Online content in a rapidly approaching new age of the Internet

The Internet has been chugging along for a while now, and for the most part there hasn’t been a huge shake up in how we communicate online.

When I started making websites, in 1999 (I was an 11 year old child), the Internet was still fairly fresh. The chances of the girl your age actually being a middle-aged man in their mom’s basement was at its highest. You needed to have some sort of technical knowledge to create online. Something that came easily to nerds and children, but took a little while to filter down.

Still, we went from hand-coded websites and obscure message board forums, to a very similar but more accessible format: platforms managed by companies.

All the fun of communicating online, without the technical skill: fantastic. We love accessibility.

What we maybe didn’t know at the time was how much we’d come to love data. And how much of that data could be foraged and gathered online. And that (in very simplistic terms) snowballed until we got to now. Algorithms. Advertisements. And MegaCorps that own an alarming amount of intellectual property (IP) that we’ve fed into it in exchange for..?

We’re well past the point of “if you’re not buying something, you’re the product” being a revolutionary revelation.

Since joining Substack, I’ve noticed a lot of users who are seemingly boasting about how they’ve made the correct choice of platform by being here, usually with a sense of increased morality because of it.

We’re here for the writing~. They’d have you believing that this is not only the moral choice, but also the intellectual one. We’re not like the other social media platforms.

Except, you are. You’re still feeding your IP into servers owned and controlled by the MegaCorps. And I’ve been around on the Internet long enough to have seen many publication websites with an independent spirit be bought by millionaires. Twitter wasn’t the first, and it won’t be the last.

Sure, some creators are paid via subscription. But there are only so many subscriptions readers can afford. It’s a finite resource, and it’s all Substack can really give you, alongside access to an audience. But there will be a day (yes, will) when Substack no longer exists, and your meticulously crafted pieces will go…?

Who knows where! Because it lives on a computer in a warehouse owned by someone whose name you don’t know, and will never know.

Meanwhile, I got my first reseller hosting 15ish years ago, and I never looked back. I have websites and images and all sorts stored on that server that go back as long as my time on the Internet. I’ve changed hosts 3 times, porting the stuff over each time. Because, it’s mine. I have installs and databases that I can access in perpetuity. Because I own it all.

I feel sad that I can’t say the same for my Instagram account, which I opened in December 2010. One day all of those memories will “disappear.” For me. For whomever ends up owning the server, it could be a treasure trove of God-knows-what.

Beyond this, we need to look forward, and consider the massive advances in technology we’re currently experiencing. With the increasing power of AI, we’re likely only a few years away from never intentionally seeking out websites and sharing platforms for content.

Soon enough, our AI assistants will simply fetch and bring us any content we want to consume, and present it in the format it thinks works best for us as an individual. The concept of platforms will be a lot hazier. As will any notion of visual brand consistency, potentially.

This is why clear ownership of your thoughts and creations is so important. So that, when the time comes, it’s clear that your IP belongs to you. It’s why personal websites are so important: a centralised place to find you as we move to a more decentralised web.

The world literally runs on data— going forward, I’m keeping mine in a bank. I might diversify my investment a bit by cross-posting to a 3rd-party platform or two, but I’m no longer paying the bills of billionaires.

You know, except for writing this post. Every word written is a bit of money in the pot. When Substack does eventually get bought by a larger company, they’ll use every word as a justification for the sale. A captive audience of creators ready to generate engagement, and endless data about people, on– potentially– a more intimate level than they’d get on the platforms we’ve become wary of.

If Substack feels like a radical act to you, pause. There might be a longer character limit, but the principles are all the same. We’re still providing new ways for people to become billionaires, while the rest of struggle to get by.

(Well, I’ve heard there are a lot of trust fund babies here, so maybe some of you are fine.)