dependency and addiction.
I know a thing or two about dependency and addiction. I’ve wrestled with the demons that live in a bottle of gin (or whiskey or whatever). I’ve studied dependency and have explored the spiritual realities underlying addiction. And in my latest book, The Book of Waking Up: Experiencing the Divine Love that Reorders a Life, I wrote particularly about the addictive groove of social media.
Consider this excerpt from The Book of Waking Up (and grab a copy if you haven’t already).
89: Groove #5: Social Consumption
What is social media but technological heroin? It’s a distracting hook, an attention manipulator, a time suck. It’s equal parts feast, famine, fear, ego, and political dumpster fire, and the content (at least the non-advertisement content) is created by the people for the people. It’s our method of mass communication, our way to be heard, our method of connecting with people when we’re alone. This centering of our own message, opinion, need, whatever—doesn’t it etch a groove?
No matter how much I swear it off, I always end up back on the social-media sauce. Why? When I’m alone, my brain plays the groove in the record: Media brings the fix.
Humans were created for social connection. It’s that need that drives friendship, marriage, societal harmony. What happens neurologically when we make those social connections? First comes the oxytocin—whizz-bang. Then comes a new rush of dopamine, fixing the memory of that whizz-bang firmly in place.
The science behind our attachment to social media is certain. We seek connection—even if a virtual, cotton-candy version of the real—and Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram, even LinkedIn facilitate a kind of connection. (Even now, aren’t you thinking about social media? Even now, can’t you feel the dopamine firing up the striatum, can’t you feel the tug toward virtual connection?) Scientists—even the ones working for the social media giants—know that social media primes the flow of dopamine in the brain, dragging us to the reward of this electronic connection. They know that every time we update our statuses, like other people’s statuses, or receive a like on our statuses, every time we reap the reward of social media use, our brains release more dopamine, locking the memory of this virtual connection in place.
But it’s not just the need for connection that drives our habituated desires toward social media. The social-media giants also use certain psychological tricks to stimulate the release of more dopamine. What are those tricks? Unpredictability, incomplete satisfaction, and the cues of potential rewards.11 Consider:
Unpredictability: What is social media if not an unpredictable hodgepodge of family photos, angry political banter, adorable cat memes, and touching parenting videos?
Incomplete Satisfaction: Can 280 characters tell the whole story, convey full conversational nuance, or create complete connection?
Cues of Potential Rewards: Don’t the notifications, the hums, buzzes, and dings of your cell phone drive you back to social media platforms time and time again?
These features drive the cycles of desire, of want, of fixation, and each time we reach for our cell phones to satisfy the craving, the feel-good chemicals, including dopamine, etch the groove a little deeper: Social media brings the fix.
A Word on the Experiment
If you’ve been following this series, you know I’ve been conducting a little experiment. I’ve been wondering: Is it possible to build a robust writing platform without using social media to promote the work? As a result, I’ve gone off the social media sauce cold turkey. I have not used Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or any other social networking platform to spread the word about this series. Instead, I’ve invited you to (a) share your thoughts with me by responding directly to these emails (even if I can’t read them all), and (b) spread the word via word of mouth and email.
The result? The experiment is working, and It’s all because of you.
Since I started this series, I’ve experienced almost 5% growth on my daily mailing list. My Substack subscription has been closer to 10%. And though the numbers aren’t the point, I think it proves my hunch: You can build a writing community without using the social media platforms that drive so much anger, hate, lust, and pride.
Today, I’m asking you for two things in furtherance of the experiment:
(1) Consider picking up a copy of The Book of Waking Up for a friend (that friend can be you if you' haven’t read it yet);
(2) Shoot me an email letting me know what you’re building outside the social media ecosystem. It might be a business, like my friends at Milagro Midwestern Spa & Collective in Overland Park, who philosophically refuse to use social media. It might be something simple, like a backyard chicken house or an online course curriculum for the COVID era. It might be a series of poems. The sky is the limit here, and I want to hear about it.
The Response of a Social Media Addict
Denial As an Indicator of Addiction
As I’ve written this series on social media and the ways we attempt to use it to increase influence (and drive sales), I’ve heard from some of you. Particularly, two writers and a musician’s wife have reached out and shared their own opinions about the highs and lows of using social media to promote work. These creators—blessed be the creators—recognize the truth: social media can provide viable means of connecting with others, though that connection often comes with a price. The price? The sacrifice of attention to long, deep, and thoughtful work. Work that advances on more than just the social popularity of the creator.
The two writers—blessed be the writers—wrote separately. One shared her experience with an online group whose stated purpose was to help creators with both the craft and promotion of their work. Amy (not her real name) openly questioned whether continuing to use social media as a medium of promotion was worth the cost—the fracturing of attention, the anger of the medium, the spin-cycle of self-promotion. The response? Utter resistance. Social media was the best avenue to build an audience, they said. Twitter and Facebook were helping them reach their goals, they said. And though they might not have said it quite so clearly, I’m sure many believed they were on their way to becoming Influencers™.
Another writer (and a dear friend) shared a similar, though more discrete experience. She openly questioned the use of social media as a promotional technique on a major social network. She did not castigate it whole-hog. Instead, she raised very valid questions about the ways it distracts from long, beautiful, deep work (the kind of work authors of yesteryear were known for). Despite her large following and very valid arguments, the response was muted (as responses tend to be to these kinds of discussion tend to be on social media). Still, an Influencer™ responded and all but said the platforms were necessary for her kind of meaningful work.
Neither of those two authors (nor I) would argue that social media is inherently devoid of value. In fact, both writers (and I) still use social platforms from time to time. Still, doesn’t the knee-jerk reaction against those questioning social media’s efficacy sound familiar? Doesn’t it sound like the denial of an addict?
I’ll not go so far as to suggest what we’re addicted to (the platform or our own self-importance?), but today, I’m inviting you to reflect.
Ask yourself:
When someone suggests I step away from Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram for a season, what’s my reaction?
If I’m required to be on social media for my job, how much would business be affected by a one-month sabbatical?
Could I emotionally and mentally handle that kind of sabbatical?
Am I addicted to the platforms of social influence, platforms that often grab my attention by triggering anger, envy, lust, and pride?
If you’re up for it, shoot me an email and let me know how you answered these questions.
And if you’re struggling with social media addiction, consider grabbing a copy The Book of Waking Up: Experiencing the Divine Life That Reorders a Life. It’s about more than social media addiction, but I discuss the problem with some specificity.
Finally, please share this piece with those who might want to read along (change the email address in the form). Ask them to subscribe. Start a discussion with them about the social media ride America finds itself on, and together, let’s plot a different path forward.
Today's Exercise: Learn The Arguments Against Social Media
On Tuesday, I shared the implicit formula of social media, how we compete for more followers and command more attention so we can influence social, political, and economic decisions. The systems—Google, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, whatever—have trained us to pull people into their platforms. And once the people find themselves in the feeds, they’re sitting ducks, ready to be mind-hacked.
Trying to understand this sort of mind-hacking, I’ve turned to a variety of thinkers, social media skeptics, and pioneers in the industry. Among those thinkers is Tristan Harris, former Google employee, technological design ethicist, and founder of the Center for Humane Technology. He’s been described as the “closest thing to a conscience in Silicon Valley” by The Atlantic magazine. And Harris is sounding the alarms.
Harris has spoken with great candor on the problems with social media—exploitation of attention, manipulation, and radicalization. And now, he’s speaking even more candidly about the exacerbation of mind-hacking in a post-COVID world. I think it’s past time to pay attention to him.
Today, I’m sharing two videos. One is quite short and I hope you’ll all watch it. If that video grabs your attention, consider watching the next. (Brew a pot of tea before watching the second; it’s the length of a Stranger Things episode.) In both videos, Harris shares some of the problems with the attention-grabbing mechanisms of social media and how it shapes a sort of collectivism and tribalism that influences everything—elections, social action, ways of thinking.
Yes, this is heady stuff. Still, it’s the kind of stuff readers of this blog can more than digest. After all, readers of this site do the hard work of living into the Examined Life.
Video 1 (Link for email subscribers):
Watch the first video, then shoot me an email and let me know what it invoked in you.
And please, share this piece with those who might want to read along (change the email address in the form). Ask them to subscribe. Start a discussion with them about the social media ride America finds itself on, and together, let’s plot a different path forward.
In my book, I write even more about the addictive nature of social media. If you haven’t grabbed a copy, today is the day.
If I Only I Could Make You Angry Or Afraid: How to Win Followers and Influence People
I’m continuing my series on social media, influencers, and the impact of personal mass communication. Last week, so many of you reached out via email and shared your amazing insight. Though I can’t respond to all, I read each one. Thanks.
The Implicit Formula
We are a people awash in opinion. With the proliferation of social media, writers, pundits, politicians, and the average Joe have been avatarized, turned into digital talking heads. And for some--those in the publishing industry, for instance--cultivating a social media presence is an occupational hazard.
As I wrote last week, we’ve entered a brave new world when it comes to personal influence, and industry professionals know it. In publishing, for instance, a robust social media following locks up the next book deal, influences the next periodical pitch, and drives the next collaborative decision. Why? Because of these implicit formulas:
(F)ollowers + (a)bility = (I)nfluence;
(I)nfluence + (c)ontent = (S)ales
Without the (F), all the (a) in the world won’t move the people. And without moving the people, the content generated by the (a) won’t sell. (Notice, I have capitalized (F), (I), and (S); these are the variables valued most in marketing departments.) But to generate sufficient (F) to move the social-media (I) and (S) needles, a social media player must follow the rules of the system. And if you’re really savvy, you learn how to game that system.
Gaming The System
Consider your social media experience. You scroll past photos of a friend’s wedding or their trip to Paris or the stack of books on their bedside table. These photos evoke minimal reactions, perhaps lead you to like the photo or leave a quick comment. It’s a quick-hit interaction, after which you continue scrolling, only to see
(a) a post decrying a politician who’s sure to bring about Doomsday,
(b) a photo of a city on fire during a #blacklivesmatter rally,
(c) a Tweet about the danger posed to society by those who refuse to wear masks, or
(d) a recasting of some QAnon conspiracy by your hyper-conservative aunt.
These posts grab your attention by the throat. They spool you up, get you hot under the collar. Before you know it, you enter the fray, engage in the latest soap-operatic episode of As the World Burns. And an hour after being sucked into the vortex of anger, fear, and pride, you emerge, feeling hollowed out.
In this scenario, who wins? The person who commanded the attention of the crowd, who led the masses of social media into an orgy of negativity. And the larger the crowd the influencer gathers, the more the algorithms of the platform reward that person. What’s the reward? More (F), and potentially, more (I).
For ages, marketers have known just how anger, fear, and pride (which is to say nothing about lust, greed, and envy) appeal to the basest instincts of humans. (Consider this article on the 7 Deadly Sins Used in Marketing.) Now, social media platforms have trained the masses to use these emotional drivers to command attention and build their own marketing machines.
And this highlights the problem as I see it: By encouraging writers, businesses, politicians, and the like to build social media platforms, we’re incentivizing them to play to the basest instincts of human nature. Put another way, if you play the social media game right, you’re participating in a massive, turmoil-inducing Ponzi scheme meant to generate (F) so you can use your (I) to increase the (S) of some other corporate entity (often, the social media company itself).
A Word on My Experiment
I’ll write more about this in the days to come, but this is why I believe independent avenues of publication are critical. If we want more thoughtful, engaging, grassroots, person-to-person engagement (instead of crowd-based communication), we have to build different systems and encourages publishers to stop incentivizing the Implicit Formula. It’s why I’ve taken a month off social media to see whether I can build this network on a more grassroots level.
How’s that experiment going?
Last week, you all came through. You responded to my questions via direct emails. In those emails, you showed an incredible depth of great thinking and shared amazing ideas (as opposed to terrible ideas often advanced on social media). You shared the experiment with your friends, too, and many signed up here. And in the days to come, I hope to share some of your experiences so you can read some of the feedback I’m receiving. You all really are amazing, outside the box thinkers.
I want to continue hearing from you. Today, shoot me an email and let me know what kind of social media posts are most likely to grab your attention.
And please, share this piece with those who might want to read along (change the email address in the form). Ask them to subscribe. Start a discussion with them about the social media ride America finds itself on, and together, let’s plot a different path forward.
The Problem With Influencer Culture Is...
Yesterday, I asked you to share your thoughts about the modern social media landscape. Wowzers… did you ever! I received so many emails in response that I simply cannot respond to all of them. Rest assured, I’m getting to them slowly but surely.
Today’s piece is long but important. Please stick with it.
The Distribution Problem
I am the son of a literature teacher. A damned fine one at that.
Susan Haines is a bona fide language lover, a National Board Certified, former department chair who passed her passion for language and story down to generations of Advanced Placement students. What she did in the classroom, she did at home, too. Around the dinner table, she’d read stories—The Lion the Witch and Wardrobe, Jack London shorts, whatever. We’d discuss themes—love, loss, human tragedy, human triumph. We’d argue the merits of stories—she loves Great Expectations, while I find it cloying drivel.
I cut my teeth on stories, on the purity of the craft. I believed from the youngest age that great literary work would rise to the top of the barrel like cream. If you wrote and wrote well, people would read.
It was a naive notion, one that did not take into account a simple historical problem: Distribution. Put another way, once a masterwork was complete, how would it find its audience?
Historically, writers have overcome the problem of distribution through the submission process. The writer would create the work, submit it to a variety of publishers, and wait for an acceptance or rejection letter. Once a relationship was developed with the publisher, once the writer had earned her stripes, she could develop a network of outlets, places to submit new work. And as that network grew, so would the author’s popularity provided she continued to produce quality work.
This is an oversimplification, of course. Still, it creates a useful backdrop.
How Social Media Disrupted it All
With the advent of social media, things changed. Writers, musicians, and political pundits took control of their own work, began posting it on personal websites (like this one). With new avenues of distribution—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and the like—it was easier than ever to get your work into the hands of the people. Creators had leveled the playing field. They were no longer reliant on traditional methods of publication because put simply, they were the publishers. And on par, this was a good thing, at least for a time.
Consider a specific example. Up to this point in my writing career, I have written in a particular niche genre—faith-based writing. And though I intend to stretch across other genres, I know this one well. I’ve written two books. I’ve co-written and ghostwritten books for dozens of others in the genre. I’ve met with countless publishers, most of whom are hard-working, well-meaning people. But over the years, I’ve noticed a trend. Publishers are putting more pressure on creators (me and my clients) to expand their social media reach.
Put bluntly: No social media platform, no publication.
There are valid reasons for this, of course. What are those reasons?
Social Proof: In our social media age, followers on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok operate as a sort of social currency. The more you have, the influence (or buying power) you command. So, for instance, if I have 6,192 Twitter followers and Rachel Hollis has 74,400 Twitter followers (as of the writing of this piece), Hollis is accurately seen as being more socially relevant. Her influence is exponentially larger than my own, regardless of the quality of her ideas, and she can use that influence in any number of ways, which leads us to our second reason.
Money, Money, Money: With increased social influence comes an increased ability to move product. Taking the above example, with her expansive social reach, Hollis’s ability to drive consumer behavior is at least twelve times my own. (Some would argue Hollis’s 12x power is even larger because of the influencers willing to back her work. I would agree with this argument.) It’s precisely this ability to influence consumer behavior that makes her an attractive prospect to publishers, television stations, churches, whatever. And with every additional book, television appearance, or speaking gig, she expands her network, ultimately driving even more consumer behavior.
“Okay,” you argue, “but haven’t influential creators always been around. Weren’t Dickens’s stories serialized precisely because he could move papers?”
A fair point. But it’s my belief that social media has brought a fundamental shift. Whereas the quality of content has historically taken a front seat (see Dickens’s work, for example), these days, social proof commands attention. Even if your ideas, stories, or political policies are vacuous, with enough social capital, you can flood the market with them. And once the market is flooded, once enough of your followers applaud your latest, vacuous work, the social narrative is set. It’s this reality that’s given rise to the “Influencer Culture,” a culture whose modern scale was unimaginable before the advent of social media.
Okay, But What’s the Problem?
What does this have to do with anything? Everything, I’d argue. Increasingly, publishers turn down very good work (or underpay for it) because the creator’s platform is underdeveloped. The quality of the ideas may be transformative, the story impeccible, the music amazing, but if the creator does not have a readymade audience, if they do not have the social capital to satuturate a market, chances are, they’ll not be published.
The result?
Creators have poured time, effort, and attention into building their social networks, consequences be damned. What are those consequences?
Join me Monday as we explore.
I want to hear from you. Shoot me an email and let me know your thoughts about modern influencer culture.
And please, share this piece with those who might want to read along (change the email address in the form). Ask them to subscribe. Start a discussion with them about the social media ride America finds itself on, and together, suss out whether it’s healthy.
Resisting the Media
Down With the Influencers
I cut my last series short for a variety of reasons. Chief among them were these: I’d made my point; the sermonizing tone of the series was tiring me; the series was beginning to feel tedious and emotionally unappealing. There was another reason, though, an inkling of sorts. Something was gnawing at the edges of my brain, but I couldn’t seem to slow down long enough to scratch it out on paper. Two nights ago, it came to me.
In a dream, I found myself at a seventeenth-century mansion owned by a social media influencer. Voice quivering, she shared the results of a government study that found social media to be a threat to cultural stability. It was a public health crisis, they declared, and they’d dispatched the armed forces to burn the networks to the ground. Her house, cars, Greek vacations, and personal assistants were all funded by her influencer-status, and her voice cracked when she said, “All I want is to make money playing video games on YouTube, and now, they’ve taken that away.” (Odd how I imagined a forty-year-old fashionista as a video gamer, but dreamscapes create the best ironies.) I smiled, nodded, and said, “I am genuinely not sorry.”
That was it, the end of the dream, and as I considered it the following morning, I wondered whether my brain was trying to tell me something.
I’ve sorted it out, at least the first parts of it, but I want to take it slowly. I want to walk a line and invite you to walk it with me.
There are fundamental issues with modern media (social and otherwise), particularly as an author, creator, or (heaven forbid) an influencer. Over the next few weeks, I’d like to give a sort of insider’s view into why many creators need (read: require) social media platforms. I’ll ask whether this need is healthy and whether there are unintended consequences that come along with it. I’ll examine some of those unintended consequences. I’ll also give an account of how to resist, and I’ll invite you to follow me on a one-month experiment.
The experiment?
I’ll write more about this in the days to come, but as a writer, I know this much: Publishers all but require their authors to curate a robust social medial presence. Why? Social media is where people are. It’s how writers get the message out, how they market. But if there are unintended consequences to using Twitter and Facebook, could there be another way to spread thoughtful work? I believe there is. What is that way? Create good content and rely on your readers to spread the word organically.
This is, of course, a tad idealistic. Still, color me an idealist.
Over the next month, I’m abstaining from Twitter and Facebook. (I’ll still use Instagram, for reasons I’ll write about in the future.) I will not share my thoughts on either of those platforms. I will not post links to my writing. I’ll not crosspost my Instagram photos either. Instead, I’ll rely on this website and my Substack newsletters to share my writing and photography. I’ll also track and measure subscriber growth over that month to see whether it’s possible to grow organic reach without the big two social media players. What’s more, at the end of August, I’ll share the results with you.
Your Role?
If you believe in my working hypothesis—that it’s possible to spread good ideas without playing into the fear, anger, pride, and greed that runs rampant on Twitter and Facebook—help me prove it. How?
First, shoot me an email and let me know how you feel about the current state of social media. I might not respond to every email, but I promise I’ll read them all. These emails will help me chart a course for writing about this topic over the next month.
Second, share this piece with those you think might want to come along for the ride (change the email address in the form). Ask them to subscribe. Start a discussion with them about the social media ride America finds itself on, and together, suss out whether it’s healthy.
Finally, ask yourself these questions:
What does social media add to my life?
Am I funding fear, anger, pride, and greed through it?
Do I need to change how I use the online platforms?
Wake Up With Me.
![“It can be beyond our comprehension to even understand why someone would be hurting. [But] we can... understand that our brother and sister is hurting, and we can lean into their pain.” ~ @davidmbailey
I am white, and many of you here a](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/56ba31db356fb05ecdc0b3bc/1591452672563-6H098FCYGTRU4I3378H9/image-asset.jpeg)
