And You Will Know Us by the Company We Keep

It feels as if we're at the tail end of the first era of social media in the West. Looking back at the companies that have survived, certain application architectural choices are ubiquitous. By now, we're all familiar with the infinite vertical scrolling feed of content units, the likes, the follows, the comments, the profile photos and usernames, all those signature design tropes of this Palaeozoic era of social.

But just as there are reasons why these design patterns won out, we shouldn't let survivor bias blind us to their inherent tradeoffs. The next wave of social startups should learn from the weaknesses of some of these choices of our current social incumbentsIt's easy to point out where our incumbent social networks went wrong. Of course, to be where they are today, they had to do a hell of a lot right, too. A lot of mistakes are understandable in hindsight given that online networks of this scale hadn't been built in history before. Still, it's easier to learn from where they went wrong if we're to head towards greener pastures.. It's never smart to tackle powerful incumbents head on anyway. The converged surface area in the design of all these apps suggest oblique vectors of attack.

While many of these flaws have already been pointed out and discussed in various places, one critical design mistake keeps rearing its head in many of the social media Testflights sent my way. I've mentioned it in various passing conversations online before. I refer to this as the problem of graph design:

When designing an app that shapes its user experience off of a social graph, how do you ensure the user ends up with the optimal graph to get the most value out of your product/service?


The fundamental attribution error has always been one of my cautionary mental models. The social media version of this is over-attributing how people behave on a social app to their innate nature and under-attributing it to the social context the app places them in. Perhaps the single most important contextual influence in social media is one's social graph. Who they follow and who follows them.

Just as some sharks that stop moving dieSome sharks rely on ram ventilation must swim in order to push water over their gills to breathe. But many shark species do not. Maybe we should refer to social apps that rely on a graph to work as "graph ventilated.", most Western social media apps must build a graph or die. This is because most of the most well-known Western social apps chose to interlace two things: the social graph and the content feed. That is, the most social media apps serve up an infinite vertical scrolling feed populated by content posted by the accounts the user follows. In my essay series on TikTok (in order, they are TikTok and the Sorting Hat, Seeing Like an Algorithm, and American Idle), I refer to this as approximating an interest graph using a social graph.

You can see this time-tested design, for example, in Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. It is particularly suited to mobile phones, which dominate internet usage today, and which offer a vertical viewport when held in portrait orientation, as they most often are.

We'll return, in a second, to whether this choice makes sense. For now, just note that this architecture behooves these apps to prioritize scaling of the social graph. It's imperative to get users to follow people from the jump. Otherwise, by definition, their feeds will be empty.

This is the classic social media chicken-and-egg cold start problem. Every Silicon Valley PM has likely heard the stories about how Twitter and Facebook's critical keystone metrics were similar: get a user to follow some minimum number of accounts. Achieve that and those users turn into WAUs, or even better, DAUs. Users failing to follow enough accounts were the most likely to churn. Many legendary growth teams built their entire reputations inducing tens or hundreds of millions users to follow as many other users as possible.

But, again, this obligation derives entirely from the choice to build the feed directly off of the social graph. In TikTok and the Sorting Hat, I wrote:

But what if there was a way to build an interest graph for you without you having to follow anyone? What if you could skip the long and painstaking intermediate step of assembling a social graph and just jump directly to the interest graph? And what if that could be done really quickly and cheaply at scale, across millions of users? And what if the algorithm that pulled this off could also adjust to your evolving tastes in near real-time, without you having to actively tune it?


The problem with approximating an interest graph with a social graph is that social graphs have negative network effects that kick in at scale. Take a social network like Twitter: the one-way follow graph structure is well-suited to interest graph construction, but the problem is that you’re rarely interested in everything from any single person you follow. You may enjoy Gruber’s thoughts on Apple but not his Yankees tweets. Or my tweets on tech but not on film. And so on. You can try to use Twitter Lists, or mute or block certain people or topics, but it’s all a big hassle that few have the energy or will to tackle.


Almost all feeds end up vying with each other in the zero sum attention landscape, and as such, they all end up getting pulled into competing on the same axis of interest or entertainment. Head of Instagram Adam Mosseri recently announced a series of priorities for the app in the coming year, one of them being an increased focus on video. “People are looking to Instagram to be entertained, there’s stiff competition and there’s more to do,” Mosseri said. “We have to embrace that, and that means change.”

In my post Status as a Service, I noted that social networks tend to compete on three axes: social capital, entertainment, and utility. Focusing just on entertainment, the problem with building a content feed off of a person's social graph is that, to be blunt, we don't always find the people we know to be that entertaining. I love my friends and family. That doesn't mean I want to see them dancing the nae nae. Or vice versaEDITOR'S NOTE: It's not just people who know him. No one wants to see Eugene dance the nae nae.. Who we follow has a disproportionate effect on the relevance and quality of what we see on much of Western social media because the apps were designed that way.

At the same time, who follows us may be just as consequential. We tend to neglect that in our discussions of social experiences, perhaps because it's a decision over which users have even less control than who they choose to follow. Yet it shouldn't come as a surprise that what we are willing to post on social media depends a lot on who we believe might see it. Our followers are our implied audience.

To take the most famous example, the root of Facebook's churn issues began when their graph burgeoned to encompass everyone in one's life. As noted above, just because we are friends with someone doesn't mean we want to see everything they post about in our News Feed. In the other direction, having many more people from all spheres of our lives follow us created a massive context collapse. It wasn't just that everyone and their mother had joined Facebook, it was specifically that everyone's mother had joined Facebook.There's some generalizable form of Groucho's Marx quip about not refusing to join any club that would have him as a member. Namely, that most people don't want to belong to a club where they're the highest status member. Because, by definition, the median status of a member of the club is lowering their own. That's not to say it can't be a stable configuration. Networks based more around utility, like WeChat, aren't driven as much by status dynamics. Not surprisingly, they are less focused on a singular feed.

It's difficult, when you're starting out on a social network, to imagine that having more followers could be a bad thing. Yet many Twitter users complain after they surpass 20K, then 50K, then 100K followers or more. Suddenly, a lot of your hot takes attract equally hot pushback. Suddenly, it isn't so fun yeeting your ideas out into the ether. I know. Boo hoo on the smallest violin. But regardless of whether you think this is a first world problem, it's indicative of how phase shifts in the experience of social media are difficult to detect until long after they've occurred.

To put it even stronger, graph design problems are particularly dangerous to social companies because they fall into that class of mistakes that are difficult to reverse. Jeff Bezos wrote, in his 1997 Amazon letters to shareholders, about two types of decisions.

Some decisions are consequential and irreversible or nearly irreversible – one-way doors – and these decisions must be made methodically, carefully, slowly, with great deliberation and consultation. If you walk through and don’t like what you see on the other side, you can’t get back to where you were before. We can call these Type 1 decisions. But most decisions aren’t like that – they are changeable, reversible – they’re two-way doors. If you’ve made a suboptimal Type 2 decision, you don’t have to live with the consequences for that long. You can reopen the door and go back through. Type 2 decisions can and should be made quickly by high judgment individuals or small groups.


Graph design problems are one-way mistakes in large part because users make them so. Most social media users don't unfollow people after following them. Much of this comes down to social conformity. It's awkward and uncomfortable to do so, especially if you'll run into them. Anytime I unfollow someone I might run into, I imagine them cornering me like Larry David at the water cooler, eyebrows raised, with that signature tone of voice he mastered on Curb Your Enthusiasm, an equal mix of indignation at being slighted and glee at having caught you in an act of hypocrisy. "So, Eugene, I notice you unfollowed me. Pret-tay, pret-tay interesting."

If people tend to add to their social graphs more than they prune them, the social graph you help your users design should be treated as a one-way decision. And as Bezos noted, one-way decisions should be treated with care.Once Twitter started posting tweets to my timeline simply because people I followed had liked them, even if they were tweets from people I didn't follow myself, I started getting very confused. If you're angry I don't follow you, it may be that I think I already follow you.

Many social apps, because of how they're configured, undergo phase shifts as the graph scales. The user experience at the start, when you have few friends and followers, changes as those figures rise. At first, it's more lively with more people. Now the party's getting started. But beyond some scale, negative network effects creep in. And if you don't change how you handle it, before you know it, you find yourself pronouncing that you're taking a break from social media for your mental health.

Not only do users not notice it happening, like the proverbial slow boiling frog, the people operating the apps may be oblivious to the phase shifts until it's too late. Social graphs are path dependent.

A classic example, though I don't know if this still persists, is how Pinterest skewed heavily towards female users at launch, losing lots of potential male users in the process. This was a function of building their feed off of each user's social graph. Men would see a flood of pins from the females in their network as women were some of the strongest earlier adopters of pinning. This created a reflexive loop in which Pinterest was perceived as a female-centric social app, which chased off some male users, thus becoming self-fulfilling stereotype. An alternate content selection heuristic for the feed could have corrected for this skew.

But again, this is a problem unique to Western social media design. In conflating the social graph and the interest graph, we've introduced a content matching problem that needn't exist. I don't get upset that my friends don't follow me on TikTok or Reddit or what I think of as purer interest and/or entertainment networks. It's very clear in those products that each person should follow their own interests.

The way China has built out its social infrastructure is, in at least this respect, more logical. WeChat owns the dominant social graph, and it acts as an underlying social infrastructure to the rest of the Chinese internetThough not always a reliable one. If you're a WeChat competitor in any category, they may block links to your apps, as they've done with Douyin and Taobao in the past. This is always the danger of a private company owning the dominant social graph, and where regulators need to step in.. Rather than duplicate the social graph of everyone, which WeChat owns, other apps can focus on what they do best, which might or might not require an alternate graph.

Western social apps also rely much more heavily on advertising revenue. The lifeblood of their income statement is traffic to the feed. This means feed relevance is paramount. Anywhere one's social graph drifts from one's interests, boring content invades the feed. The signal to noise ratio shifts the wrong direction. Instead of pruning and tuning their social graphs to fix their feeds, most users do the next easiest thing: they churn.

As a product manager or designer on social app, you might object. The user chooses who to follow, and other users choose to follow them. It's out of your control. But this ignores all the ways in which apps put their hands on the scale to nudge each user towards a specific type of graph.

Take initial user sign-up flows. Every week, I seem to encounter this modal dialog on a new social app Testflight:

ios-contact-access-permission.png

What I look for is where this request appears and how the app frames it. Most times, users are asked to grant access to their contact book and to follow any matching users (or even worse, to spam their contact list with invites) before they have any idea of what the app is even about. In pushing people to duplicate their contact book, these apps are explicitly choosing to build off of people's real-world social graphs.

It's not surprising that social apps prioritize this permission as a critical one in the sign-up flow. The iOS contact book is now the only "open-source" social graph that a new app can work from to jumpstart their own. In The Network's the Thing, I argued that the network itself provides the lion's share of the value for a social network, that arguments about what types of content to allow in feeds, how those were formatted, were of much less importance. For a brief window, massive social graphs like Facebook or Twitter allowed third-party apps to tap into those graphs, even to duplicate them wholesale.

Instagram famously got a nice head start on building out their own social graph by siphoning off of Twitter's. It didn't take long for those companies to realize that they were arming their future competition. They clamped down on graph access hard. You can still offer Facebook or Twitter auth as an option for your app, but if you want a social graph of your own, the mobile contact book is the easiest to tap into nowadays.

Another way apps really influence the shape of their social graph is with suggested follow lists. These often appear in the first-time user walkthrough, interspersed in the feed, and sometimes alongside the feed.

Early Twitter users fortunate enough to be on the first versions of Twitter's suggested follow list today have hundreds of thousands or even millions of followers because they were paraded in front of every new user.

It was a massive social capital subsidy, but I find a lot of selections on that list puzzling. A few years ago, a friend set up a Twitter account for the first time and showed me the list of accounts Twitter suggested to them during sign up. It included Donald Trump. Which, regardless of your political leanings, is a dubious choice. Let's just shove every new user in the direction of politics Twitter (I'd be skeptical of a suggestion of Biden, too), one of the worst Twitters there is. Cool, cool.

For some people, like those who frequent fight clubs on weekends, politics Twitter might be the perfect dopamine fix, but when a user is signing up for the first time and Twitter knows nothing about them, that's a bizarre gamble to take.

For years, people marveled at Facebook's Suggested Friends widget. Wow, how did they know that I knew that person, yes, of course I'll friend them. And yet, as noted earlier, that may have been a graph design mistake given the way the News Feed was being constructed.

In the other direction, it's also important to help a users acquire the right types of followers. Cults are held together by a bi-directional influence. Cult leaders use their charisma to grow a following, then those followers shape the cult leader in return. It's a symbiotic feedback loop, not always a healthy one.

Besides being one-way mistakes, graph design errors are also pernicious because the tend to manifest only after an app has achieved some level of product-market fit. By that point, not only is it difficult to undo the social graph that has crystallized, to do so would violate the expectations of the users who've embraced the app as it is. It's a double bind, you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. Apps that achieve some level of product-market fit, even if it's a local maximum, require real courage to revert.

This doesn't stop social apps from trying to fix the problem. Reduced traffic to the feed is existential for many social apps. Instead of fixing the root problem of the graph design, however, most apps opt instead to patch the problem. The most popular method is to switch to an algorithmic, rather than chronological, feed. The algorithm is tasked with filtering the content from the accounts you've chosen to follow. It tries to restore signal over noise. To determine what to keep and what to toss, feed algorithms look at a variety of signals, but at a basic level they are all trying to guess what will engage you.

Still, this is a band-aid on an upstream error. Look at Facebook oscillating every few years between news content and more personal content from people you know. Until they acknowledge that the root problem lies in sourcing stories for News Feed from their monolithic social graph, they'll never truly solve their churn. And yet, to walk away from this fundamental architecture of their News Feed would be the boldest decision they've made in their long historyIronically, shifting to the News Feed itself was perhaps their previous boldest decision.. Not just because almost all their revenue comes from News Feed as it works now, but also since assembling a monolithic graph might be their strongest architectural defense against government antitrust action.

Twitter, unlike Facebook with its predominant two-way friending, is built on a graph assembled from one-way follows. In theory, this should reduce its exposure to graph design problems. However, it suffers from the same flaw that any interest graph has when built on a social graph. You may be interested in some of a person's interests but not their others. Twitter favors pure play Twitter accounts that focus on one niche. But most people don't opt to operate multiple Twitter accounts to cleanly separate the topics they like to tweet about.

One of my favorite heuristics for spotting flaws in a system is to look at those trying to break it. Advanced social media users have long tried to hack their away around graph design problems. Users who create finsta's or alt Twitter accounts are doing so, in part, to create alternative graphs more suited to particular purposes. One can imagine alternative social architectures that wouldn't require users to create multiple accounts to implement these tactics. But in this world where each social media account can only be associated with one identity, users are locked into a single graph per account.

One clever way an app might help solve the graph design problem is by removing the burden of unfollowing accounts that no longer interest users. Just as our social graphs change throughout our lives, so could our online social graphs. Our set of friends in kindergarten tend not to be the same friends we have in grade school, high school, college, and beyond.

A higher fidelity social product would automatically nip and tuck our social graphs over time as they observed our interaction patterns. Imagine Twitter or Instagram just silently unfollowing accounts you haven't engaged with in a while, accounts that have gone dormant, and so on. Twitter and Facebook offer methods like muting to reduce what we see from people without unfriending or unfollowing, but it's a lot of work, and frankly I feel like a coward using any of those.

Messaging apps, by virtue of focusing on direct communication between two people or among groups, naturally achieve this by pushing the threads with the latest messages to the top of their application windows. People who fall out of our lives just fall off the bottom of the screen. LIFO has always been a reasonably effective general purpose relevance heuristic.

Another possible solution to the graph design problem is to decouple a users content feed from their social graph. In my three pieces on TikTok, I wrote about how that app's architecture is fundamentally different from that of most Western social media. TikTok doesn't need you to follow any accounts to construct a relevant feed for you. Instead, it does two things.

First, it tries to understand what interests you by observing how you react to everything it shows you. It tries to learn your taste, and it does a damn good job of it. TikTok is an interest graph built as an interest graph.

Secondly, TikTok runs every candidate video through a two-stage screening process. First, it runs videos through one of the most terrifying, vicious quality filters known to man: a panel of a few hundred largely Gen Z users.Okay, yes, that's not quite right. Anyone can be on this test audience for a video. It just happens, however, that TikTok's user base skews younger, so most of the people on that panel will be Gen Z. Also, it's a known fact that a pack of Gen Z users muttering "OK Boomer" is the most terrifying pack hunter in the animal kingdom after hyenas and murder hornets. If those test viewers don't show any interest, the video is yeeted into the dustbin of TikTok, never to be seen again except if someone seeks it out directly on someone's profile.

Secondly, it then uses its algorithm to decide whether that video would interest each user based on their taste profile. Even if you don't follow the creator of a video, if TikTok's algorithm thinks you'll enjoy it, you'll see it in your For You Page.

Recently, Instagram announced it would start showing its users posts from accounts they don't follow. In many ways, this is as close to a concession as we'll see from Instagram to the superiority of TikTok's architecture for pure entertainment.

Some apps use some sort of topic or content picker. Tell us what music or film genres you like. What news topics interest you. Then they try to use machine learning and signals from their entire user base to serve you a relevant feed.

The effectiveness of this approach varies widely. Why does a playlist generated off a single song on Spotify work so well and yet its podcast recommendations feel generic? Why, after spending years and millions of dollars on research, including the fabled Netflix prize, do Netflix's recommendations still feel generic, and why doesn't it really matter? Why are book recommendations on Amazon solid while article recommendations on news sites feel random? It would take an entire separate piece just to dig into why some content recommendations work so much better than others, so complex is the topic.

In this piece focused on graph design, what matters is that things like content pickers explicitly veer away from the social graph. Twitter allowing you to follow topics in addition to accounts can be seen as one attempt to move a half step towards being a pure interest graph.

It's not that apps can't be more fun when social, or that people don't share some overlapping interests with people they know. We all care both our interests and the people in our lives. When they overlap, even better. It's just that after more than a decade of living with our current social apps, we have ample case studies illustrating the downsides of assuming they are perfectly correlated.

A secondary consideration is what type of interaction an application is building towards in the long run. Is is about one-to-one interactions or broadcasting to large audiences? What percentage of your users do you want creating as opposed to just consuming? Is your app best served by a graph of people who know each other in real life or by a graph that connects strangers who share common interests? Or some mix of both? Is your app for people from the same company or organization? Will the interactions cut across cultures and national borders, or is it best if various geographies are segregated into their own graphs?

The next generation of social product teams can and should be more proactive about thinking through what type of social graph will offer the best user experience in the long run.

I'm not certain, but it doesn't feel, based on the histories I've heard, that many social networks built their graphs with a particular design in mind. This makes graph design an exercise with more open questions than answers. In some ways, Facebook being built for just Harvard students in the beginning may have imposed some helpful graph design constraints by chance.

Unlike some types of design, graph design doesn't lend itself easily to prototyping. Social networks are at least in part complex adaptive systems, making it difficult to prototype what types of interactions will occur if and when the graph achieves scale.

But whereas traditional complex adaptive systems are so complex that predictions are futile, social networks are different in two ways. One is that human nature is consistent. The second is that we have numerous super scaled social networks to study. They're massive real world test cases for what happens when you make certain choices in graph design.

They also exist in multiple markets around the world. This makes it possible to study distinct path dependencies, especially when comparing across cultures and market conditions as unique as China versus the U.S. Despite all the variations in context, issues like trolling seem universal, suggesting that some potent underlying mechanisms are at work.

Once you tug on the threads surrounding graph design, you can burrow deep down many rabbit holes. If the people connected are going to be complete strangers, how will you establish sufficient trust (e.g. through a reputation system)? If the trunk of the app is a content feed, does that feed have to draw exclusively from stories posted by accounts followed by the user? Does it have to pluck candidates from those accounts at all? Is a feed even the right architecture for healthy interactions among your users?

Whose job is it to consider the problem of graph design? And when? To take one example, growth team strategies should be informed by your graph design. Growth shouldn't be treated as a rogue team whose only job is to extend the graph in every possible direction. They need to know what both good and harmful graph growth looks like so they can craft strategies more aligned with the long term vision.

Recently, TikTok started pushing me to connect more with people I know IRL. I've gotten prompts asking me to follow people I may know, and now when I share videos with people, I often get a notification telling me they've watched the video I've shared. Often these notifications are the only way I know they even have a TikTok account and what their username is.

To date, I've enjoyed TikTok without really following any people I know IRL. Perhaps TikTok is trying to make sharing of its videos endogenous to the app itself. But by this point in my piece, it should be obvious that I consider any changes to the graph of any social product to be moves that should be treated with greater caution. Most people I know don't make any TikToks (I know, I know, this is how you can tell I'm old), so following them won't impact my FYP much. For a younger cohort, where users make TikToks at a much higher rate, following each other may make more sense.

On the other hand, any app with a default public graph structure plays into the innate human impulse to judge. Wait, this person I know follows which accounts on TikTok?! Tsk tsk.

The answer to whether TikTok should push its users to replicate their real world social graphs isn't cut and dried. I bring it up only to illustrate that graph design is a discipline that requires deeper consideration. It could use, as its name implies, some design.


The term "follow" is fitting. Who we follow can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. First you build your graph, then your graph builds you. Plenty of research shows that humans tend to oscillate at the same frequency as the people they spend the most time with. Silicon Valley sage Naval Ravikant popularized the 5 Chimp Theory from zoology, which says you can deduce the mood and behavior of any single chimp by observing by which five chimps they hang out with the most.

The social media version of this is that we can predict how any user will behave on an app by the people they follow, the people who follow them, and the "space" they're forced to interact with those people in, be it a Facebook News Feed or Twitter Timeline or other architecture. We all know people who are the worst versions of themselves on social media. The fundamental attribution error predicts we'll think they're terrible by nature when they may just be responding to their environment and incentives.

Humans aren't chimps, we tend to juggle membership in dozens of different social groups at a time. Reed's Law predicts that the utility of networks scales exponentially because not only can each person in a network connect with every other node, but the number of possible subgroups is 2^N-N-1 where N is the number of people in that network.

But whether a social app allows such subgroups to form easily is a design problem. Monolithic feeds tend to force people into larger subgroups than is optimal for healthy interaction. While every user sees a different Twitter Timeline or Facebook News Feed, the illusion is still of a large public commons. Because anyone might see something you post, you should operate as if everyone will.

Messaging apps, in contrast, tend to allow users themselves to form the subgroups most relevant to them. Facebook Groups is a more flexible architecture than News Feed. Humans contain multitudes, and social apps should flex to their various communication privacy needs.

It's no surprise that many tech companies install Slack and then suddenly find themselves, shortly thereafter, dealing with employee uprisings. When you rewire the communications topology of any group, you alter the dynamic among the members. Slack's public channels act as public squares within companies, exposing more employees to each other's thoughts. This can lead to an employee finding others who share what they thought were minority opinions, like reservations about specific company policies. We're only now seeing how many companies operated in relative peace in the past in large part because of the privacy inherent in e-mail as a communications technology.

In many ways, graph design was always bound to be more important in Western social media now, in the year 2021, than in the early days of social media. In the early days of the internet, the public social graph was sparse to non-existent. For the most part, our graphs were limited to the email addresses we knew and the occasional username of someone in our favorite news groups. It's hard to explain to a generation that grew up with the internet what a secret thrill every new connection online was in the early days of the internet. How hard it was to track down someone online if all you knew was their name.

Today, we have more than enough ways to connect to just about anybody in the world. Adding someone to my address book feels almost unnecessary when I can likely reach any person with a smartphone and internet access any of a dozen ways.

In a world where finding someone online is a commodityOne sign that it is a commodity is that messaging apps, while massive, are for the most part lousy businesses that generate little in revenue. That's the financial profile you'd expect of a commodity business., the niftier trick is connecting to the right people in the right context. I have over a dozen messaging apps installed on my phone, they all look roughly the same. While I've discussed graph design largely defensively here—how to avoid mistakes in graph design—the positive view is to use graph design offensively. How do you craft a unique graph whose very structure encodes valuable, and more importantly, unique intelligence?

LinkedIn may be the social app Silicon Valley product people like to grouse about the most, but while many of the complaints are valid, its sizable market cap is testament to the value of its graph. It turns out if you map out the professional graph, not just today but also across long temporal and organizational dimensions, recruiters will pay a lot of money to traverse it.

For all the debate over whether our current social networks are good for society, I prefer to focus on the potential we've yet to realize. We have the miracle of Wikipedia, yes, but aren't there more types of mass scale collaboration to be enabled?

Every other week or so, I am introduced to someone amazing, or an account I've never heard of before that blows me away. That social networks themselves aren't facilitating these introductions leaves me less sad than hopeful. In a decade, today's social graphs will look like blunt instruments, so primitive were their configurations.

We'll also look back over that decade, see how many more amazing people we finally met at the right time and the right context, and realize that indeed, the real treasure was the friends we made along the way.

American Idle

I promised one final piece on TikTok, focused primarily on the network effects of creativity. And this is that, in part. But it discusses a bunch of other topics, some only tangentially related to TikTok.

All the points I wanted to cover seem hyperlinked in a sprawling loose tangle. This could easily have been several standalone posts. I've been stuck on how to structure it.

Some people find my posts too long. I’m sympathetic to the modern plague of shortened attention spans, but I also don’t want lazy readers. At the same time, this piece felt like it was missing a through line that would help pull a reader through.

And then I had a minor epiphany, or perhaps it was a moment of delusion. Either way, it provided an organizing conceit: I decided to write this piece in the style of the TikTok FYP feed. That is, a series of short bits, laid out vertically in a long scrolling feed.

This piece is long, but if you get bored in any one section, you can just scroll on the next one; they're separated by horizontal rules for easy visual scanning. You can also read them out of order. There are lots of cross-references, though, so if you skip some of the segments, others may not make complete sense. However, it’s ultimately not a big deal.

If I had more time, I might have built this essay as a series of full-screen cards that you could swipe from one to the next. Or perhaps tap from one to the next, like Robin Sloan’s tap essay (I wish there a way to export this piece into a form like that, if someone built that already let me know). And if I were even more ambitious, I would've used some Anki-like spaced repetition algorithm to randomize the order in which the following text chunks are presented to you, shuffling it each time a reader jumped in.The most meta way for me to ship this essay would have been as a series of TikTok videos. It would have been the Snowfall of TikTok essays. That would have also taken a year of my life (which, being locked inside because of a pandemic might be the time to attempt something like that?). Also, I am camera shy.

But as it is, this is what you get.


By network effects of creativity, I mean that every additional user on TikTok makes every other user more creative.

This exists in a weak form on every social network and on the internet at large. The connected age means we are exposed to so much from so many more people than at any point in human history. That can't help but compound creativity.

Various memes and trends pass around on networks like Instagram and Twitter. But there, you still have to create your own version of a meme from scratch, even if, on Twitter, it's as simple as copying and pasting.

But TikTok has a strong form of this type of network effect. They explicitly lower the barrier to the literal remixing of everyone else's content. In their app, they have a wealth of features that make it dead simple to grab any element from another TikTok and incorporate it into a new TikTok.


The barrier to entry in editing video is really high as anyone who has used a non-linear editor like Premiere or compositing software like After Effects can attest. TikTok abstracted a lot of formerly complex video editing processes into effects and filters that even an amateur can use.

Instagram launched one-click photo filters (after Hipstamatic, of course, though Hipstamatic lacked the feed which is like the spine of modern social apps), and later Instagram added additional features for editing Stories, and even some separate apps like Boomerang that were later re-incorporated back into Instagram as features.

Snapchat has a gazillion video filters, too, though many are what I think of as simple facial cosmetic FX.

YouTube has launched almost no creator tools of note ever. WTF.

TikTok launches seemingly a new video effect or filter every week. I regularly log in and see creators using some filter I've never heard of, and some of them are just flat out bonkers. What creators can accomplish with some of these filters I can't even fathom how I'd replicate in something like the Adobe Creative Suite.

Kili So Silly (@kili.so.silly) has created a short video on TikTok with music original sound. | #stitch with @xxelacxx #TimeWarpScan #fyp #foryou

JeremyLynch (@jeremylynch) has created a short video on TikTok with music Despicable Me (From "Despicable Me"). | This freaks me out watching it back 😅 #timewarp #timewarpchallenge

TikTok’s Warp Scan filter is a bizarre concept for a filter in and of itself, but the myriad of ways TikTok users put it to use just shows what happens when you throw random tools to the masses and allow for emergent creativity. It only takes a handful of innovators to unleash a meme tsunami.


A longstanding economics debate is why we haven't seen the effects of the internet in our productivity figures. I won't rehash every side of every argument there.

But I know this: to take someone else's video and insert a reaction video of my own playing alongside it on the same screen is not easy in a traditional NLE. I'm not saying it's the moon landing, but it's not trivial.

On TikTok, you can just press the Duet button and start talking into your phone, and soon you have a side-by-side of the original video and your reaction video (you can choose from any number of their preset layouts for reactions). That's an explicit productivity boost; I can measure it in time saved for the same output.

You won't see that show up in GDP per capita figures, but it's real.


Remember 2 Girls, 1 Cup? If you've seen it, how could you not?

What interested me was less the video, which just horrified me, but the reaction videos of people watching it. Because 2 Girls, 1 Cup was a short video, I think it was a minute or two long, you could simply watch the face of someone watching the video and sync every reaction to every horrific beat of the video now forever haunting your memory, even though the original video wasn't visible on screen. The fun of the 2 Girls 1 Cup reaction video, but reaction videos in general, is that shared context.

Until TikTok came along, there wasn't an easy way to do reaction videos to other videos and have them make sense unless the original video had so much distribution that it was common knowledge. Or you could put the reaction video alongside or on top of or beneath the original video, but that required skill in using a non-linear video editor to lay those out and synchronize their timelines.

With TikTok's Duet feature, you can instantly record a side-by-side reaction video to anyone else's video. Duet is the quote tweet of TikTok. Or you don't have to do a reaction video at all. The Duet feature is designed simply to allow you to record a video that will play back alongside another video. It can be used for reaction videos, sure, but also to just provide a running commentary on other videos, and there are entire accounts built around both concepts.

But again, the Duet feature is built at such a low level that you can treat the feature as a primitive to replicate any number of other editing tools.


One such tool is to use the Duet feature as a dynamic matte. Since you know where your video will be placed in relation to the original poster's video, you can build a video mosaic.


Another is to use the Duet feature to, well, literally record duets.

But if you allow Duets to stack, well, eventually, one Wellerman can bring the whole chorus to your yard.

Someone truly ambitious could adjust the playback speed of various levels of Inception from the film Inception and stack them and synchronize them in TikTok using the Duet feature. If I had more time I'd do this myself, but the time has come for some time-rich kid out there to take this on.


Knowing that others can Duet your video means you can post any number of videos as prompts.

For example, you can read one side of the dialogue in a two-hander.

sara (@saraecheagaray) has created a short video on TikTok with music 人生のメリーゴーランド (Jazzical Lounge ver.) [『ハウルの動く城』より]. | #duet with @thechrisbarnett NOW I can say my accent sucks #fyp #foryou #acting


Knowing that TikTok has a Stitch feature, you can also post a question in a video and expect that some number of people will use Stitch an answer to your question and distribute that as a new video.

A popular prompt is "Tell me you're X without telling me you're X" or any number of its variants like "Show me you're X without showing me you're X."

Stitch wasn't necessarily designed to be used in this way, but as a primitive it's well-suited to any number of uses, including making TikTok a sort of video Quora.


Video prompts can come from not only other TikTok videos but commenters.

Some TikTok videos are made in response to requests posted in the comments. The comment is excerpted and published as an on screen text overlay at the beginning of the response video.

This is another of the nested feedback loops within the global feedback loop that is the FYP talent show. Once one example of this went viral, then the entire community adopted this as one of the norms of the community.


The Daily Show with Jon Stewart was a show almost entirely built around the reaction video. Stewart would play some clip of a politician being a hypocrite, or some Fox News anchor spouting their usual performative indignation, and then the camera would cut back to Stewart, his face frozen in some emoji mask of shock: eyes wide, mouth agape.

Social networks, and entertainment networks like TikTok, have completed the work of democratizing reactions. Yes, there's no reason you need to react to everything. But it's human nature. This is the social contract of the social media era. If you dare to shout your opinion or publish your work to the masses, the masses can choose to shout back.

Gossip litigates and fleshes out the boundaries of acceptable behavior within groups. Whereas gossip used to be contained, social networks now give it global distribution. This is one reason of many we've seen in-group and out-group boundaries drawn in bolder weight in this era. For every wide-eyed look of horror by Jon Stewart, you had the furrowed brow of disbelief that is Tucker Carlson's signature look, like someone in his elevator car passed gas.

Now extend that to clapbacks on the internet and you have a world in which back-channel gossip, a useful release valve and distribution channel for information about our peers, has become an open dialogue. The grapevine became the public feed, and every day, kangaroo court is in session.


TikTok's Duet feature belongs in the social media hall of fame of primitives alongside features like Follow and the Like button.

What feature better epitomizes the remix, react culture of the internet? Paul Ford once wrote that "Why Wasn't I Consulted?" is the fundamental question of the web. By then, social networks were well on their way to taking over from the web, and in the process, installing the plumbing by which the masses could finally directly opine to the masses, who could, in return, directly consult back. The "reply guy" is the consultant class of the internet, and mansplaining is its verb.

Yes, there are quote tweets and replies, but the TikTok Duet is the video analog, so simple and elegant in its design that you wonder why YouTube didn't launch it ten years ago, and then you remember that YouTube hasn't launched any creator tools of note since...ever.


What the Duet feature does, as described by how it would be done in a traditional non-linear editing program like Adobe Premiere, is the following:

  1. Copies the original file
  2. Inserts a new video track and a new audio track on top of the originals
  3. Allows you to lay down a new video on those new tracks
  4. Performs a whole series of steps to arrange the videos side-by-side on screen

TikTok abstracts a bunch of steps into a single function.


Yes, yes, some of these features in TikTok came from Musical.ly. But that's just a meta form of the theme of this piece! TikTok sampled from Musical.ly and improved upon it. They remixed a remix app.

But also, isn't this how innovation happens? We stand on the shoulder of giants and all that? Good artists copy, great artists steal?

TikTok enables, for video and audio, the type of combinatorial evolution that Brian Arthur describes as the underlying mechanism of the tech industry's innovation.


How many truly original ideas are there in Silicon Valley? Very few. Most have been tried umpteenth times in the past. Much of finding product-market fit in tech is context and timing. And people always underestimate the market side of product-market fit. When something fails, people tend to blame the product, but we should blame the market more often. The pull of the market is usually as important, if not more so, than the push from a product.

One day, the conditions are finally right, and an idea that has failed ten times before suddenly breaks out. Sometimes it's a tweak in execution, maybe it's an advance in complementary or enabling technology, sometimes it's a cultural shift.

Most of the best ideas in tech first appeared in science fiction books in the 1960s, and many of those are still waiting for their time to come. This is why rejecting companies that are trying something that's been tried before is so dangerous. It's lazy pattern-matching.

I do like Jeff Bezos' principle on when he decides to finally give up on an idea: "When the last smart person in the room gives up on the idea." But it also implies that you should bring some ideas back when a new smart person, or maybe a naive overconfident one, enters the room and champions the idea.


Given we know innovation compounds as more ideas from more people collide, it's stunning how many tech firms, even ones that ostensibly tout the value of openness, have launched services that do a better job of letting their users exchange ideas than any internal tool does for their own employees’ ideas.

How many employees join a firm and then spend a week in orientation learning where to get lunch, how to file expense reports, mundane trivialities like that. How many sessions are led by random trainers who don't even work at the company?

If you think of a company as an organism, and new employees as new brain cells, it's staggering how many join the company and begin from an absolute cold start. It's as if the company has chronic amnesia. What has the company learned from its past, what is its culture? When employees take months or even years to get up to speed at a company, companies should be embarrassed. Instead, it's treated as normal.

The free flow of ideas outside a company shouldn't, or in apps like TikTok, shouldn't exceed the rate at which knowledge flows inside a company, but I see it happen time and again.


The toughest job for any creative is the cold start. The blinking cursor on the blank page in a new document. Granted, writing a tweet, or even shooting an Instagram photo, isn't like composing the great American novel. But we tend to underrate the extent to which new users often churn without having ever posted anything to a social network because we only focus on those who do.

Now imagine trying to make a TikTok from scratch if you're older than, say, 19. The creative bar is high, you don't know how to dance, you're not up on the latest memes or popular music. Even if you're a teen, it's not easy to come up with a 0 to 1 TikTok.

But the beauty of TikTok's FYP algorithm and the Discover page is that you don't have to create a TikTok from scratch. The vast majority of TikToks are riffs on memes and trends that other users originate. It's no shame to be a 1 to n TikToker. Many on the platform achieve their first viral hit riffing on an existing meme.

Charli didn't invent the Renegade dance, Jalaiah Harmon did, but Charli made it famous. A lot of Charli and Addison's most popular TikToks are their interpretation of dances other people choreographed to songs other people composed.The ongoing debate on cultural appropriation seems to have no end in sight, but at least on TikTok there is a chance, with time stamps and some of the literal links the app creates between videos, to trace the origin of memes more easily.


Richard Dawkins introduced the term meme in his classic The Selfish Gene, defining it as a unit of information that spreads via imitation. He noted that memes evolve via natural selection just as in evolution. This memetic evolution happens via the same mechanisms as biological evolution, via variation, mutation, competition, and inheritance.

The internet writ large has always been fertile ground for the accelerated breeding of memes (cue toothless old prospector: "Back in my day sonny boy we had to spread memes via email chain letters"). But the TikTok app is perhaps the most evolved meme ecosystem to date.


Assisted evolution occurs when humans intervene to accelerate the pace of natural evolution.

TikTok is a form of assisted evolution in which humans and machine learning algorithms accelerate memetic evolution. The FYP algorithm is TikTok's version of selection pressure, but it's aided by the feedback of test audiences for new TikToks.

Memes can start from almost anything on TikTok. It can be the lyrics of a song, or just the vibe of a track, or both. A user can post a question or a challenge. In a single session on TikTok, you'll find videos of all types, most being riffs on existing memes (the variation).

Regardless of the provenance, any video, once loaded into TikTok, is subject to the assisted evolutionary forces in the app. Software tools like the Duet or Stitch feature and all of TikTok's other video editing tools assist in mutation and inheritance, and each remix of a source video becomes a source video for others to remix, generating further variation. Meanwhile, the competition on the FYP feed is fierce, and the survivors of that extreme selection pressure are memes of uncommon fitness.


In this assisted evolutionary ecosystem that is TikTok, and with an...umm...assist from the pandemic that kept hundreds of millions of people locked inside scrolling their phones, we've seen a marked contraction in the half-life of memes.

Memes used to dominate TikTok for what felt like weeks, and now it seems the memetic zeitgeist on TikTok shifts every few days, if not nightly. If I don't check back on TikTok every day, I find myself scrambling to catch up to the meta when I finally do open the app.


Of course, people grab TikToks and share them on YouTube or Twitter or as Reels on Instagram, but those apps receive flattened video files and can’t break them into component parts to be remixed the way you can on TikTok. Those other services are fine endpoints for distribution, but the creativity happens on TikTok. Don't get me started on apps like Triller (which feels like a Ponzi scheme).

People will litigate Instagram copying Snapchat's Stories feature until the end of time, but the fact is that format wasn't ever going to be some defensible moat. Ephemerality is a clever new dimension on which to vary social media, but it's easily copiable.

This is why TikTok's network effects of creativity matter. To clone TikTok, you can't just copy any single feature. It's all of that, and not just the features, but how users deploy them and how the resultant videos interact with each other on the FYP feed. It's replicating all the feedback loops that are built into TikTok's ecosystem, all of which are interconnected. Maybe you can copy some of the atoms, but the magic lives at the molecular level.

TikTok has a a series of flywheels that interconnect, and there isn't any single feature you can copy to recreate the ecosystem. Meanwhile, Reels has to try to compete while being one of like a half dozen things jammed into the Instagram app.


Markets in the internet and technology age are conducive to winner-take-all effects thanks to preferential attachment. This means that if you are first to stumble upon some flywheelMany like my friend Kevin use the term loops. I use flywheel merely to indicate I'm referring to positive feedback loops since loops can also be negative feedback. Also, I had to make that damn Amazon flywheel diagram for way too many presentations back in the day, it's mounted on a wall in my brain. in your business, the returns are even greater and accumulate more quickly than they would've in any other era in history.

Building a flywheel, though, often requires connecting a series of features at once. When I advise various companies, big and small, I often run into objections to my recommendations because of the popularity of agile or other incremental development philosophies. We end up at loggerheads on the V of MVP (minimum viable product), V having always been contextually determined.

If a flywheel requires three or four or even more things to connect in your app, it takes more work to ship all of them at once, and that feels like a riskier expenditure of your team's time. But, I'd counter: 1) often, testing a flywheel by definition means you have to build multiple features that work together 2) the returns of achieving a flywheel are often so high as to be worth the risk and 3) if you don't achieve any flywheels you are, as investor updates are so fond of saying, default dead.


Instagram famously has never had its version of resharing (e.g. retweeting). This reduced the velocity of photos and later videos on the service, a sort of brake on spam and misinformation and other possible such downsides.

But after using TikTok, it does feel odd to go through Instagram and not be able to grab anyone's photo to remix. Imagine you could grab someone's photo and apply your own filters, or grab just one element of the photo and use it in your photo.

Once we all live in the metaverse, this type of infinite replication and remixability will be something we take for granted, but even now, we're starting to see an early version of it on TikTok. This type of native remixability feels like it will be table stakes in future creative networks.


Fanfic is one text version of sampling and remixing. It doesn't require much more than your imagination.

It's always been really expensive, in both time and legal costs, to sample and remix film and television. TikTok has, with its short video format and tools, made remixing of premium video easier and safer. In Harry Potter TikTok, and its sub-genus Draco Malfoy TikTok, creators pull from the repository of the Harry Potter film universe as if it were on GitHub and merge themselves into branching storylines in which, well, creators become students at Hogwarts and catch the romantic interests of one Draco Malfoy.


The Discover page acts as the Fed in the central economy of memes on TikTok, while the FYP algorithm is the interest rate on meme distribution.

The Discover Page features hashtags. By the very act of featuring a hashtag, they signal to creators that if they create using that hashtag, they will get the distribution boost of that hashtag being featured on the Discover Page. Which raises the age-old conundrum, which came first, the Discover Page hashtag placement, or the hashtag's trending? The answer is yes. It's circular, an ouroboros of virality.

TikTok also posts the number of collective views on videos with that hashtag, helping creators gauge the potential distribution value of climbing aboard that trend.

TikTok is a mix of a centrally planned economy and a free market, much like many multiplayer video games where the game publisher manages the price and availability of various assets like weapons and armor while the players put them to use in the virtual economy.

The Discover Page is also where TikTok will feature corporate challenges. Yes, it's a paid placement, but the creative output is collective and distributed.


Because the most popular memes get super-distribution via the FYP algorithm, you can assume common knowledge of the meme among your viewers and just cut to the punchline. You don't need a bunch of what would be the video equivalent of exposition upfront. This keeps the majority of videos on TikTok compact, critical to the high cadence of the FYP feed. TikTok feels fast. Almost manic.

It also gives viewers that hit of in-group dopamine when they already know the references in your video.


If you don't understand a TikTok video and its references, you can trace the provenance from within the app in any number of ways. You can follow the hashtags in the caption or tap the sound icon and see all the other videos which have been made in that meme branch. Often that's enough to derive the context.

Or you can just read the comments. You'll find you usually aren't alone, someone will almost always have posted a comment like "In here before the smart people arrive" and then below that will be comments that explain the video to everyone else.


The internet, and the assumption of the internet, allowed for more complex and long linear narratives in television, shows like Lost and Game of Thrones. The assumption of Know Your Meme, or just knowledgeable commenters in the TikTok comments, allows for less expository and more compact, obscure TikToks. TikTok comments are a form of distributed annotation.


This technique of offloading the setup for a joke to the internet allows TikTok's, or even Tweets or Instagram posts to take on a form of what I call compressed narrative.

The old format of a joke, with a setup—A man walks into the doctor's office wearing only underwear made of Saran wrap—and then the punchline—and the doctor said "I can clearly see your nuts."—is dead. The internet killed the "joke."

Instead, the internet is mostly punchline, with the barest of setup, if any. It's on you to know the context. Go Google it.

And if you still don't get it, you weren't meant to.


An example is the "I ain't ever seen two pretty best friends" meme that went around on TikTok for a hot minute and has since just become a base trope of the TikTok creative universe. Videos started taking more and more circuitous routes to end with that punchline, throwing all sorts of sleight of hands before dropping it, out of nowhere, like an M. Night Shyamalan film twist.

If you hadn't heard of the meme or didn't know the reference, these videos would be complete mysteries. Even now, if you don't know what I'm talking about, this section will make no sense. Nor will comments like "We found the two pretty best friends" on various videos.


One of the better pieces I read last year was this on the death of political humor in the age of Trump. My favorite turn of phrase from the piece is that "Irony in politics, meanwhile, has reversed its polarity." David Foster Wallace predicted the death of irony, of cynicism, after an initial boom when the internet was coming of age. The lament of the humorist is that figures like Trump are beyond the reach of irony because they are already satires of themselves.I often lament when I refer to as fortune cookie Twitter, and to combat this, I think Twitter should set up a GPT-3 bot that constantly trains on each account, and the moment most of your followers can no longer distinguish between the GPT-3 spoof of your account and your actual account, you should be forced to vacate your account and allow the GPT-3 bot to replace you. You will have literally become a parody of yourself. Also, if for some reason I ever hacked my way into a famous person's account, my goal would not to be to request BTC or post something offensive. Instead, my goal would be to post a tweet that so resembles their voice that no one, not even the person who owned that account, could tell. They'd just think, wow, that's strange, I don't remember posting that, but it is something I'd post, so ¯_(ツ)_/¯

To me, humor has always depended on creating a gap and then helping your audience to hurdle it. In a traditional joke, the gap is the space between the setup and the punchline. When the audience's mind comprehends the joke, they soar across that gap, and the exhilaration is released as laughter. You don't want to carry them across, you want to do just enough to let them take that last leap themselves.

A comedian like Chris Rock will take something from real life and just point out the hidden social truth beneath it, and your mind gets that dopamine hit of acknowledging a social fiction that you'd otherwise observe without question. Like Moses, comedians part the sea of taboo and let you stroll through, laughing all the way at being able to get away with it.

Pre-cancellation Louis C.K. also lived in this space, exposing something of your nature that you were embarrassed to acknowledge. Either he'd absolve you of your shame by absorbing it all himself in a performance of self-loathing, or he'd just forgive you that fault by making it seem universal. Comedians let you look at yourself from outside yourself, creating a gap between you and your own nature.

Trump killed humor by closing that gap entirely, becoming such a parody of himself that shows like Veep seemed less dark satire than some form of fatuous cosplay even though they came first.

But humor is not so easily killed. You just need new ways to restore the comedic gap. Much of TikTok humor is oblique in form, making references that flatter you if you understand them and puzzle you if you don't. But for the latter, you then must set off on a journey to traverse that gap. And when you've completed that journey, you get the delayed satisfaction of getting the joke but also the pleasure of now being in the in-group.

But more sophisticated creators can also play with that expectation, setting off on what seems like a familiar meme, then subverting audience expectations.


Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, from the same parent company Bytedance, provides an interesting contrast in the styles of humor between China and America.

A lot of comedic videos in China use a laugh track sound effect. I can't remember the last time I heard a laugh track in a TikTok.

I want to draw some conclusion here, but I don't feel confident enough. Someone more familiar with the cultural differences in Chinese and American humor might clarify this for me.


Netflix brings international programs to the U.S. TikTok brings some Chinese programming to the States also.

TikToker @funcolle makes a sort of hyper-compressed episodic detective series that is filmed in China and spoken in Mandarin, but it works on U.S. TikTok thanks to onscreen subtitles. The sound she uses is, by now, as memorable to me as the theme song to any number of popular TV series like Game of Thrones.

If you can't solve these really short single TikTok video mysteries, you can turn to the comments section to get help from all the other viewers who've pored over the videos in detail and raced to post the solution.

One measure of a platform's power is the number of things people make with it that you had never been made before. Every week, I find videos on TikTok that I can't imagine having been made on any other app.

Funcolle (@funcolle) has created a short video on TikTok with music original sound. | Anything wrong with this room? Come on, my detectives!#foryou


On TikTok, the comments have become creative terrain in their own right. Somewhere along the line, riffing on someone else's TikTok no longer required you to make a TikTok. Instead, you can just go into the comments and tack on a punchline to the punchline of the video and rack up hundreds of thousands of likes. Writing the most clever comment on a TikTok video has become its own art form.

I can't remember the last time I watched a good TikTok video without then opening up the comments to see what the peanut gallery came up with. Sometimes I read the comments before even finishing the video. TikTok's method of ranking comments almost always surfaces the best and most relevant comments to the top. However you feel about a video, it's uncanny how often one of the top five comments encapsulates it perfectly.

It's difficult in a video to feel the presence of other viewers in a tangible, meaningful way. The Twitch comment bar gives you a visible if somewhat bewildering waterfall of text as evidence of their presence, and the hearts on something like an Instagram Live or the bullet comments on Bilibili videos do the same.

TikTok comments, though, feel ike they extend the canvas of the video. Just as talent shows like The Voice require both contestants and voices to work, more and more it feels as if the TikTok experience is about watching the performers and then listening to the judges (all of us viewers) render their opinions via the comments. There isn't one Simon Cowell on TikTok, but in any comments section of any TikTok video, someone will play that role.

Never read the comments. Unless you're on TikTok, in which case, always read the comments.


Reading the comments on TikTok serves a communal function. It's like hearing the laughter of the crowd at a comedy show.

One of the existential challenges of life is truly connecting with other people's thoughts. Who can ever know that series of emotions and thoughts and dreams we call our consciousness? True human connection seems always out of grasp.

The pandemic exacerbates that sense of isolation. When most of our interactions are with flat faces on video screens, it feels either like we're living in a simulation or some solipsistic nightmare.

Before I check the comments on a TikTok I've just watched, I almost always have a strong reaction to that video. That's why opening the comments and finding that one of the first few comments perfectly encapsulates your reaction, then seeing it already has tens or hundreds of thousands of likes, is so comforting. This confirmation of a shared response creates, asynchronously, a passing score on a form of the Voight-Kampff test. It's a checksum on your humanity.

Many comments have begun using the inclusive second person singular, literally speaking for the rest of the viewers. These comments often begin with "POV:" as in "POV: You're lying bed at 2am scrolling TikTok." It's presumptive, and yet the best TikToks evoke such a consistent multiple-choice checklist of responses that it's rare the times I can think of an original comment that isn't already posted above the fold.


The sense of collective response in TikTok comments and the publicly visible view and like counts have been around long enough that users now assume enough others have encountered enough of the same memes despite everyone's FYP algorithm being tailored to their individual tastes. Many a comment on a viral TikTok will read like "Oh we're back here again."

Though I have said that TikTok isn't a social network—I don't know most people on the app, I don't have to follow anyone to have a good experience—the algorithm does create, through its efficient sorting, a sense of traveling through subcultural neighborhoods as you scroll down one TikTok at a time.

Users have adopted spatial or geographic language to describe this sense of shared viewing spaces. Various subcultures are described by appending -tok or TikTok behind a descriptor. Someone commenting on a particularly high-quality video might say "I've finally gotten Premium TikTok." People share weird niches they're on by saying things like "I'm deep into carpet cleaning tok" or "I don't know how but I've found music theory tok." Sometimes it's just one word, like "Sportstok or Liberaltok." Tok has almost come to be a suffix meaning "neighborhood" or "community," almost like Disney uses -land to describe themed areas in its parks like Frontierland or Tomorrowland.

Of course, we're all just in our FYP feeds, which just scrolls up endlessly, so it isn't an actual space. But we trust the visible view counts as evidence FYP is doing its job getting many of us with the same tastes in front of the same videos, and so this evidence of common knowledge creates a liminal third place that exists [waves hands at the air in front of me] out there.

I’ve tended to think of social networks as being built by people assembling a graph of people bottoms up, but perhaps I’ve been too narrow-minded. TikTok might not qualify by that definition, but it feels social, with FYP as village matchmaker.


There's been a lot written on Warner Media's decision to move some films from theatrical only windows to having a concurrent release on HBO Max. A lot of conclusions were drawn about theatrical's future based on Wonder Woman 84’s Christmas premiere in theaters and on HBO Max day-and-date. A lot of it is the usual knee jerk extrapolation that the internet is famous for, despite confounding circumstances like a pandemic, and despite Wonder Woman 84 being a single data point.

But one thing I'm confident of is that something is lost in not having the audible feedback of a hundred or more humans around you when you watch something, especially from genres that are built to elicit frequent emotional feedback, like comedies and horror films. At some point, perhaps we'll crack the nut on social viewing and how to make it more, umm, social, but for now, pre-VR metaverse, it's a shoddy facsimile of a crowd.

Look, I've streamed my share of concerts during this past year, and I don't miss standing for an hour between sets in a crowded club or bar, nursing a $9 beer in a plastic cup, waiting for my band of choice to get on stage.

And yet, I miss standing in that bar, my shoes sticking to the beer-soaked floor, trying to look at ease in my own skin while gawking at other humans.


In a year where we've been trapped inside for nearly a year now, there's something about the chaotic collectivist media art form that is TikTok that felt most joyful and genuine.

Thumbing through the FYP feed one portrait-oriented rectangle at a time felt like swiping from one bedroom window to the next on a tall skyscraper, peering into one user's bedroom after another (literally, as the bedroom is the most common space in which teens do their creative work). It's like a Chris Ware comic strip, with its architectural design, navigated one window pane at a time.

Because it's full screen, it can feel like my phone screen is literally a rectangular porthole. As if one user after another is hijacking my rear-facing camera and turning it into their rear or front-facing camera.

There's something about media like TikTok or ChatRoulette or Omegle, where so much of what you see is a creator directly addressing the camera, breaking the fourth wall from the start, that is immediately intimate.


One thing I wish TikTok would do is make it easier to trace multi-part videos from creators. Nothing drives me crazier than videos that end with "Stay tuned for Part 2" or "Like for Part 2" and then you spend like ten minutes browsing their profile trying to find the second part.

I understand that it's a sort of view count hack on the part of creators, but some videos do need to be broken up across installments. TikTok needs to add some sort of concept of a pointer or link to make it easier to jump directly to the next installment in a series. Perhaps it could be done via a playlist feature.

For now, the best way to trace linked videos is to visually scan the thumbnails on a person's profile and search for onscreen text reading "Part #" or just click on every video with the same visual grammar, the user in the same outfit in the same room with the same lighting.

(Since I wrote the note above, the app has added a way to highlight, on a creator's profile page, the video you just watched, and since videos are sorted reverse chronologically by creation date on the profile, often part II can be found next to the video you just watched, which is handy).


In another example of the community coming up with creative solutions, commenters on the first in a multi-part video series where the next part has yet to be published will now leave a comment saying that they'll promise to tag people who like their comment once the next installment is posted. In other words, users are serving as Mechanical Turk notification bots.


Another feature I wish TikTok would add is the ability to sort by descending popularity on any grid of videos, like on sound or profile pages. Please.


TikTok's needs to improve its search ranking algorithm. Trying to find popular TikTok's I remembered seeing back in the day was much harder than it should have been using TikTok's native search. A couple that I wanted to use I just couldn't locate, and even Google and YouTube didn't turn them up (a thing you realize after trying to do it more than once is how hard it is to create a comprehensible search query for certain TikTok's).


Network effects are powerful, but there are so many distinct types. It's important to understand exactly what type of network effect you have because they all scale and operate differently.

For example, Dunbar's number is just one form of limit on a very specific type of network effect. But there are dozens and dozens of network effects, all with their distinct quirks. Someone could make a lot of money just making a reference book of the taxonomy of network effect varietals in the world.

TikTok is an extreme experiment in not only making creative network effects endogenous to its app but to the medium of video. Like some video Minecraft, almost everything in the app is a replicable chunk of bits that you can combine into a larger configuration of bits, and the resulting creation becomes, itself, a chunk that anyone can take and splice or mutate or combine however they want.

This is anathema to old media, most of whom have spent hundreds of millions of dollars to lock up their content behind copyright law, DRM, and any number of other mechanisms meant to slow the rate of reproduction and iteration of their work. It has the effect of slowing the evolutionary feedback loops on all of that work.

TikTok's "OODA loop" is collective and distributed, and it spins thousands of times faster than that of big media.


When I first joined the Amazon Web Services team in 2003, it was still a small Jeff Bezos-sponsored project. There were only some 15 people or so on the team at the time under the leadership of now Amazon CEO Andy Jassy.

A book Jeff had us read, one which he said should serve as an inspiration for how we'd design AWS, was Creation: Life and How to Make It by Steve Grand. It's a book about programming artificial life, but the core principle that Jeff wanted us to take from it was the idea that complex things like life forms are built from very simple building blocks or primitives. It's the same thesis as that in Stephen Wolfram's A New Kind of Science.

The key implication for AWS from the book was about how to design the first AWS primitives. Jeff urged us to include only what was necessary and nothing more. If you were designing a storage service, like S3, you'd need functions like get, write, delete, but you wouldn't want to layer in things that weren't part of storage, like security. That should be a separate primitive.

The reason to design your primitives with the utmost elegance is to maximize combinatorial optionality.


This is one of the most elegant things about TikTok's design. It includes a ton of primitives, and they are almost all ones you can combine or link.

More than that, every element in a TikTok is a building block you can replicate and use in your own TikTok. The most important of these is the soundtrack or sound of your TikTok.


Be careful of taking this idea of building primitives too far. In many ways, choosing what level of abstraction to stake your ground on is one of the most important questions any company must answer.

The answer is contextual. Abstract at too high a level and someone can come in beneath you, with something like AWS. In some ways this is a form of disruption.

Build at too low a level, however, and often someone will abstract at a level above you and siphon all the value of that market above your product. Many of TikTok’s filters are abstractions of a lot of things, almost like Lightroom Presets. As many of us learned early in this pandemic, maybe paying a few bucks for a loaf of bread is preferable to having to spend hours of our free time mastering baking.


When I think about modern remix culture and apps like TikTok, I often think back to Mixel, an app designer Khoi Vinh launched years ago. It was an iPad collage app.

In his blog post introducing Mixel, Vinh wrote:

Because of the componentized nature of collage, we can add new social dimensions that aren’t currently possible in any other network, art-based or not. Mixel keeps track of every piece of every collage, regardless of who uses it or how it’s been cropped. That means, in a sense, that the image pieces within Mixel have a social life of their own. Anyone can borrow or re-use any other piece; you’re free to peruse all the collages (we call them “mixels”) and pick up literally any piece and use it in your own mixel. If you don’t like the crop, the full, unedited original is stored on the server, so you can open it back up in an instant and cut out just the parts you like. Mixel can even show you everywhere else a particular image has been used, so you can follow it throughout the network to see how other people have cropped it and combined it with other elements.

The thread view turns collaging into a visual conversation, where anyone can remix anyone else’s work.


Though Mixel is no longer around, what he describes presages modern meme culture and TikTok.

Inherent to digital culture is the remix.


In Mark Ronson's TED Talk on How Sampling Transformed Music, he says:

That's what the past 30 years of music has been. That's the major thread. See, 30 years ago, you had the first digital samplers, and they changed everything overnight. All of a sudden, artists could sample from anything and everything that came before them, from a snare drum from the Funky Meters, to a Ron Carter bassline, the theme to "The Price Is Right." Albums like De La Soul's "3 Feet High and Rising" and the Beastie Boys' "Paul's Boutique" looted from decades of recorded music to create these sonic, layered masterpieces that were basically the Sgt. Peppers of their day. And they weren't sampling these records because they were too lazy to write their own music. They weren't sampling these records to cash in on the familiarity of the original stuff. To be honest, it was all about sampling really obscure things, except for a few obvious exceptions like Vanilla Ice and "doo doo doo da da doo doo" that we know about. But the thing is, they were sampling those records because they heard something in that music that spoke to them that they instantly wanted to inject themselves into the narrative of that music. They heard it, they wanted to be a part of it, and all of a sudden they found themselves in possession of the technology to do so, not much unlike the way the Delta blues struck a chord with the Stones and the Beatles and Clapton, and they felt the need to co-opt that music for the tools of their day. You know, in music we take something that we love and we build on it.


One of the most revolutionary aspects of TikTok is how effortless it makes it to sample or interpolate any other TikTok video.


Anyone who's used a non-linear editor like Adobe Premiere, Final Cut Pro, or Avid Media Composer knows the standard multi-pane interface. And any editor knows that editing begins with importing all the media, the shots from dailies, the temp music, and so on, into your media bin. From there, you drag elements onto the timeline to compose the edit.

Much of the pain of creating memes is gathering all the components, like images, from the web. In the modern networked age, though, the media bin should really just be the entirety of the internet. Anything you want should just be a short search away. We're starting to get closer, though the library of material is still sparse, and many pieces, especially video, still require chasing down.

Someday, any sort of remix will just be a GPT-3 like interface away from composing. You'll just be able to write "This is Fine cartoon but the dog's face is Donald Trump" and it will just spit it out for you. If you're building this, please let me know, I'll write you a seed check.


The Verge interviewed a TikTok beatmaker named Ricky Desktop.

What makes a great TikTok beat?

You need concrete, sonic elements that dancers can visually engage with on a person-by-person basis. I know that sounds super scientific, but that is how I think about it. If you’re trying to make a viral beat, it’s got to correspond with the viral dance.

In order to lock in on that, you need elements of the music to hit. So for example, I have this beat called “The Dice Beat.” I added a flute sound, which in my head was like, “Okay, people will pretend to play the flute.” And then there’s the dice sound, where they’ll roll the dice. It was super calculated. I would create the music with the dance in mind.

I developed this little pattern. I pioneered the “triple woah” thing where in all the beats there’s three kicks — bum-bum-bum. So typically, when the bass drop hits, the dancers will do the woah (ed: an accentuated arm and elbow movement popular in TikTok dances) to emphasize the bass drop. Usually, the beat will keep going after that. But what I did, I would add three more bass hits, super calculated, so that dancers could do the woah three times or do three concrete dance accents.


The woah inspired Ricky Desktop to develop a score for the triple woah which then actually inspired dancers to choreograph and perform an actual triple woah.

Can you program human movement with music? It turns out you can. You use an API called TikTok. That's delightful.


TikTok beatmaker Ricky Desktop pictured, in his head, dancers performing some movement. Then he wrote a piece of music that included a musical cue intended to elicit that exact movement.

Then, later, some dancers on TikTok performed the movement he had pictured, exactly at the moment he had inserted the musical prompt. It's not just that he choreographed the human body via music, but how he did it. Ricky Desktop is a marionettist manipulating human bodies not via strings but music.


Ricky Desktop:

So I would post my beat and say, “Anyone trying to help me make this beat go viral?” Or I would say, “Who’s gonna create a dance to this new banger?” I’m giving an action item to whoever’s watching. And that’s important because it gives the person watching something to do.


The message is in the medium. That is, Ricky Desktop issues these to-dos inside of the video he uses to release his various sounds.


Ricky Desktop:

What makes a great TikTok beat?

You need concrete, sonic elements that dancers can visually engage with on a person-by-person basis. I know that sounds super scientific, but that is how I think about it. If you’re trying to make a viral beat, it’s got to correspond with the viral dance.

In order to lock in on that, you need elements of the music to hit. So for example, I have this beat called “The Dice Beat.” I added a flute sound, which in my head was like, “Okay, people will pretend to play the flute.” And then there’s the dice sound, where they’ll roll the dice. It was super calculated. I would create the music with the dance in mind.


In filmmaking, when you want a score for your film, you bring the latest cut of your film to a composer's studio, and they start riffing based on what they see on screen, incorporating some of the themes you're trying to evoke in that scene.

What Ricky Desktop talks about above is a different process in which he scores to visuals that only exist in his imagination, generic dance tropes like "pretend to play the flute".

This is a form of "inverted scoring." Or, if you prefer to go from the other direction, what TikTok dancers do with sounds is "visualizing."

The program WinAmp used to do software visualizations of music. TikTok is like Mechanical Turk for visualizing music.


If you've watched any amount of TikTok, you've doubtless seen someone answering questions by dancing and pointing to floating text overlays.

Now, they could easily just speak the questions and answer them verbally. There's no reason to have to dance to music while answering the questions.

To which I say, no one knows what it means, but it's provocative, it gets the people going!

Kylie Jenner (@kyliejenner) has created a short video on TikTok with music original sound. | i'm still a supermodel on the inside | INSTAGRAM MODEL | SUPERMODEL | DADS FAV MOMS FAV | ...

This is one of many TikTok survey or poll formats, all devised by the users. On one hand, there are simpler ways to share this information. On the other hand, this is much more entertaining than a Twitter poll.


On the other hand, maybe all this choreographed dancing is something more of us should be doing to make our messages land. A teacher went viral on TikTok this year for filming herself trying to teach her class remotely over Zoom. Seeing her precise and broad gestures paired with her sharply articulated speech, you couldn't help but feel empathy for what a burden we've placed on our teachers, trying to make remote classes engaging over Zoom.

But perhaps we just lose some of our childlike exuberance and joy expressiveness as we age? Perhaps if we were more animated in our delivery, more people would remember what we said.

One of the most common weaknesses among managers and leaders is the illusion of transparency, though it is a problem for most people. It is the tendency to overestimate how much people know what you're thinking. It can ruin marriages or relationships, and it leads to a healthy market for therapy.

Young children have the a strong form of this illusion which is why in early childhood they are so frustrated when you don't understand why they're upset (and parents are likewise just as exasperated that their children can't verbalize why they're freaking out). Until later in life, children think you should know exactly what they're feeling, and it takes a bit of coaxing to tease out their inner emotional state. Ironically, despite their illusion of transparency, kids tend to be much more emotionally transparent and thus expressive.

It's when they finally realize that no one can see into their heads that they learn to lie. It's then that you wish they still had the illusion of transparency. When they become teenagers, the battle over transparency into their lives becomes literal: parents yell at their teenagers to keep their bedroom doors open, and those same doors slam shut after heated arguments. Their bedrooms become, like their thoughts, spaces they wish to protect from prying eyes.

This is all a roundabout way to say that a CEO communicating a company's top goal for the coming year in a TikTok dance, pointing to on-screen captions, isn't the worst idea in the world? Maybe this is the new Amazon 6-page memo.


Study any high-level memory competitor and they'll all say the same thing. Humans' visual memories are far superior to their memories for abstractions. It's one of the core lessons from the great book Moonwalking with Einstein. It's the reason people who have to try to memorize a thousand digits of pi or the order of a deck of cards turn numbers and letters into images which they place spatially in memory palaces.

In its heyday, which coincided with my childhood, MTV was dominated by music videos, and each of those was essentially a visualization of a musical track. To this day, I can't hear a song like A-Ha's "Take on Me" without picturing its music video. I haven't seen it in decades, but its cartoon sketches come to life are forever how I "see" the song. Likewise, I can't hear Michael Jackson's Thriller without conjuring its epic music video of nearly 14 minutes.

It doesn't even have to be a music video. A song incorporated in a film can permanently bond with the moving images on the screen. For example, I can't hear three tracks, one each by Huey Lewis, Genesis, and Whitney Houston, respectively, without picturing Christian Bale and quoting Patrick Bateman, and then being filled with a sense of self-loathing for having been indicted as someone who turns to the appreciation of cultural artifacts as a substitute for personality. If I mention Celine Dion's song "My Heart Will Go On," what do you see in your mind's eye?

TikTok is the modern MTV because (1) it increases consumption of music tracks that go viral on its platform as sounds and (2) any number of songs will forever summon the accompanying meme and visual choreography from my memory.


When Charli and other TikTokers formed the Hype House in Los Angeles, they were experimenting with IRL creative network effects. They created what was efffectively a commune to produce the D'Amelio TikTok Universe with Charli at the center as, I don't know, Tony Stark or something.

They started guest-starring in each other's TikTok's, some of them started dating and hooking up, and soon, to follow the entire extended narrative, you had to follow each other's accounts. Studios have tried to push out fictional versions of such networked series, but Charli et al just created it bottoms up, with TikTok as the distributor.

The Kardashian-Jenner clan are the clear predecessors who ran this type of crossover mindshare grab, but they're family. This new generation of influencers often aren't related, their common bond is just that they're young and famous in the age of social media and so they already all live together in a virtual universe held together by the gravity of popularity.


In Status as a Service, I wrote about how social networks require some proof of work to gain status.

A lot of TikTok's have the caption "I spent way too long on this" as a sort of plea for likes, but that wouldn't land if the proof of work wasn't visible on the screen. It is, and even non-creators can see it. Some TikToks seem like they took days to produce.


Have you tried using the in-app TikTok video editor? In some ways, it's loaded with really first-rate filters and effects, but in many ways, its user interface is inscrutable. I went to editing school and have used a variety of non-linear editors (NLEs) like FCP, Premiere, and Avid to edit video in a previous life, and I still tear my hair out trying to use TikTok's native editor.

The easiest videos to make are just ones where you film yourself live and apply a filter, but if you want to bring in pre-recorded video and mix them with other graphical elements, like text boxes, it is very painful to assemble them properly. My kingdom for a persistent timeline with a scrubber in the TikTok editor.

In one sense, it's staggering to ponder how many more videos TikTok would have if its video editor were more usable. On the other hand, every video that does make it onto the app feels like a miracle. The proof of work is in the pain.


If you're a movie star like Will Smith and you get a VFX studio to produce some whiz-bang TikTok for you, it will feel off, like driving a Ferrari down the street in Omaha. Authenticity or at least the sheen of one's own sweat equity is part of the TikTok aesthetic, and the canonical backdrop for any TikTok video is always some teenager's somewhat messy bedroom, just as it was in the heyday of the YouTube vlog.

On Instagram, you can get away with proof of wealth, but the TikTok aesthetic is proof of creative labor. The verdict is a bit more mixed on proof of hotness, though. I still think Instagram is a more welcoming home for pure thirst trap content than TikTok, where, if you want to honeytrap the simps, you're going to have to dance for it.


Something about a feed that can hit you with such a variety of styles and moods in such quick succession makes TikTok feel like the most modern of media channels. One second you're watching a dog communicate with their owner using a language mat, the next second some high school girl is roasting one of her classmates, the next you see a teen making an earnest confessional deprecating their own looks (only to have thousands of commenters offering affirmation), and then you might see a boat chase that you later realize is some drug cartel member filming a TikTok as police boats give chase (even Narcos be chasing them likes). At times it feels as if the FYP feed is a pastiche generator.

It is equal parts ironic and earnest, having long since surpassed its label as the cringey social network.

Whereas Instagram is performative, TikTok is performative and self-aware. It’s not that any single creator is self-aware, but that the Greek chorus in the comments will descend on anyone with the slightest bit of hubris like a pack of harpies.

In this rectangular proscenium that is TikTok, the fickle god of Zeus is played, of course, by the FYP algorithm. Everyone offers up their sacrifices of time and labor in the hopes of being graced by its favor, but its whims remain just capricious enough to keep everyone grinding.


If your FYP feed is dialed in to your tastes, you start to pre-react to videos purely based on the like count visible on the right hand side of the screen.

If a video has a high like count, even if it starts slowly I'll tend to give it the benefit of the doubt and stick around to the end, simply because this statistic has proved, in my experience, reliable evidence of a worthwhile payoff. The larger the figure, the more I anticipate a strong punchline or close. I'm like Tom Cruise in Minority Report, already having seen the precog verdict printed on that ball.

Conversely, when I'm the test audience for a little-seen video (a dead giveaway is it has almost no likes yet), I tend to be merciless in skipping ahead if it doesn't hold my attention after a few seconds.

This creates a ruthless rich-get-richer dynamic, but that's by design. Bytedance as a company has built its products around pitiless algorithms enforcing a high Gini coefficient economy of entertainment. It's a marketplace in which the supply side—the TikTok videos from creators—can be shown to an unlimited number of viewers. Much of the content is evergreen, so there is almost no end to the leverage TikTok can get off any single good video.

Imagine if YouTube's key metric was to show every good video in its entire catalog to every viewer that would enjoy it. If you view the TikTok mission that way, even if no one submitted another new video for the next year, its FYP algorithm would still have an almost infinite supply of short videos to show to hundreds of millions of users for that entire dry spell.


Because sounds become the genesis of particular memes, when you start watching a TikTok video and hear a familiar sound, you anticipate the moment of that sound when the punchline will happen. It's Pavlovian.

The kismet shoe transition, for example, causes you to anticipate the pleasure of that exact moment when the performer will go from looking plain to looking EXPENSIVE. There are only so many plots in Hollywood, but we go see genre films precisely for the story beats we know are coming.

On TikTok, sounds and memes are almost inseparable. The sound is the meme is the sound.

TikTok sounds are often the most pleasing snippets from pop songs, and listening to one catchy loop after another is like listening to a pop radio channel that doesn't play entire songs, only plays bass drops and choruses. The time between anticipation and payoff is so short that scrolling the feed can feel like pressing the button on some sonic IV drip over and over. Just inject it into my ears.


In Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace describes a film called Infinite Jest which is so entertaining people lose all will to do anything except watch it until they die. He had often written about the addictiveness of television and may have been extrapolating to the future, projecting the entertainment value of entertainment increasing until it surpassed some threshold where you'd lose all will to do anything except consume. In that way, he predicted binge watching.

But the earliest form of entertainment that conjured the addictive properties of his fictional film (referred to in the novel as "the Entertainment") was video games. I read stories about players who died after playing games for so long without eating and, recalling some game binge sessions from my youth, could imagine myself trapped in a similar dark loop.

TikTok is the second form of entertainment that brings DFW's fictional entertainment to mind. In hindsight, it seems obvious that a personalized feed of video, tailored to your tastes, would be the addictive end state of entertainment. And, considering the rise of social media and the smartphone, it would make sense that the videos might all be short, like pellets of rain, sliding comfortably into every spare pocket of time in our day, of which we have so many.

One of my favorite paragraphs of recent years was one describing the miracle that are Cheetos:

To get a better feel for their work, I called on Steven Witherly, a food scientist who wrote a fascinating guide for industry insiders titled, “Why Humans Like Junk Food.” I brought him two shopping bags filled with a variety of chips to taste. He zeroed right in on the Cheetos. “This,” Witherly said, “is one of the most marvelously constructed foods on the planet, in terms of pure pleasure.” He ticked off a dozen attributes of the Cheetos that make the brain say more. But the one he focused on most was the puff’s uncanny ability to melt in the mouth. “It’s called vanishing caloric density,” Witherly said. “If something melts down quickly, your brain thinks that there’s no calories in it . . . you can just keep eating it forever.”

TikTok is entertainment Cheetos. Each video requires so little cognitive exertion and reaches its climax so quickly that it feels like we could keep watching forever, each punch line scored to the most satisfying bass drop or stanza from every pop song. TikTok delivers dopamine hits with a metronomic rhythm, and as soon as we swipe up the previous one melts in our memory.


It's always been the case, but especially in this networked age, that every piece of entertainment is its own social network. The network effects of a story arise from shared consumption. The more people watch Star Wars, the more people I can talk to about particular scenes or compare costumes with at a convention. The more people that watch Game of Thrones, the more my Game of Thrones memes will land.

TikTok is personalized, yet through its algorithm it creates shared stories of real scale. Some of these shared stories occur on the creative side in duets and trims that connect creators to each other literally and metaphorically. The FYP algorithm also aggregates large communities of viewers for the hottest TikTok videos. It's not uncommon now for me to send a TikTok to a friend who's already seen it, or vice versa. Not always, but enough that the audience now assumes enough common knowledge to foster that sense of shared experience.

Despite having what must be a gazillion videos in its catalog, watch TikTok enough and you'll be able to refer to something like Sea Shanty TikTok and feel reasonably confident other TikTok addicts get the reference. In contrast, people regularly send me YouTube videos with like millions of views that I've never even heard of.

It is algorithms that may be tearing us apart. But maybe it's also algorithms that reassemble us, albeit in smaller unit sizes. 330M Americans feel like too large an optimal governance size if we're going to let social media algorithms just run amok, but I find some comfort sometimes when I find some TikTok that feels so catered to my tastes that it must be a micro-niche and then see it has millions of likes.


The term binge-watching typically refers to watching multiple episodes of a series in one sitting, but perhaps the act of watching dozens of TikTok videos in a row is the purest form of this type of entertainment gluttony.

Other types of social media like Instagram and Twitter are also series of really compact units of media. When I scroll Twitter or Instagram, I often feel like an elephant, standing there placidly, as various people toss individual packing peanuts at my forehead (let’s call these people the peanut gallery?).

TikTok videos are, for the most part, a bit longer. Their compressed narratives are still, nevertheless, complete, with some full story arc to traverse. In its rhythm, binge-watching TikTok reminds me of watching a standup comedy set, but instead of watching one comedian, I’m watching a whole series of them, each on stage just long enough to tell one joke. And if they bore me, I can press a button and, like a Looney Tunes cartoon, a cane whisks them off the stage and a new comedian pops out from the floor to take their place and start right into their joke.

Someone told me that if you watch TikTok for over an hour it posts a warning asking you to consider taking a break. I'm not sure if that's the case, but I'm glad I've never encountered it yet.


TikTok can only match you with videos it has, and for some people, there may not be enough relevant content in the TikTok catalog to sustain a feed. But that pool of videos has grown by an astonishing amount in a short amount of time.

I'm an easy mark for the sort of wry, sometimes savage humor of TikTok, especially when it skews almost post-modern in its awareness of its own form. It's both a community that constantly tries to legislate its own social norms of decency—any video of someone making fun of how they look using a supposed beauty filter will be flooded with comments like "You're a queen", the comments section being sort of a rolling floor vote on what the acceptable response is—and also a bloodbath of Gen Z violence. The kids will be alright, but that's in part because they're savage. Every generation learns it has to fend for itself.

During a pandemic when most of social media feels even more nakedly performative than usual, as we sit inside day after day for month after month, my occasional sessions on TikTok have been one of the only pastimes to reliably make me laugh, and it's not particularly close.

Twitter has reached a crest of fortune cookie thinkboi bait when it's not subsumed in petty high school lunchroom culture war fistfights. Seemingly every day, a playground brawl breaks out and we all form a circle to gawk, but at the back of our minds is always the threat that we'll be the next to be sucker-punched and forced to throw down. Outrage porn is exhausting and also not that fun?

When viewed from the eye of a global pandemic, Instagram feels like a horrifying Truman Show of idyllic capitalist showboating. Life must go on, influencers gotta influence, but I'm also not weeping any tears when people get chastised for renting private islands and posting photos of themselves partying during a pandemic.

Andrew Niccol, the screenwriter of The Truman Show, once said, "When you know there is a camera, there is no reality.” The most absurd but popular tag on visual social media is #nofilter, a hashtag that aspires to a pretense of truth when there is almost nothing on an app like Instagram that isn’t production-designed within an inch of its life.

TikTok, by virtue of its high bar to even produce a video that anyone will see (FYP algo is like "That's a no for me dawg" on almost every video), is upfront about what it is: a global talent show to entertain the masses. In a pandemic where much of the U.S. lives in eternal lockdown, TikTok is the 24/7 channel where the American Idle entertain each other from their bedrooms. I laughed, and then I laughed some more.

Seeing Like an Algorithm

In my previous post on TikTok I discussed why its For You Page algorithm is the connective tissue that makes TikTok work. It is the bus on its motherboard that connects and closes all its feedback loops.

But in the breathless rush to understand why companies might want to acquire TikTok, should ByteDance be forced to divest itself of the popular short video app, the hype around its algorithm has taken on a bit of exoticization that often characterizes Western analysis of the Chinese tech scene these days.I kept holding off on publishing this piece because every day seemed to bring some new development in the possible ban of TikTok in the U.S. And instead of writing any introduction that would become instantly outdated, I'll just leave this sidenote here to say that as of publishing this entry, it seems Oracle will take over the TikTok cloud computing deal while also joining Wal-Mart and some VCs in assuming some ownership stake in TikTok Global. But it won't surprise me one bit if we find out even more bizarre details over the next week. This is the type of deal that I would have thought could only happen in Succession, but even in that satire it would seem hyperbolic. The 2020 Writer's Room is undefeated.

In this post, I want to discuss exactly how the design of TikTok helps its algorithm work as well as it does. Last time I discussed why the FYP algorithm is at the heart of TikTok’s flywheel, but if the algorithm wasn’t effective then the whole feedback loop would collapse. Understanding how the algorithm achieves its accuracy matters even if you’re not interested in TikTok or the short video space because more and more, companies in all industries will be running up against a competitor whose advantage centers around a machine learning algorithm.

What I want to discuss is how TikTok’s design helps its algorithm “see.”


Seeing Like a State by James C. Scott is one of those books that turns you into one of those Silicon Valley types that use (abuse?) the term legibility. I first heard about it after reading Venkatesh Rao’s summary of its main themes, and that piece remains a good tldr primer on the book if you don’t plan to read the text (Scott Alexander's review of the book is also good though is long enough that it could almost justify its own tldr). However, I recommend that you do.

The subtitle of Scott’s book is “How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed.” In particular, Scott dissects a failure state that recurs across a number of domains, in which a governing body like the nation-state turns to what Scott terms high modernism in an effort to increase legibility of whatever it is they are trying to exert control over, whether for the purposes of taxation or conscription or any number of goals. In doing so, they impose a false sense of order on a reality more complex than they can imagine.It would really be fascinating to hear from Scott on the case of modern China, under CCP rule, with modern technology for surveillance, and whether he thinks they will prove or violate his thesis in the fullness of time.

It’s a book that raises one’s awareness of all sorts of examples of unintended consequences in day-to-day life. We all could use a healthier does of humility when we are too flush with great man hubris. The world is richer and more complicated than we give it credit for.

As an example, much of what Scott discusses has relevance to some of the hubris of our modern social networking giants. These dominant apps are designed to increase legibility of their user bases for, among other things, driving engagement, preventing churn, and ultimately, serving targeted advertisements. That, in turn, has led their parent companies into a thicket of problems which they’re grappling with constantly now.

But that is a topic for another post, another day. Whereas Scott focuses in on how the nation-state uses simplifying abstractions to “see” its citizens at a synoptic level, I want to discuss how TikTok’s application design allows its algorithm to “see” all the detail it needs to perform its matchmaking job efficiently and accurately. If Seeing Like a State is about a common failure state, this post is about a new model for getting the most leverage from machine learning algorithms in the design of applications and services.I’m aware of the irony that the controversy around TikTok was the potential of user data being accessed by the CCP, or being “seen by that state.” Or that one of the sticking points of this new Cold War is the Chinese Firewall, which selects what the citizens of China “see.” And which most U.S. tech companies sit outside of, looking in.


In recent years, one of the realizations in machine learning, at least to an outsider to the subject like myself, is just how much progress was possible just by increasing the volume of training data by several orders of magnitude. That is, even if the algorithms themselves aren’t that different than they were a few years ago, just by training them on a much larger datasets, AI researchers have achieved breakthroughs like GPT-3 (which temporarily gave tech Twitter a tantric orgasm).

When people say that TikTok’s algorithms are key to its success, many picture some magical block of code as being the secret sauce of the company. The contemporary postmodernist Russian writer Viktor Pelevin has said that the protagonist of all modern cinema is a briefcase full of money. From the briefcase of radioactive material (I think that’s what it was?) in Kiss Me Deadly to the briefcase of similarly glowing who knows what (Marcellus Wallace’s soul?) in Pulp Fiction, from the Genesis equation in The Formula to the secret financial process in David Mamet’s The Spanish Prisoner, we’ve long been obsessed in cinema with the magical McGuffin. In recent weeks, discussion of TikTok’s algorithm has elevated it into something similar, akin to one of those mystical archaeological artifacts in one of the Indiana Jones films, like the Ark of the Covenant, the Holy Grail, or the lingam Shivling.

But most experts in the field doubt that TikTok has made some hitherto unknown advance in machine learning recommendations algorithms. In fact, most of them would say that TikTok is likely building off of the same standard approaches to the problem that others are.

But recall that the effectiveness of a machine learning algorithm isn’t a function of the algorithm alone but of the algorithm after trained on some dataset. GPT-3 may not be novel, but trained on an enormous volume of data, and with a massive number of parameters, its output is often astonishing.

Likewise, the TikTok FYP algorithm, trained on its dataset, is remarkably accurate and efficient at matching videos with those who will find them entertaining (and, just as importantly, at suppressing the distribution of videos to those who won’t find them entertaining).

For some domains, like text, good training data is readily available in large volumes. For example, to train an AI model like GPT-3, you can turn to the vast corpus of text already available on the internet, in books, and so on. If you want to train a visual AI, you can turn to the vast supply of photos online and in various databases. The training is still expensive, but at least copious training data is readily at hand.

But for TikTok (or Douyin, its Chinese clone), who needed an algorithm that would excel at recommending short videos to viewers, no such massive publicly available training dataset existed. Where could you find short videos of memes, kids dancing and lip synching, pets looking adorable, influencers pushing brands, soldiers running through obstacle courses, kids impersonating brands, and on and on? Even if you had such videos, where could you find comparable data on how the general population felt about such videos? Outside of Musical.ly’s dataset, which consisted mostly of teen girls in the U.S. lip synching to each other, such data didn’t exist.

In a unique sort of chicken and egg problem, the very types of video that TikTok’s algorithm needed to train on weren’t easy to create without the app’s camera tools and filters, licensed music clips, etc.

This, then, is the magic of the design of TikTok: it is a closed loop of feedback which inspires and enables the creation and viewing of videos on which its algorithm can be trained.

For its algorithm to become as effective as it has, TikTok became its own source of training data.


To understand how TikTok’s created such a potent flywheel of learning, we need to delve into its design.

The dominant school of thought when it comes to UI design in tech, at least that I’ve grown up with the past two decades, has centered around removing friction for users in accomplishing whatever it is they’re trying to do while delighting them in the process. The goal has been design that is elegant, in every sense of the word: intuitive, ingenious, even stylish.

Perhaps no company has more embodied this school of design than Apple. At its best, Apple makes hardware and software that is pleasingly elegant—“it just works”—but also sexy in a way that makes its users feel tasteful. Apple’s infamous controlling style—no replaceable batteries for its phones and laptops, the current debate over its App Store rules—put the company squarely in the camp of what Scott in Seeing Like a State refers to as high modernism. Is there any reason to show a video of how the new MacBook Pro body is crafted from one solid block of aluminum (besides the fact that Jony Ive cooing “a-loo-MIN-eee-um” is ASMR to Apple fans) when unveiling it at an Apple keynote? How about because it’s sexy AF to see industrial lasers carving that unibody out of a solid chunk of aluminum? And later, when you’re cranking out an email at a coffee shop on said laptop, some residual memory of that video in your unconscious will give you just the slightest hit of dopamine?

There’s a reason this user-centric design model has been so dominant for so long, especially in consumer tech. First, it works. Apple’s market cap was, at last check, over 2 trillion dollars. Remember when fake Sean Parker said a billion dollars was cool? That was just a decade ago and a billion dollars is no longer S-Tier. The wealth meta moves fast. Furthermore, we live in the era of massive network effects, where tech giants who apply Ben Thompson’s aggregation theory and acquire a massive base of users can exert unbelievable leverage on the markets they participate in. One of the best ways to do that is to design products and services that do what users want better than your competitors.

This school of design has been so dominant for so long that I’ve almost managed to forget some of the brutal software design that used to the norm in a bygone era.Not to be confused with brutalist design, which can be quite beautiful in its own respect, like its architectural cousins.

But what if the key to serving your users best depends in large part upon training a machine learning algorithm? What if that ML algorithm needs a massive training dataset? In an age when machine learning is in its ascendancy, this is increasingly a critical design objective.

More and more, when considering how to design an app, you have to consider how best to help an algorithm “see.” To serve your users best, first serve the algorithm.

TikTok fascinates me because it is an example of a modern app whose design, whether by accident or, uhh, design, is optimized to feed its algorithm as much useful signal as possible. It is an exemplar of what I call algorithm-friendly design.I thought about calling it algorithm-centric design but felt it went too far. Ultimately, a design that helps an algorithm see is still doing so in service of providing the user with the best possible experience. This might still be considered just a variant of user-centric design, but for those teams working on products with a heavy machine learning algorithm component, it may be useful to acknowledge explicitly. After all, when a product manager, designer, and engineer meet to design an app, the algorithm isn't in attendance. Yet its training needs must be represented.

James Scott speaks of “seeing like a state,” of massive shifts in fields like urban design that made quantities like plots of land and their respective owners “legible” to tax collectors. TikTok’s design makes its videos, users, and user preferences legible to its For You Page algorithm. The app design fulfills one of its primary responsibilities: “seeing like an algorithm.”

Let’s take a closer look. TikTok opens into the For You Page and goes right into a video. This is what it looks like.

This is, as of right now, the most popular TikTok ever. By the time I publish this post, its 34.1M likes will likely be outdated. You can read the story of how this TikTok even came to be and it will still feel like a cultural conundrum wrapped in a riddle stuffed in a paradox, and you love to see it. I showed this to my niece, we looped it a few dozen times, then we started chanting “M to the B, M to the B” and laughing our asses off and it was one of the only times in this pandemic I’ve truly felt anything other than despair.

The entire screen is filled with one video. Just one. It is displayed fullscreen, in vertical orientation. This is not a scrolling feed. It’s paginated, effectively. The video autoplays almost immediately (and the next few videos are loaded in the background so that they, too, can play quickly when it’s their turn on stage).

This design puts the user to an immediate question: how do you feel about this short video and this short video alone?

Everything you do from the moment the video begins playing is signal as to your sentiment towards that video. Do you swipe up to the next video before it has even finished playing? An implicit (though borderline explicit) signal of disinterest.

Did you watch it more than once, letting it loop a few times? Seems that something about it appealed to you. Did you share the video through the built-in share pane? Another strong indicator of positive sentiment. If you tap the bottom right spinning LP icon and watch more videos with that same soundtrack, that is additional signal as to your tastes. Often the music cue is synonymous with a meme, and now TikTok has another axis on which to recommend videos for you. Did you tap into the video creator’s profile page? Did you watch other videos of theirs, and did you then follow them? In addition to enjoying the video, perhaps you appreciate them in particular.

But let’s step back even earlier, before you’re even watching the video, and understand how the TikTok algorithm “sees” the video itself. Before the video is even sent down to your phone by the FYP algorithm, some human on TikTok’s operations team has already watched the video and added lots of relevant tags or labels.

Is the video about dancing? Lip synching? Video games? A kitten? A chipmunk? Is it comedic? Is the subject a male or female? What age, roughly? Is it a group video? Where is it set? What filters or visual effects are used? If there’s food involved, what kind? And so on. All of these labels become features that the algorithm can now see.

Vision AI also does a pass on the video, and to the extent it can, contributes what it sees. Some of TikTok’s camera filters are designed to track human faces or hands or gestures so vision AI is often invoked even earlier, at the point of creation.

The algorithm can also see what TikTok already knows about you. What types of videos have you enjoyed in the past? What demographic or psychographic information is known about you? Where are you watching the video? What type of device do you have? And so on. Beyond that, what other users are similar to you?

Let's jump back to the moment you watch that video on your phone in TikTok. The FYP algorithm can now close all the feedback loops. It takes every one of the actions you take on the video and can guess how you, with all your tastes, feels about this video, with all its attributes.

None of these individual steps sounds like rocket science, especially to anyone who works on any algorithmic social feed today.In my previous piece I noted that TikTok doesn’t really have a strong social graph. One of the reasons the app is as effective as it is is that it doesn’t try to pretend to be what it isn’t. That is, people already have a gazillion other social graphs and ways to share with people they know. Rather than force people to do so within the TikTok app, they make it dead simple to download videos or share them through those external channels. What TikTok keeps, however, is the signal that you chose to share that video. That data feeds their algorithm and their algorithm alone. Since the videos are watermarked, they also get a nice hit of free publicity from the share. In fact, TikTok has published a blog post describing essentially how their FYP algorithm works, and I doubt anyone in tech will find the description anything but obvious.

But contrast what TikTok's FYP algorithm sees with what a comparable recommendation algorithm sees on most other social networking feeds.

The default UI of our largest social networks today is the infinite vertically scrolling feed (I could have easily used a screenshot of Facebook above, for example). Instead of serving you one story at a time, these apps display multiple items on screen at once. As you scroll up and past many stories, the algorithm can’t “see” which story your eyes rest on. Even if it could, if the user doesn’t press any of the feedback buttons like the Like button, is their sentiment towards that story positive or negative? The signal of user sentiment isn’t clean.

If you subscribe to the idea that UI's should remove friction, the infinite scrolling feed is ideal. It offers a sense of uninhibited control of the pace of consumption. The simulated physics that result from flicking a feed with your thumb and seeing it scroll up like the drum of the Big Wheel from the Price is Right Showcase Showdown with the exact rotational velocity implied by the speed of your initial gesture, seeing that software wheel gradually slow down exactly as it would if encountering constant physical friction, it’s one of the most delightful user interactions of the touchscreen era. You can scroll past a half dozen tweets or Facebook feed items in no time. Wheeeeeeee!

A paginated design, in which you could only see one story at a time, where each flick of the finger would only advance the feed one item at a time, would be a literal and metaphoric drag.

On the other hand, maybe you wouldn’t mind reading one tweet at a time if they were better targeted, and maybe they would be better targeted if Twitter knew more about which types of tweets really interest you. And maybe Twitter would know more about what really interested you if you had to give explicit and implicit positive or negative signals on every tweet.

Even on a story a user does engage with, judging sentiment is a challenge. Most apps only have positive feedback mechanisms, most typically some form of a like button. Since apps like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter are built around social graphs, it’s obvious why they might opt not to offer dislike buttons.

But, as Stephen King wrote in On Writing, "If you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects. If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered, anyway."

By relying on a long scrolling feed with mostly explicit positive feedback mechanisms, social networks like Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram have made a tradeoff in favor of lower friction scanning for users at the expense of a more accurate read on negative signal.You see another variant of this tradeoff at longstanding companies with the same founding CEO. That person tends to surround themselves with a C-Suite that follows their lead, works well with them. The danger of being surrounded by yes-men is not having anyone to challenge the blindspots in your thinking. It's always worth asking who the people are who are powerful enough to actually change the minds of people like Bezos, Cook, Zuckerberg, Musk. Often the answer is no one, so their blindspots become the blindspots of the company.

Networks that are built around interest graphs, like Reddit, do tend to incorporate down voting mechanisms because their prime directive to keep users from churning is to serve them the most interesting content. That means weeding out uninteresting content as much as it does surfacing appealing content.

TikTok doesn’t have an explicit downvote button, but by serving you just one video at a time, they can infer your lack of interest in any single video based on whether you churn out of that video quickly A quick swipe up before a video has completed is like swiping left on Tinder. The best TikTokers have an intuitive sense of the narrative pace that is appropriate for that platform. How long can you drag out the punching or payoff without losing the viewer, how do you have a set up that keeps the user involved. Using a music cue that has already been co-opted into a meme helps because the bass drop or musical payoff foreshadows when the punchline of the video will drop; a viewer knows how much longer before they reach the payoff. Also viewers may stick around just for the pleasure of hearing that musical resolution.
and by which positive actions you don’t take.

If you click into a text post by someone on Facebook but don’t comment or like the post, how can Facebook judge your sentiment toward that post? Maybe you thought about disagreeing violently in comments, but the person is a coworker or friend of a friend and you decided the better of it. That negative sentiment is difficult to capture; the algorithm can’t “see” your feelings.Most social networks have explicit reporting features for reporting offensive and/or abusive content, but those features are buried and most users don’t resort to them. By the time someone does use a feature like that, you’ve usually already made a grave mistake far upstream and it’s too late to salvage most of the damage that’s been done.

It’s the content that’s boring or causes mild displeasure that is the slow killer. In my previous post, I noted that content derived from a social graph can drift away from a user’s true interests because of the mismatch between your own interests and those of people you know. The switch from a chronological to algorithmic feed is often the default defensive move against such drift.

But if the algorithm isn’t "seeing" signals of a user’s growing disinterest, if only positive engagement is visible, some amount of divergence is unavoidable. You might see that a user is slowly losing interest, not liking as many items, not opening your app as often, but precisely which stories are driving them away may be unclear. By the time they're starting to exhibit those signs of churn, it's often too late to reverse the bleeding.

Algorithm-friendly design need not be user-hostile. It simply takes a different approach as to how to best serve the user’s interests. Pagination may insert some level of friction to the user, but in doing so, it may provide the algorithm with cleaner signal that safeguards the quality of the feed in the long run.

Minimizing friction is merely one means to a great user experience. The goal of any design is not to minimize friction, it’s to help the user achieve some end. Reducing friction is often consistent with that end, but not always. You might say that the quote tweet reduces the friction of manually copying someone else’s tweet, but reducing friction to organizing a mob to pile on someone might not be a core mechanic you want to encourage if your goal is civil public discourse. Some forms of friction are good.

You'll hear many power Twitter users counseling others to make use of muting and blocking early and often.Some users even make liberal use of soft blocking to surreptitiously remove followers.
Users proudly tweet screenshots of words they've muted as a sign of their displeasure with some popular topic of discussion (or their intellectual superiority to said topic). Non sports fans tweet about "sportsball," others tweet "I'll bite, what's X?" where X is something everyone is discussing. Some people have gone so far as to unfollow everyone and start their following from scratch again.At some point, and likely because it A/B tested well, Twitter started showing users tweets that people they followed had liked, even from people that user didn't follow themselves. This does occasionally show me tweets of interest, but what it also does is increase, on an absolute basis, the number of tweets I have no interest in and have to scroll past. I'm a broken record on this: no two people have the exact same interests. The launch of this feature has me really considering unfollowing everyone and starting from scratch, but I also worry about hurting people's feelings, because I'm a softie. If Twitter were structured differently this wouldn't be an issue.

I sometimes think about adopting some or all of these strategies myself, but for Twitter, the necessity of these is itself a failure of the service. If the algorithm were smarter about what interested you, it should take care of muting topics or blocking people on your behalf, without you having to do that work yourself. As I wrote last time, that you have to follow people at all on Twitter to get interesting content is, one could argue, a design flaw for what could be a powerful interest graph.

Not only does TikTok capture very clean signals of sentiment from its users, it also gathers a tremendous volume of them per session. Videos on TikTok are so short that even in a brief session, TikTok can gather a lot of feedback on your tastes.

The process is relatively painless, too. At worst, a few videos might bore you, but swiping them away makes for relatively painless work, and since the algorithm listens closely to your feedback, you may even enjoy dismissing videos knowing that the app will register your displeasure and act on it.Short video happens to be a category quite suited to this type of machine learning-driven recommendation. By no means would I imply that it would work for every type of category. Music works well. It is short in duration so the sampling cost is low, and the repeat consumption value is high. Musical similarities tend to be mathematically detectable. My Spotify Radio recommendations are solid. On the other hand, algorithmic movie recommendations have never really felt magical to me. Movies are very long, the sampling cost is very high. The corpus is small, and only something like 500 or so movies come out each year, of which most people only see a handful. This entire subject is worth a separate post.

By the way, TikTok isn’t the only app with an interface that is optimized for the task of matching, with an interface that shows you one entity at a time so as to be more clear on how you feel. Before TikTok, we had a whole category in which the one-item-at-a-time audition-style UI was dominant.

There’s a reason swipe right and swipe left have become shorthand slang for signaling approval and disapproval, generally. Tinder came up with what feels like a design primitive on a touchscreen UI for binary voting.

In this software era, true competitive advantages, or moats, are increasingly illusory. Most software features or UI designs can be copied easily by an incumbent or competitor overnight. All you will have done is test the impact of the design for them.On one of my trips to China, I was at a dinner with a large group of Chinese entrepreneurs, and I mentioned the hubbub over Instagram copying Stories from Snapchat. One of the chief product officers of one of China’s top companies laughed and remarked, “In China, if your competitor doesn’t copy one of your successful features inside of two weeks, they must be incompetent.” In many ways, the Chinese tech scene is the true Darwinian marketplace of ideas that Silicon Valley thinks of itself as. This bodes poorly for the relative output of Silicon Valley because the rate of idea spread and mutation occurs more quickly in China. Silicon Valley is often said to have taken over as the geographic center of technology innovation from Boston’s Route 128 in part because Silicon Valley’s more open labor markets allowed ideas to move freely among companies. China has taken that playbook and pushed it even further. Surviving the competitive landscape of the Chinese tech scene is like trying to climb out of that pit in The Dark Knight Rises. Terrifying.

But if you can create a flywheel, like TikTok’s, it becomes much harder for a competitor like Reels or Triller to catch up. Triller may pay some influencers from TikTok to come over and make videos there, Reels might try to draft off of existing Instagram traffic, but what makes TikTok work is the entire positive feedback loop connecting creators, videos, and viewers via the FYP algorithm.

In tech, an industry that epitomizes Brian Arthur’s Increasing Returns and Path Dependence in the Economy perhaps more than any other, the first competitor to achieve product-market fit can run away from the pack. If more and more markets feel like they are winner-take-all, or winners-take-all, that is because in an increasingly interconnected world, they are.

Bytedance is often described as the algorithm company, and TikTok has been described over the past few weeks as powered by just such algorithmic black magic. Many have gone so far as to say that TikTok wouldn’t be worth purchasing if the algorithm weren’t included.

That’s a mistake, in my opinion. Yes, retraining the FYP recommendations algorithm might take so long that some users would churn. I don’t mean to trivialize that task. But the actual magic is how every element of TikTok's design and processes connect with each other to create a dataset with which the algorithm trains itself into peak performance. No single step in that loop is beyond the capabilities of any of the many U.S. suitors. All that’s needed is an understanding of how the flywheel works and a commitment to keep every element and process in it functioning.

All around me, I encounter products or services that seem to have hit a ceiling in the quality of their algorithmic recommendations: Yelp, OpenTable, Amazon, Google, Netflix, and on and on. Don't get me wrong, some of them are at rest in a good place. But I can't help but feel there is another leap to be made in some of these, and that perhaps more algorithm-friendly design might be one of the possible solutions.

To recap, in part one of my series on TikTok, I discussed how the algorithm acts as an matching mechanism that makes TikTok such a scalable entertainment network. In comparison, social networks have to approximate an interest graph using a social graph, with all the problems that come with that. In this second piece on TikTok, I’ve focused on how its design helps its machine learning FYP algorithm “see” what it needs to see to do its job so effectively. An algorithm-friendly design ethos may become a model of how other companies in other verticals might achieve an edge in the age of machine learning.

But there’s one final reason I find TikTok such a fascinating and anomalous case study. It has to do less with software and algorithms and more with something that the cultural determinist in me will never tire of studying: the network effects of creativity. That will be the subject of my third and final part of this series on TikTok.

TikTok and the Sorting Hat

I often describe myself as a cultural determinist, more as a way to differentiate myself from people with other dominant worldviews, though I am not a strict adherent. It’s more that in many situations when people ascribe causal power to something other than culture, I’m immediately suspicious.

The 2010’s were a fascinating time to follow the consumer tech industry in China. Though I left Hulu in 2011, I still kept in touch with a lot of the team from our satellite Hulu Beijing office, many of whom scattered out to various Chinese tech companies throughout the past decade. On my last visit to the Hulu Beijing office in 2011, I was skeptical any of the new tech companies out of China would ever crack the U.S. market.

It wasn’t just that the U.S. had strong incumbents, or that the Chinese tech companies were still in their infancy. My default hypothesis was that what I call the veil of cultural ignorance was too impenetrable a barrier. That companies from non-WEIRD countries (Joseph Henrich shorthand for Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic) would struggle to ship into WEIRD cultures. I was even skeptical of the reverse, of U.S. companies competing in China or India. The further the cultural distance between two countries, the more challenging it would be for companies in one to compete in the other. The path towards overcoming that seemed to lie in hiring a local leadership team, or sending someone over from the U.S. who understood the culture of that country inside-out.

For the most part, that has held true. China has struggled, for the most part, to make real inroads in the U.S. WeChat tried to make inroads in the U.S. but only really managed to capture Chinese-Americans who used the app to communicate with friends, family, and business colleagues in China.

In the other direction, the U.S. hasn’t made a huge dent in China. Obviously, the Great Firewall played a huge role in keeping a lot of U.S. companies out of the Chinese market, but in the few cases where a U.S. company got a crack at the Chinese market, like Uber China, the results were mixed.

For this reason, I’ve been fascinated with TikTok. Here in 2020, TikTok is, for many, including myself, the most entertaining short video app going. The U.S. government is considering banning the app as a national security risk, and while that’s the topic du jour for just about everyone right now, I’m much more interested in tracing how it got a foothold in markets outside of China, especially the U.S. with its powerful incumbents.

They say you learn the most from failure, and in the same way I learn the most about my mental models from the exceptions. How did an app designed by two guys in Shanghai managed to run circles around U.S. video apps from YouTube to Facebook to Instagram to Snapchat, becoming the most fertile source for meme origination, mutation, and dissemination in a culture so different from the one in which it was built?

The answer, I believe, has significant implications for the future of cross-border tech competition, as well as for understanding how product developers achieve product-market-fit. The rise of TikTok updated my thinking. It turns out that in some categories, a machine learning algorithm significantly responsive and accurate can pierce the veil of cultural ignorance. Today, sometimes culture can be abstracted.


TikTok's story begins in 2014, in Shanghai. Alex Zhu and Luyu “Louis” Yang had launched an educational short-form video app that hadn’t gotten any traction. They decided to pivot to lip-synch music videos, launching Musical.ly in the U.S. and China. Ironically, the app got more traction across the Pacific Ocean, so they killed their efforts in their home country of China and focused their efforts on their American market.

The early user base consisted mostly of American teenage girls. Finally, an app offered users the chance to lip synch to the official version of popular songs and have those videos distributed to an audience for social feedback.

That the app got any traction at all was progress. However, it presented Alex, Louis, and their team with a problem. American teen girls were not exactly an audience Alex and Louis really understood.To be fair, most American parents would argue they don't understand their teenage daughters either.

During this era where China and the U.S. tech scenes have overlapped, the Chinese market has been largely impenetrable to the U.S. tech companies because of the Great Firewall, both the software instance and the outright bans from the CCP. But in the reverse direction, America has been almost as impenetrable to Chinese companies because of what might be thought of as America’s cultural firewall. Outside of DJI in dronesI'd argue one reason DJI had success in America was that drone control interfaces borrow heavily from standard flight control interfaces and are not culturally specific. Thus DJI could lean on its hardware prowess which was formidable., I can’t think of any Chinese app making real inroads in the U.S. prior to Musical.ly. To build on its early traction, Musical.ly would have to overcome this cultural barrier.

It’s been said that if you ask your customers what they want, they’ll ask for a faster horse (attributed to Henry Ford, though that may not be true). Frankly, that’s always been half horses***, and not just because horses are involved. First of all, what if your customers are horse jockeys?

Secondly, while you can’t listen to your customers exclusively, paying attention to them is a dependable way to build a solid SaaS business, and even in the consumer space it provides useful signal. As I’ve written about before, customers may tell you they want a faster horse, and what you should hear is not that you should be injecting your horses with steroids but that your customers find their current mode of transportation, the aforementioned horse, to be too slow a means of getting around.

Alex and Louis listened to Musical.ly’s early adopters. The app made feedback channels easy to find, and the American teenage girls using the app every day were more than willing to speak up about what they wanted to ease their video creation. They sent a ton of product requests, helping to inform a product roadmap for the Musical.ly team. That, combined with some clever growth hacks, like allowing watermarked videos to easily be downloaded and distributed via other networks like YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram, helped them achieve hockey-stick inflection among their target market.

Still, Musical.ly ran into its invisible asymptote eventually. There are only so many teenage girls in the U.S. When they saturated that market, usage and growth flatlined. It was then that a suitor they had rebuffed previously, the Chinese technology company Bytedance, suddenly looked more attractive, like Professor Bhaer to Jo March at the end of Little Women. In a bit of dramatic irony, Bytedance had cloned Musical.ly in China with an app called Douyin, one that had taken off in China, and now Bytedance was buying the app that inspired it, Musical.ly, an app conceived and built in China but that had failed in China and instead gotten traction in the U.S.

After the purchase, Bytedance rebranded Musical.ly as TikTok. Still, if that’s all they had done, it’s not clear why the app would’ve broken out of its stalled growth to the stunning extent it has under its new owner. After all, Bytedance paid just $1B for an app that’s rumored to sell now, if the U.S. government approves the transaction, for anywhere from $30 to $70B.

Bytedance did two things in particular to jumpstart TikTok’s growth.

First, it opened up its wallet and started spending on user acquisition in the U.S. the way wealthy Chinese used to spend on American real estate (no, I’m not still bitter at all the Chinese all-cash offers that trounced me repeatedly when condo-hunting six years ago). TikTok was rumored to have been spending a staggering eight or nine figures a month on advertising.

The ubiquity of TikTok ads lent the theory credence. I saw TikTok ads everywhere, on YouTube, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and in mobile gamesTikTok ads are bizarre. The video ads I see for the app in mobile games convey nothing about what the app is or does. One ad I've seen dozens of times has an old lady doing lunges in her living room, another has a kid blow drying his hair, and as he does, his hair changes colors. I feel like the ads could do a better job of selling the app, but what do I know?. If Bytedance could have purchased ads on the back of my eyelids at sub $20 CPMs I don’t doubt they would have done so.

It didn’t look like a wise investment at first. Rumors abounded that the 30-day retention of all those new users poured into the top of its funnel was sub 10%. They seemed to be lighting ad dollars on fire.

Ultimately, the ROI on that spend would turn the corner, but only because of the second element of their assault on the US market, the most important piece of technology Bytedance introduced to TikTok: the updated For You Page feed algorithm.

Bytedance has an absurd proportion of their software engineers focused on their algorithms, more than half at last check. It is known as the algorithm company, first for its breakout algorithmic “news” app Toutiao, then for its Musical.ly clone Douyin, and now for TikTok.

Prior to TikTok, I would’ve said YouTube had the strongest exploit algorithm in video,The exploit versus explore conundrum is sort of a classic of algorithmic design, usually mentioned in relation to the multi-armed bandit problem. For the purposes of this discussion, think of it simply as the problem of choosing which videos to show you. An exploit algorithm will give you more of what you like, while an explore algorithm tries to broaden your exposure to more than just what you’ve shown you like. YouTube is often described as an exploit algorithm because it tends to really push more of what you like, and then before you know it, you’re looking at some alt-right video that’s trying to redpill you. but in comparison to TikTok, YouTube’s algorithm feels primitive (the top creators on YouTube have long ago figured out how to game YouTube’s algorithm’s heavy dependence on click-through rates and watch time, one reason so many YouTube videos are lengthening over time, much to my dismay).

Before Bytedance bought Musical.ly and rebranded it TikTok, its Musical.ly clone called Douyin was already a sensation in the Chinese market thanks in large part to its effective algorithm. A few years ago, on a visit to Beijing, I caught up with a bunch of former colleagues from Hulu Beijing, and all of them showed me their Douyin feeds. They described the app as frighteningly addictive and the algorithm as eerily perceptive. More than one of them said they had to delete the app off their phone for months at a time because they were losing an hour or two every night just lying in bed watching videos.

That same trip, I had coffee with an ex-Hulu developer who now was now a senior exec in the Bytedance engineering organization. Of course, he was tight-lipped about how their algorithm worked, but the scale of their infrastructure dedicated to their algorithms was clear. On my way in and out of this office, just one of several Bytedance spaces all across the city, I gawked at hundreds of workers sitting side by side in row after row in the open floorplan. It resembled what I’d seen at tech giants like Facebook in the U.S., but even denser.The mood was giddy. I could tell he was doing well. He took me and my friends to a Luckin Coffee in their office basement and told us to order drinks off an app on his phone. I reached in my pocket for some RMB to pay for the drinks and he put his hand on my arm to stop me. “Don’t worry, I can afford this,” he said, laughing. He didn’t mean it in a boasting manner, he seemed almost sheepish about how well they were doing. Afterwards, as we waited outside the office in their parking lot, he walked past and asked me if I needed a ride. No, I said, I’d be taking the subway. A Tesla Model X pulled up, the valet hopped out, and he jumped in and drove off.

It’s rumored that Bytedance examines more features of videos than other companies. If you like a video featuring video game captures, that is noted. If you like videos featuring puppies, that is noted. Every Douyin feed I examined was distinctive. My friends all noted that after spending only a short amount of time in the app, it had locked onto their palate.

That, more than anything else, was the critical upgrade Bytedance applied to Musical.ly to turn it into TikTok. Friends at Bytedance claimed, with some pride, that after they plugged Musical.ly, now TikTok, into Bytedance’s back-end algorithm, they doubled the time spent in the app. I was skeptical until I asked some friends who had some data on the before and after. The step change in the graph was anything but subtle.

At the time Musical.ly got renamed TikTok, it was still dominated by teen girls doing lip synch videos. Many U.S. teens at the time described TikTok as “cringey,” usually a kiss of death for networks looking to expand among youths, fickle as they are about what’s cool. Scrolling the app at the time felt like eavesdropping on the theater kids clique from high school. Entertaining, but hardly a mainstream entertainment staple.

That’s where the one-two combination of Bytedance’s enormous marketing spend and the power of TikTok’s algorithm came to the rescue. To help a network break out from its early adopter group, you need both to bring lots of new people/subcultures into the app—that’s where the massive marketing spend helps—but also ways to help these disparate groups to 1) find each other quickly and 2) branch off into their own spaces.

More than any other feed algorithm I can recall, Bytedance’s short video algorithm fulfilled these two requirements. It is a rapid, hyper-efficient matchmaker. Merely by watching some videos, and without having to follow or friend anyone, you can quickly train TikTok on what you like. In the two sided entertainment network that is TikTok, the algorithm acts as a rapid, efficient market maker, connecting videos with the audiences they’re destined to delight. The algorithm allows this to happen without an explicit follower graph.

Just as importantly, by personalizing everyone’s FYP feeds, TikTok helped to keep these distinct subcultures, with their different tastes, separated. One person’s cringe is another person’s pleasure, but figuring out which is which is no small feat.

TikTok’s algorithm is the Sorting Hat from the Harry Potter universe. Just as that magical hat sorts students at Hogwarts into the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin houses, TikTok’s algorithm sorts its users into dozens and dozens of subculturesThe Sorting Hat is perhaps the most curious plot device from the Harry Potter universe. Is it a metaphor for genetic determinism? Did Draco have any hope of not being a Slytherin? By sorting Draco into that house, did it shape his destiny? Is the hat a metaphor for the U.S. college admissions system, with all its known biases? Is Harry Potter, sorted into Gryffindor, a legacy admit?. Not two FYP feeds are alike.

For all the naive and idealistic dreams of the so-called “marketplace of ideas,” the first generation of large social networks has proven mostly unprepared and ill-equipped to deal with the resulting culture wars. Until they have some real substantial ideas and incentives to take on the costly task of mediating between strangers who disagree with each other, they’re better off sorting those people apart. The only types of people who enjoy being thrown into a gladiatorial online arena together with those they disagree with seem to be trolls, who benefit asymmetrically from the resultant violence.

Consider Twitter's content moderation problems. How much of that results from throwing liberals and conservatives together in a timeline together? Twitter employees speak often about wanting to improve public discourse, but they’d be much better off (and society, too) keeping the Slytherins and Gryffindors apart until they have some real substantive ideas to solve the problem of low trust conversation.The same can be said of NextDoor and their problem of racist reporting of minorities just walking down the sidewalk. They’d be better off just removing that feature. At some point, NextDoor needs to face the fact that they aren’t going to solve racism. Tweak that feature all you want, put up all the hoops for users to jump through to file such a report, but adverse selection ensures that those most motivated to jump through them are the racist ones.

After some time, new subcultures did indeed emerge on TikTok. No longer was it just teenage girls lip-synching. There are so many subcultures on TikTok I can barely track them because I only ever see a portion of them in my personalized FYP. This broadened TikTok’s appeal and total addressable market. Douyin had followed that path in China, so Bytedance at least had some precedent for committing to such an expensive bet, but I wasn’t certain if it would work in the U.S., a much more competitive media and entertainment market.

Within a larger social network, even subcultures need some minimum viable scale, and though Bytedance paid dearly to fill the top of the funnel, its algorithm eventually helped assemble many subcultures surpassing that minimum viable scale. More notably, it did so with amazing speed.

Think of how most other social networks have scaled. The usual path is organic. Users are encouraged to follow and friend each other to assemble their own graph one connection at a time. The challenge with that is that it’s almost always a really slow build, and you have to provide some reason for people to hang around and build that graph, often encapsulated by the aphorism “come for the tool, stay for the network.” Today, it’s not as easy to build the “tool” part when so much of that landscape has already been mined and when scaled networks have learned to copy any tool achieving any level of traction.In the West, Facebook is the master of the fast follow. They struggle to launch new social graphs of their own invention, but if they spot any competing social network achieve any level of traction, they will lock down and ship a clone with blinding speed. Good artists borrow, great artists steal, the best artists steal the most quickly? Facebook as a competitor reminds me of that class of zombies in movies that stagger around drunk most of the time, but the moment they spot a target, they sprint at it like a pack of cheetahs. The type you see in 28 Days Later and I Am Legend. Terrifying.

Some people still think that a new social network will be built around a new content format, but it’s almost impossible to think of a format that couldn’t be copied in two to three months by a compact Facebook team put in lockdown with catered dinners. Yes, a new content format might create a new proof of work, as I wrote about in Status as a Service, but just as critical is building the right structures to distribute such content to the right audience to close the social feedback loop.

What’s the last new social network to achieve scale in recent years? You probably can’t think of any, and that’s because there really aren’t any. Even Facebook hasn’t been able to launch any really new successful social products, and a lot of that is because they also seem fixated on building these things around some content format gimmick.

Recall the three purposes which I used to distinguish among networks in Status as a Service: social capital (status), entertainment, and utility. In another post soon I promise to explain why I classify networks along these three axes, but for now, just know that while almost all networks serve some mix of the three, most lean heavily towards one of those three purposes.

3-axis.png

A network like Venmo or Uber, for example, is mostly about utility: I need to pay someone money, or I need to travel from here to there. A network like YouTube is more about entertainment. Amuse me. And some networks, what most people refer to when they use the generic term “social network,” are more focused on social capital. Soho House, for example.

TikTok is less a pure social network, the type focused on social capital, than an entertainment network. I don’t socialize with people on TikTok, I barely know any of them. It consists of a network of people connected to each other, but they are connected for a distinct reason, for creators to reach viewers with their short videos.Bytedance hasn't been successful in building out a social network to compete with WeChat, though it's not for lack of trying. I think they have a variety of options for doing so, but as with many companies that didn't begin as social first, it's not in their DNA. Facebook is underrated for its ability to build functional social plumbing at scale, that is a rare design skill. Companies as diverse as Amazon and Netflix have tried building social features and then later abandoned them. I suspect they tried when they didn't have enough users to create breakaway social scale, but it's difficult to imagine them pulling that off without more social DNA. But having a social-first DNA also means that Facebook isn't great at building non-social offerings. Their video or watch tab remains a bizarre and unfocused mess.

One can debate the semantics of what constitutes a social network forever, but what matters here is realizing that another way to describe an entertainment network is as an interest network. TikTok takes content from one group of people and match it to other people who would enjoy that content. It is trying to figure out what hundreds of millions of viewers around the world are interested in. When you frame TikTok's algorithm that way, its enormous unrealized potential snaps into focus.

The idea of using a social graph to build out an interest-based network has always been a sort of approximation, a hack. You follow some people in an app, and it serves you some subset of the content from those people under the assumption that you’ll find much of what they post of interest to you. It worked in college for Facebook because a bunch of hormonal college students are really interested in each other. It worked in Twitter, eventually, though it took a while. Twitter's unidirectional follow graph allowed people to pick and choose who to follow with more flexibility than Facebook's initial bi-directional friend model, but Twitter didn't provide enough feedback mechanisms early on to help train its users on what to tweet. The early days were filled with a lot of status updates of the variety people cite when criticizing social media: "nobody cares what you ate for lunch."I talk about Twitter's slow path to product market fit in Status as a Service

But what if there was a way to build an interest graph for you without you having to follow anyone? What if you could skip the long and painstaking intermediate step of assembling a social graph and just jump directly to the interest graph? And what if that could be done really quickly and cheaply at scale, across millions of users? And what if the algorithm that pulled this off could also adjust to your evolving tastes in near real-time, without you having to actively tune it?

The problem with approximating an interest graph with a social graph is that social graphs have negative network effects that kick in at scale. Take a social network like Twitter: the one-way follow graph structure is well-suited to interest graph construction, but the problem is that you’re rarely interested in everything from any single person you follow. You may enjoy Gruber’s thoughts on Apple but not his Yankees tweets. Or my tweets on tech but not on film. And so on. You can try to use Twitter Lists, or mute or block certain people or topics, but it’s all a big hassle that few have the energy or will to tackle.

Think of what happened to Facebook when it’s users went from having their classmates as friends to hundreds and often thousands of people as friends, including coworkers, parents, and that random person you met at the open bar at a wedding reception and felt obligated to accept a friend request from even though their jokes didn’t seem as funny the next morning in the cold light of sobriety. Some have termed it context collapse, but by any name, it’s an annoyance everyone understands. It manifests itself in the declining visit and posting frequency on Facebook across many cohorts.

Think of Snapchat’s struggles to differentiate between its utility— as a way to communicate among friends—and its entertainment function as a place famous people broadcast content to their fans. In a controversial redesign, Snapchat cleaved the broadcast content from influencers into the righthand Discover tab, leaving your conversations with friends in the left Chat pane. Look, the redesign seemed to say, Kylie Jenner is not your friend.

TikTok doesn’t bump into the negative network effects of using a social graph at scale because it doesn't really have one. It is more of a pure interest graph, one derived from its short video content, and the beauty is its algorithm is so efficient that its interest graph can be assembled without imposing much of a burden on the user at all. It is passive personalization, learning through consumption. Because the videos are so short, the volume of training data a user provides per unit of time is high. Because the videos are entertaining, this training process feels effortless, even enjoyable, for the user.

I like to say that “when you gaze into TikTok, TikTok gazes into you.” Think of all the countless hours product managers, designers and engineers have dedicated to growth-hacking social onboarding—goading people into adding friends and following people, urging them to grant access to their phone contact lists—all in an attempt to carry them past the dead zone to the minimum viable graph size necessary to provide them with a healthy, robust feed. (sidenote: Every social product manager has heard the story of Facebook and Twitter’s keystone metrics for minimum viable friend or follow graph size countless times.) Think of how many damn interest bubble UI’s you’ve had to sit through before you could start using some new social product: what subjects interest you? who are your favorite musicians? what types of movies do you enjoy?The last time I tried to use Twitter’s new user onboarding flow, it recommended I follow, among other accounts, that of Donald Trump. There are countless ways they could onboard people more efficiently to provide them with a great experience immediately, but that is not one of them.

TikTok came along and bypassed all of that. In a two-sided entertainment marketplace, they provide creators on one side with unmatched video creation tools coupled with potential super-scaled distribution, and viewers on the other side with an endless stream of entertainment that gets more personalized with time. In doing so, TikTok, with a product team and infrastructure mostly located in China, came out of left field and became a player in the attention marketplace on the same playing fields around the world as giants like Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, YouTube, and Netflix. Not quite a Cinderella story...maybe a Mulan story?

TikTok didn't just break out in America. It became unbelievably popular in India and in the Middle East, more countries whose cultures and language were foreign to the Chinese Bytedance product teams. Imagine an algorithm so clever it enables its builders to treat another market and culture as a complete black box. What do people in that country like? No, even better, what does each individual person in each of those foreign countries like? You don't have to figure it out. The algorithm will handle that. The algorithm knows.

I don’t think the Chinese product teams I’ve met in recent years in China are much further ahead than the ones I met in 2011 when it comes to understanding foreign cultures like America. But what the Bytedance algorithm did was it abstracted that problem away.One of the concerns about CCP ties with Bytedance is that they might use it as a propaganda tool against the U.S. I tend to think that problem is overrated because my sense is that many in China still don't understand the nuances of American culture, just as America doesn't understand theirs (though I speak Mandarin, some of the memes on Douyin fly way over my head). However, perhaps an algorithm that abstracts culture into a series of stimuli responses makes it more dangerous?

Now imagine that level of hyper efficient interest matching applied to other opportunities and markets. Personalized TV of the future? Check. Education? I already find a lot of education videos in my TikTok feed, on everything from cooking to magic to iPhone hacks. Scale that up and Alex and Louis might finally realize their dream of a short video education app that they set out to build before Musical.ly.

Shopping? A slam dunk, Douyin and Toutiao already enable a ton of commerce in China. Job marketplace? A bit of a stretch, but not impossible. If Microsoft buys TikTok, I’d certainly give the TikTok team a crack at improving my LinkedIn feed, which, to be clear, is horrifying. What about personalized reading, from books to newsletters to blogs? Music? Podcasts? Yes, yes, yes please. Dating? The world could absolutely use an alternative to the high GINI co-efficient, high inequality dating marketplace that is Tinder.

Douyin already visualizes much of this future for us with its much broader diversity of videos and revenue models. In China, video e-commerce is light years ahead of where it is in the U.S. (for a variety of reasons, but none that aren’t surmountable; a topic, again, for another piece). Whereas TikTok can still feel, to me, like a pure entertainment time-killer, Douyin, which I track on a separate phone I keep just to run Chinese apps for research purposes, feels like much more than that. It feels like a realization of short video as a broad use case platform.

There’s a reason that many people in the U.S. today describe social media as work. And why many, like me, have come to find TikTok a much more fun app to spend time in. Apps like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter are built on social graphs, and as such, they amplify the scale, ubiquity, and reach of our performative social burden. They struggle to separate their social functions from their entertainment and utility functions, injecting an aspect of social artifice where it never used to exist.

Facebook has struggled with its transition to utility, which would’ve offered it a path towards becoming more of a societal operating system the way WeChat is in China. To be fair, the competition for many of those functions is much stiffer in the U.S. In payments, for example, Facebook must compete with credit cards, which work fine and which most people default to in the U.S., whereas in China AliPay and WeChat Pay were competing with a cash-dominant culture. Still, in the U.S., Facebook has yet to make any real inroads in significant utility use cases like commerce.I speak so often about how much video as a medium is underrated by tech elites. In an alternate history of Facebook, they would've made a harder shift to becoming a video-only app, moving up the ladder from text to photos to videos, and maybe they would've become TikTok before TikTok. If they had, I think their time spent figures would be even higher today. For as quickly as Facebook moved to disrupt itself in the past, there's a limit to how far they're willing to go. I plan to compare the Chinese and U.S. tech ecosystems in a future post, and one of the broadest and most important takeaways is that China leapfrogged the U.S. in the shift to video, among many other things. This doesn't mean the U.S. won't then leapfrog China the next time around, but for now, the U.S. is the trailing frog in several categories.

Instagram is some strange hybrid mix of social and interest graph, and now it’s also a jumble of formats, with a Stories feed relegated to a top bar in the app while the more stagnant and less active original feed continues to run vertically as the default. Messaging is pushed to a separate pane and also served by a separate app. Longer form videos bounce you to Instagram TV, which is just an app for videos that exceed some time limit, I guess? And soon, perhaps commerce will be jammed in somehow? Meanwhile, they have a Discover tab, or whatever it is called, which seems like it could be the default tab if they wanted to take a more interest-based approach like TikTok. But they seem to have punted on making any hard decisions for so long now that the app is just a Frankenstein of feeds and formats and functions spread across a somewhat confused constellation of apps.

Twitter has never seemed to know what it is. Ask ten different Twitter employees, you’ll hear ten different answers. Perhaps that’s why the dominant product philosophy of the company seems to be a sort of constant paralysis broken up by the occasional crisis mitigation. One reason I’ve long wished Twitter had just become a open protocol and let the developer community go to town is that Twitter moves. At. A. Snail's. Pace.

The shame of it is that Twitter had a head start on an interest graph, largely through the work of its users, who gave signal on what they cared about through the graphs they assembled. That could have been a foundation to all sorts of new markets for them. They could’ve even been an interest-based social network, but instead users have mostly extracted that value themselves by pinging each other through the woefully neglected DM product.Of course, Twitter also once purchased Vine and then let it wither on the, uh vine. Of all the tech companies that could purchase TikTok, maybe Twitter is the one that least deserves it. At a minimum, they should be required to submit a book report showing they understand what it is they're buying.

A few other tech companies are worth mentioning here. YouTube is a massive video network, but honestly they may have shipped even less than Twitter over the years. That they don’t have any video creation tools of note (do they have any?!) and allowed TikTok to come in and steal the short video space is both shocking and not.

Amazon launched a short video commerce app some time ago. It came and went so quickly I didn’t even have time to try it. Though Amazon is good at many things, they just don’t have the DNA to build something like TikTok. That they have failed to realize the short video commerce vision that China led the way on is a shocking miss on their part.

Apple owns the actual camera that so many of these videos are shot on, but they've never understood social.iMessages could be a social networking colossus if Apple had the social DNA, but every day other messaging apps pull further away in functionality and design. But I guess they're finally adding threading in iMessages with the next iOS release? Haha. At least they'll continue to improve the camera hardware with every successive iPhone release.

None of this is to say TikTok is anywhere near the market value of any of these aforementioned American tech giants. If you still think of it as a novelty meme short video app, you're not far from the truth.Are there flaws with TikTok? Of course. It’s far from perfect. The algorithm can be too clingy. Sometimes I like one video from some meme and the next day TikTok serves me too many follow-up videos from the same meme. But the great thing about a hyper-responsive algorithm is that you can tune it quickly, almost like priming GPT-3 to get the results you want. Often all it takes to inject some new subculture into your TikTok feed is to find some video from it (you can easily find them on YouTube or via friends whose feeds are different from your own) and like it. Another problem for TikTok is that a lot of other use cases are being jammed into what was designed to be a portrait mode lip synch video app. Vertical video is good for the human figure, for dance and makeup videos, but not ideal for other types of communication and storytelling (I still hate when basketball and football highlight clips can’t show more of the horizontal playing field, and that goes for both IG and TikTok; in many highlights of Steph Curry hitting a long 3 you can’t see him, or the basket, only one of the two, lol). Stepping up a level, the list of opportunities Bytedance and TikTok have yet to capitalize on in the U.S. is long, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they miss many of them even if they stave off a ban from the U.S. government. Much of it would require new form factors, and it’s unclear how strong the TikTok product team would be, especially if divested out of Bytedance. Under Microsoft, a company with a fairly shaky history in the consumer market, it's unclear that their full potential would be realized.

Still, none of that product work is rocket science. Much of it seems clear in my head. More importantly, TikTok, if armed with the Bytedance algorithm as part of a divestment, has a generalized interest-matching algorithm that can allow it to tackle U.S. tech giants not head on but from an oblique angle. To see it as merely a novelty meme video app for kids is to miss what its much greater disruptive potential. That an app launched out of China could come to the U.S. and sprint into cultural relevance in this attention marketplace should be a wake-up call to complacent U.S. tech companies. Given how many of those companies rely on intuiting user interests to sell them things or to show them ads, a company like TikTok which found a shortcut to assembling such an interest graph should raise all sorts of alarm bells.

It surprises me that more U.S. tech companies aren’t taking a harder run at trying to acquire TikTok if the rumored CFIUS hammer stops short of an outright ban. I can’t think of any of them that shouldn’t be bidding for what is a once-in-a-generation forced fire sale asset. I’ve seen prices like $30B tossed around online. If that’s true, it’s an absolute bargain. I’d easily pay twice that without a second thought.

I could cycle through my long list of nits, but ultimately they are all easily solvable with the right product vision and execution. TikTok has figured out the hardest piece, the algorithm. With it, a massive team made up mostly by people who’ve never left China, and many who never will, grabbed massive marketshare in cultures and markets they’d never experienced firsthand. To a cultural determinist like myself, that feels like black magic.


On that same trip to China in 2018 when I visited Bytedance, an ex-colleague of mine from Hulu organized a visit for me to Newsdog. It was a news app for the Indian market built by a startup headquartered in Beijing. As I exited the elevator into their lobby, I was greeted by a giant mural of Jeff Bezos’ famous saying “It’s Always Day One” on the opposite wall.

A friend of a friend was the CEO there, and he sat me down in a conference room to walk me through their app. They had raised $50M from Tencent just a few months earlier that year, and they were the number one news app in India at the time.

He opened the app on his phone and handed it to me. Similar to Toutiao in China, there were different topic areas in a scrollbar across the top, with a vertical feed of stories beneath each. All of these were stories selected algorithmically, as is the style of Toutiao and so many apps in China.

I looked through the stories, all in Hindi (and yes, one feed that contained the thirst trap photos of attractive Indian girls in rather suggestive outfits standing under things like waterfalls; some parts of culture are universal). Then I looked up from the app and through the glass walls of the conference room at an office filled with about 40 Chinese engineers, mostly male, tapping away on their computers. Then I looked back down at page after page of Hindi stories in the app.

“Wait,” I asked. “Do you have people in this office or at the company who know how to read Hindi?”

He looked at me with a smile.

“No,” he said. “None of us can read any of it.”


NEXT POST: Part II of my thoughts on TikTok, on how the app design is informed by its algorithm and vice versa in a virtuous circle.

Status as a Service (StaaS)

Editor's Note 1: I have no editor.

Editor’s Note 2: I would like to assure new subscribers to this blog that most my posts are not as long as this one. Or as long as my previous one. My long break from posting here means that this piece is a collection of what would’ve normally been a series of shorter posts. I put section titles below, so skip any that don’t interest you. My short takes are on Twitter. All that said, I apologize for nothing.

Editor's Note 3: I lied, I apologize for one thing, and that is my long writing hiatus. Without a work computer, I had to resort to using my 7 year old 13" Macbook Pro as my main computer, and sometime last year my carpal tunnel syndrome returned with a vengeance and left my wrists debilitated with pain. I believe all of you who say your main computer is a laptop or, shudder, an iPad, but goodness gracious I cannot type on a compact keyboard for long periods of time without having my hands turn into useless stumps. It was only the return to typing almost exclusively on my old friend the Kinesis Advantage 2 ergo keyboard that put me back in the game.

Editor’s Note 4: I was recently on Patrick O'Shaughnessy's podcast Invest Like the Best, and near the end of that discussion, I mentioned a new essay I'd been working on about the similarities between social networks and ICO's. This is that piece.

Status-Seeking Monkeys

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a person in possession of little fortune, must be in want of more social capital."

So wrote Jane Austen, or she would have, I think, if she were chronicling our current age (instead we have Taylor Lorenz, and thank goodness for that).

Let's begin with two principles:

  • People are status-seeking monkeys*

  • People seek out the most efficient path to maximizing social capital

* Status-Seeking Monkeys will also be the name of my indie band, if I ever learn to play the guitar and start a band

I begin with these two observations of human nature because few would dispute them, yet I seldom see social networks, some of the largest and fastest-growing companies in the history of the world, analyzed on the dimension of status or social capital.

It’s in part a measurement issue. Numbers lend an air of legitimacy and credibility. We have longstanding ways to denominate and measure financial capital and its flows. Entire websites, sections of newspapers, and a ton of institutions report with precision on the prices and movements of money.

We have no such methods for measuring the values and movement of social capital, at least not with anywhere near the accuracy or precision. The body of research feels both broad and yet meager. If we had better measures besides user counts, this piece and many others would be full of charts and graphs that added a sense of intellectual heft to the analysis. There would be some annual presentation called the State of Social akin to Meeker's Internet Trends Report, or perhaps it would be a fifty page sub-section of her annual report.

Despite this, most of the social media networks we study generate much more social capital than actual financial capital, especially in their early stages; almost all such companies have internalized one of the popular truisms of Silicon Valley, that in the early days, companies should postpone revenue generation in favor of rapid network scaling. Social capital has much to say about why social networks lose heat, stall out, and sometimes disappear altogether. And, while we may not be able to quantify social capital, as highly attuned social creatures, we can feel it.

Social capital is, in many ways, a leading indicator of financial capital, and so its nature bears greater scrutiny. Not only is it good investment or business practice, but analyzing social capital dynamics can help to explain all sorts of online behavior that would otherwise seem irrational.

In the past few years, much progress has been made analyzing Software as a Service (SaaS) businesses. Not as much has been made on social networks. Analysis of social networks still strikes me as being like economic growth theory long before Paul Romer's paper on endogenous technological change. However, we can start to demystify social networks if we also think of them as SaaS businesses, but instead of software, they provide status. This post is a deep dive into what I refer to as Status as a Service (StaaS) businesses.

Think of this essay as a series of strongly held hypotheses; without access to the types of data which i’m not even sure exists, it’s difficult to be definitive. As ever, my wise readers will add or push back as they always do.

Traditional Network Effects Model of Social Networks

One of the fundamental lessons of successful social networks is that they must first appeal to people when they have few users. Typically this is done through some form of single-user utility.

This is the classic cold start problem of social. The answer to the traditional chicken-and-egg question is actually answerable: what comes first is a single chicken, and then another chicken, and then another chicken, and so on. The harder version of the question is why the first chicken came and stayed when no other chickens were around, and why the others followed.

The second fundamental lessons is that social networks must have strong network effects so that as more and more users come aboard, the network enters a positive flywheel of growth, a compounding value from positive network effects that leads to hockey stick growth that puts dollar signs in the eyes of investors and employees alike. "Come for the tool, stay for the network" wrote Chris Dixon, in perhaps the most memorable maxim for how this works.

Even before social networks, we had Metcalfe's Law on telecommunications networks:

The value of a telecommunications network is proportional to the square of the number of connected users of the system (n^2)

This ported over to social networks cleanly. It is intuitive, and it includes that tantalizing math formula that explains why growth curves for social networks bends up sharply at the ankle of the classic growth S-curve.

But dig deeper and many many questions remain. Why do some large social networks suddenly fade away, or lose out to new tiny networks? Why do some new social networks with great single-player tools fail to transform into networks, while others with seemingly frivolous purposes make the leap? Why do some networks sometimes lose value when they add more users? What determines why different networks stall out at different user base sizes? Why do some networks cross international borders easily while others stay locked within specific countries? Why, if Metcalfe's Law holds, do many of Facebook's clones of other social network features fail, while some succeed, like Instagram Stories?

What ties many of these explanations together is social capital theory, and how we analyze social networks should include a study of a social network's accumulation of social capital assets and the nature and structure of its status games. In other words, how do such companies capitalize, either consciously or not, on the fact that people are status-seeking monkeys, always trying to seek more of it in the most efficient way possible?

To paraphrase Nicki Minaj, “If I'm fake I ain't notice cause my followers ain't.”

[Editor’s note: sometimes the followers actually are fake.]

Utility vs. Social Capital Framework

Classic network effects theory still holds, I’m not discarding it. Instead, let's append some social capital theory. Together, those form the two axes on which I like to analyze social network health.

Actually, I tend to use three axes to dissect social networks.

The three axes on which I evaluate social network strength

For this post, though, I'm only going to look at two of them, utility and social capital, as the entertainment axis adds a whole lot of complexity which I'll perhaps explain another time.

The basic two axis framework guiding much of the social network analysis in this piece

Utility doesn't require much explanation, though we often use the term very loosely and categorize too many things as utility when they aren't that useful (we generally confuse circuses for bread and not the reverse; Fox News, for example, is more entertainment than utility, as is common of many news outlets). A social network like Facebook allows me to reach lots of people I would otherwise have a harder time tracking down, and that is useful. A messaging app like WhatsApp allows me to communicate with people all over the world without paying texting or incremental data fees, which is useful. Quora and Reddit and Discord and most every social network offer some forms of utility.

The other axis is, for a lack of a more precise term, the social capital axis, or the status axis. Can I use the social network to accumulate social capital? What forms? How is it measured? And how do I earn that status?

There are several different paths to success for social networks, but those which compete on the social capital axis are often more mysterious than pure utilities. Competition on raw utility tends to be Darwinian, ruthless, and highly legible. This is the world, for example, of communication services like messaging and video conferencing. Investing in this space also tends to be a bit more straightforward: how useful is your app or service, can you get distribution, etc. When investors send me decks on things in this category, I am happy to offer an opinion, but I enjoy puzzling over the world of artificial prestige even more.

The creation of a successful status game is so mysterious that it often smacks of alchemy. For that reason, entrepreneurs who succeed in this space are thought of us a sort of shaman, perhaps because most investors are middle-aged white men who are already so high status they haven't the first idea why people would seek virtual status (more on that later).

With the rise of Instagram, with its focus on photos and filters, and Snapchat, with its ephemeral messaging, and Vine, with its 6-second video limit, for a while there was a thought that new social networks would be built on some new modality of communications. That's a piece of it, but it's not the complete picture, and not for the reasons many people think, which is why we have seen a whole bunch of strange failed experiments in just about every odd combinations of features and filters and artificial constraints in how we communicate with each other through our phones. Remember Facebook's Snapchat competitor Slingshot, in which you had to unlock any messages you received by responding with a message? It felt like product design by mad libs.

When modeling how successful social networks create a status game worth playing, a useful metaphor is one of the trendiest technologies: cryptocurrency.

Social Networks as ICO's

How is a new social network analogous to an ICO?

  1. Each new social network issues a new form of social capital, a token.

  2. You must show proof of work to earn the token.

  3. Over time it becomes harder and harder to mine new tokens on each social network, creating built-in scarcity.

  4. Many people, especially older folks, scoff at both social networks and cryptocurrencies.

["Why does anyone care what you ate for lunch?" is the canonical retort about any social network, though it’s fading with time. Both social networks and ICO's tend to drive skeptics crazy because they seem to manufacture value out of nothing. The shifting nature of scarcity will always leave a wake of skepticism and disbelief.]

Years ago, I stayed at the house of a friend whose high school daughter was home upstairs with a classmates. As we adults drank wine in the kitchen downstairs while waiting for dinner to finish in the oven, we heard lots of music and stomping and giggling coming from upstairs.

When we finally called them down for dinner, I asked them what all the ruckus had been. My friend's daughter proudly held up her phone to show me a recording they'd posted to an app called Musical.ly. It was a lip synch and dance routine replete with their own choreography. They'd rehearsed the piece more times than they could count. It showed. Their faces were shiny with sweat, and they were still breathing hard from the exertion. Proof of work indeed.

I spent the rest of the dinner scrolling through the app, fascinated, interviewing the girls about what they liked about the app, why they were on it, what share of their free time it had captured. I can't tell if parents are offended or glad when I spend much of the time visiting them interviewing their sons and daughters instead, but in the absence of good enough metrics with which to analyze this space, I subscribe to the Jane Goodall theory of how to study your subject. Besides, status games of adults are already well covered by the existing media, from literature to film. Children's status games, once familiar to us, begin to fade from our memory as time passes, and its modern forms have been drastically altered by social media.

Other examples abound. Perhaps you've read a long and thoughtful response by a random person on Quora or Reddit, or watched YouTube vloggers publishing night after night, or heard about popular Vine stars living in houses together, helping each other shoot and edit 6-second videos. While you can outsource Bitcoin mining to a computer, people still mine for social capital on social networks largely through their own blood, sweat, and tears.

[Aside: if you yourself are not an aspiring social network star, living with one is...not recommended.]

Perhaps, if you've spent time around today's youth, you've watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as a teen snaps dozens of selfies before publishing the most flattering one to Instagram, only to pull it down if it doesn't accumulate enough likes within the first hour. It’s another example of proof of work, or at least vigorous market research.

Almost every social network of note had an early signature proof of work hurdle. For Facebook it was posting some witty text-based status update. For Instagram, it was posting an interesting square photo. For Vine, an entertaining 6-second video. For Twitter, it was writing an amusing bit of text of 140 characters or fewer. Pinterest? Pinning a compelling photo. You can likely derive the proof of work for other networks like Quora and Reddit and Twitch and so on. Successful social networks don't pose trick questions at the start, it’s usually clear what they want from you.

[An aside about exogenous social capital: you might complain that your tweets are more interesting and grammatical than those of, say, Donald Trump (you're probably right!). Or that your photos are better composed and more interesting at a deep level of photographic craft than those of Kim Kardashian. The difference is, they bring a massive supply of exogenous pre-existing social capital from another status game, the fame game, to every table, and some forms of social capital transfer quite well across platforms. Generalized fame is one of them. More specific forms of fame or talent might not retain their value as easily: you might follow Paul Krugman on Twitter, for example, but not have any interest in his Instagram account. I don't know if he has one, but I probably wouldn't follow it if he did, sorry Paul, it’s nothing personal.]

If you've ever joined one of these social networks early enough, you know that, on a relative basis, getting ahead of others in terms of social capital (followers, likes, etc.) is easier in the early days. Some people who were featured on recommended follower lists in the early days of Twitter have follower counts in the 7-figures, just as early masters of Musical.ly and Vine were accumulated massive and compounding follower counts. The more people who follow you, the more followers you gain because of leaderboards and recommended follower algorithms and other such common discovery mechanisms.

It's true that as more people join a network, more social capital is up for grabs in the aggregate. However, in general, if you come to a social network later, unless you bring incredible exogenous social capital (Taylor Swift can join any social network on the planet and collect a massive following immediately), the competition for attention is going to be more intense than it was in the beginning. Everyone has more of an understanding of how the game works so the competition is stiffer.

Why Proof of Work Matters

Why does proof of work matter for a social network? If people want to maximize social capital, why not make that as easy as possible?

As with cryptocurrency, if it were so easy, it wouldn't be worth anything. Value is tied to scarcity, and scarcity on social networks derives from proof of work. Status isn't worth much if there's no skill and effort required to mine it. It's not that a social network that makes it easy for lots of users to perform well can't be a useful one, but competition for relative status still motivates humans. Recall our first tenet: humans are status-seeking monkeys. Status is a relative ladder. By definition, if everyone can achieve a certain type of status, it’s no status at all, it’s a participation trophy.

Musical.ly created a hurdle for gaining followers and status that wasn't easily cleared by many people. However, for some, especially teens, and especially girls, it was a status game at which they were particularly suited to win. And so they flocked there, because, according to my second tenet, people look for the most efficient ways to accumulate the most social capital.

Recall Twitter in the early days, when it was somewhat of a harmless but somewhat inert status update service. I went back to look at my first few tweets on the service from some 12 years ago and my first two, spaced about a year apart, were both about doing my taxes. Looking back at them, I bore even myself. Early Twitter consisted mostly of harmless but dull life status updates, a lot of “is this thing on?” tapping on the virtual microphone. I guess I am in the camp of not caring about what you had for lunch after all. Get off my lawn, err, phone screen!

What changed Twitter, for me, was the launch of Favstar and Favrd (both now defunct, ruthlessly murdered by Twitter), these global leaderboards that suddenly turned the service into a competition to compose the most globally popular tweets. Recall, the Twitter graph was not as dense then as it was now, nor did distribution accelerants like one-click retweeting and Moments exist yet.

What Favstar and Favrd did was surface really great tweets and rank them on a scoreboard, and that, to me, launched the performative revolution in Twitter. It added needed feedback to the feedback loop, birthing a new type of comedian, the master of the 140 character or less punchline (the internet has killed the joke, humor is all punchline now that the setup of the joke is assumed to be common knowledge thanks to Google).

The launch of these global tweet scoreboards reminds me of the moment in the now classic film** Battle Royale when Beat Takeshi Kitano informs a bunch of troublemaking school kids that they’ve been deported to an island are to fight to the death, last student standing wins, and that those who try to sneak out of designated battle zones will be killed by explosive collars. I'm not saying that Twitter is a life-or-death struggle, but you need only time travel back to pre-product-market-fit Twitter to see the vast difference in tone.

**Now classic because Battle Royale has subsequently been ripped off, err, paid tribute to by The Hunger Games, Fortnite, Maze Runner, and just about every YA franchise out there because who understands barbarous status games better than teenagers?

Favstar.fm screenshot. Just seeing some of those old but familiar avatars makes me sentimental, perhaps like how early Burning Man devotees think back on its early years, before the moneyed class came in and ruined that utopia of drugs, nudity, and art.

Chasing down old Favrd screenshots, I still laugh at the tweets surfaced.

One more Favrd screenshot just for old time’s sake

It's critical that not everyone can quip with such skill. This gave Twitter its own proof of work, and over time the overall quality of tweets improved as that feedback loop spun and tightened. The strategies that gained the most likes were fed in increasing volume into people's timelines as everyone learned from and competed with each other.

Read Twitter today and hardly any of the tweets are the mundane life updates of its awkward pre-puberty years. We are now in late-stage performative Twitter, where nearly every tweet is hungry as hell for favorites and retweets, and everyone is a trained pundit or comedian. It's hot takes and cool proverbs all the way down. The harmless status update Twitter was a less thirsty scene but also not much of a business. Still, sometimes I miss the halcyon days when not every tweet was a thirst trap. I hate the new Kanye, the bad mood Kanye, the always rude Kanye, spaz in the news Kanye, I miss the sweet Kanye, chop up the beats Kanye.

Thirst for status is potential energy. It is the lifeblood of a Status as a Service business. To succeed at carving out unique space in the market, social networks offer their own unique form of status token, earned through some distinctive proof of work.

Conversely, let's look at something like Prisma, a photo filter app which tried to pivot to become a social network. Prisma surged in popularity upon launch by making it trivial to turn one of your photos into a fine art painting with one of its many neural-network-powered filters.

It worked well. Too well.

Since almost any photo could, with one-click, be turned into a gorgeous painting, no single photo really stands out. The star is the filter, not the user, and so it didn't really make sense to follow any one person over any other person. Without that element of skill, no framework for a status game or skill-based network existed. It was a utility that failed at becoming a Status as a Service business.

In contrast, while Instagram filters, in its earliest days, improved upon the somewhat limited quality of smartphone photos at the time, the quality of those photos still depended for the most part on the photographer. The composition, the selection of subject matter, these still derived from the photographer’s craft, and no filter could elevate a poor photo into a masterpiece.

So, to answer an earlier question about how a new social network takes hold, let’s add this: a new Status as a Service business must devise some proof of work that depends on some actual skill to differentiate among users. If it does, then it creates, like an ICO, some new form of social capital currency of value to those users.

This is not the only way a social network can achieve success. As noted before, you can build a network based around utility or entertainment. However, the addition of status helps us to explain why some networks which seemingly offer little in the way of meaningful utility (is a service that forces you to make only a six second video useful?) still achieve traction.

Facebook's Original Proof of Work

You might wonder, how did Facebook differentiate itself from MySpace? It started out as mostly a bunch of text status updates, nothing necessarily that innovative.

In fact, Facebook launched with one of the most famous proof of work hurdles in the world: you had to be a student at Harvard. By requiring a harvard.edu email address, Facebook drafted off of one of the most elite cultural filters in the world. It's hard to think of many more powerful slingshots of elitism.

By rolling out, first to Ivy League schools, then to colleges in general, Facebook scaled while maintaining a narrow age dispersion and exclusivity based around educational credentials.

Layer that on top of the broader social status game of stalking attractive members of the other sex that animates much of college life and Facebook was a service that tapped into reserves of some of the most heated social capital competitions in the world.

Social Capital ROI

If a person posts something interesting to a platform, how quickly do they gain likes and comments and reactions and followers? The second tenet is that people seek out the most efficient path to maximize their social capital. To do so, they must have a sense for how different strategies vary in effectiveness. Most humans seem to excel at this.

Young people, with their much higher usage rate on social media, are the most sensitive and attuned demographic to the payback period and ROI on their social media labor. So, for example, young people tend not to like Twitter but do enjoy Instagram.

It's not that Twitter doesn't dole out the occasional viral supernova; every so often someone composes a tweet that goes over 1K and then 10K likes or retweets (Twitter should allow people to buy a framed print of said tweet with a silver or gold 1K club or 10K club designation to supplement its monetization). But it’s not common, and most tweets are barely seen by anyone at all. Pair that with the fact that young people's bias towards and skill advantage in visual mediums over textual ones and it's not surprising Instagram is their social battleground of preference (video games might be the most lucrative battleground for the young if you broaden your definition of social networks, and that's entirely reasonable, though that arena skews male).

Instagram, despite not having any official reshare option, allows near unlimited hashtag spamming, and that allows for more deterministic, self-generated distribution. Twitter also isn't as great for spreading visual memes because of its stubborn attachment to cropping photos to maintain a certain level of tweet density per phone screen.

The gradient of your network's social capital ROI can often govern your market share among different demographics. Young girls flocked to Musical.ly in its early days because they were uniquely good at the lip synch dance routine videos that were its bread and butter. In this age of neverending notifications, heavy social media users are hyper aware of differing status ROI among the apps they use.

I can still remember posting the same photos to Flickr and Instagram for a while and seeing how quickly the latter passed the former in feedback. If I were an investor or even an employee, I might have something like a representative basket of content that I'd post from various test accounts on different social media networks just to track social capital interest rates and liquidity among the various services.

Some features can increase the reach of content on any network. A reshare option like the retweet button is a massive accelerant of virality on apps where the social graph determines what makes it into the feed. In an effort to increase engagement, Twitter has, over the years, become more and more aggressive to increase the liquidity of tweets. It now displays tweets that were liked by people you follow, even if they didn't retweet them, and it has populated its search tab with Moments, which, like Instagram's Discover Tab, guesses at other content you might like and provides an endless scroll filled with it.

TikTok is an interesting new player in social media because its default feed, For You, relies on a machine learning algorithm to determine what each user sees; the feed of content from by creators you follow, in contrast, is hidden one pane over. If you are new to TikTok and have just uploaded a great video, the selection algorithm promises to distribute your post much more quickly than if you were on sharing it on a network that relies on the size of your following, which most people have to build up over a long period of time. Conversely, if you come up with one great video but the rest of your work is mediocre, you can't count on continued distribution on TikTok since your followers live mostly in a feed driven by the TikTok algorithm, not their follow graph.

The result is a feedback loop that is much more tightly wound that that of other social networks, both in the positive and negative direction. Theoretically, if the algorithm is accurate, the content in your feed should correlate most closely to quality of the work and its alignment with your personal interests rather than the drawing from the work of accounts you follow. At a time when Bytedance is spending tens (hundreds?) of millions of marketing dollars in a bid to acquire users in international markets, the rapid ROI on new creators' work is a helpful quality in ensuring they stick around.

This development is interesting for another reason: graph-based social capital allocation mechanisms can suffer from runaway winner-take-all effects. In essence, some networks reward those who gain a lot of followers early on with so much added exposure that they continue to gain more followers than other users, regardless of whether they've earned it through the quality of their posts. One hypothesis on why social networks tend to lose heat at scale is that this type of old money can't be cleared out, and new money loses the incentive to play the game.

One of the striking things about Silicon Valley as a region versus East Coast power corridors like Manhattan is its dearth of old money. There are exceptions, but most of the fortunes in the Bay Area are not just new money but freshly minted new money from this current generation of tech. You have some old VC or semiconductor industry fortunes, but most of those people are still alive.

It's in NYC that you run into multi-generational old money hanging around on the Upper East or West sides of Manhattan, or encounter old wealth being showered around town by young socialites whose source of wealth is simply a fortuitous last name. Trickle down economics works, but often just down the veins of family trees.

It's not that the existence of old money or old social capital dooms a social network to inevitable stagnation, but a social network should continue to prioritize distribution for the best content, whatever the definition of quality, regardless of the vintage of user producing it. Otherwise a form of social capital inequality sets in, and in the virtual world, where exit costs are much lower than in the real world, new users can easily leave for a new network where their work is more properly rewarded and where status mobility is higher.

It may be that Silicon Valley never comes to be dominated by old money, and I'd consider that a net positive for the region. I'd rather the most productive new work be rewarded consistently by the marketplace than a bunch of stagnant quasi-monopolies hang on to wealth as they reach bloated scales that aren't conducive to innovation. The same applies to social networks and multi-player video games. As a newbie, how quickly, if you put in the work, are you "in the game"? Proof of work should define its own meritocracy.

The same way many social networks track keystone metrics like time to X followers, they should track the ROI on posts for new users. It's likely a leading metric that governs retention or churn. It’s useful as an investor, or even as a curious onlooker to test a social networks by posting varied content from test accounts to gauge the efficiency and fairness of the distribution algorithm.

Whatever the mechanisms, social networks must devote a lot of resources to market making between content and the right audience for that content so that users feel sufficient return on their work. Distribution is king, even when, or especially when it allocates social capital.

Why copying proof of work is lousy strategy for status-driven networks

We often see a new social network copy a successful incumbent but with a minor twist thrown in. In the wake of Facebook’s recent issues, we may see some privacy-first social networks, but we have an endless supply of actual knockoffs to study. App.net and then Mastodon were two prominent Twitter clones that promised some differentiation but which built themselves on the same general open messaging framework.

Most of these near clones have and will fail. The reason that matching the basic proof of work hurdle of an Status as a Service incumbent fails is that it generally duplicates the status game that already exists. By definition, if the proof of work is the same, you're not really creating a new status ladder game, and so there isn't a real compelling reason to switch when the new network really has no one in it.

This isn't to say you can't copy an existing proof of work and succeed. After all, Facebook replaced social networks like MySpace and Friendster that came before it, and in the real world, new money sometimes becomes the new old money. You can build a better status game or create a more valuable form of status. Usually when such displacement occurs, though, it does so along the other dimension of pure utility.

For example, we have multiple messaging apps that became viable companies just by capturing a particular geographic market through localized network effects. We don't have one messaging app to rule them all in the world, but instead a bunch that have won in particular geographies. After all, the best messaging app in most countries or continents is the one most other people are already using there.

But in the same market? Copying a proof of work there is a tough road. The first mover advantage is also such that the leader with the dominant graph and the social capital of most value can look at any new features that fast followers launch and pull a reverse copy, grafting them into their more extensive and dominant incumbent graph.

In China, Tencent is desperate to cool off Bytedance's momentum in the short video space; Douyin is enemy number one. Tencent launched a clone but added a feature which allowed viewers to record a side-by-side video reaction in response to any video. It took about half a second for Bytedance to incorporate that into Douyin, and now it's a popular feature in TikTok the world over. If you can't change the proof of work competition as a challenger, copy and throttle is an effective strategy for the incumbent.

Not to mention that a wholesale ripoff of another app tends to be frowned upon as poor form. Even in China, with its reputation as the land of loose IP protection, users will tend to post dismissive reviews of blatant copycat apps in app stores. Chinese users may not be as aware of American apps that are knocked off in China, but within China, users don't just jump ship to out-and-out copycat apps. There has to be an incentive to overcome the switching costs, and that applies in China as it does elsewhere.

A few specifics of note here. I once wrote about social networks that the network's the thing; that is, the composition of the graph once a social network reaches scale is its most unique quality. I would update that today to say that it’s the unique combination of a feature and a specific graph that is any network’s most critical competitive advantage. Copying some network's feature often isn’t sufficient if you can’t also copy its graph, but if you can apply the feature to some unique graph that you earned some other way, it can be a defensible advantage.

Nothing illustrates this better than Facebook's attempts to win back the young from Snapchat by copying some of the network's ephemeral messaging features, or Facebook's attempt to copy TikTok with Lasso, or, well Facebook's attempt to duplicate just about every social app with any traction anywhere. The problem with copying Snapchat is that, well, the reason young people left Facebook for Snapchat was in large part because their parents had invaded Facebook. You don't leave a party with your classmates to go back to one your parents are throwing just because your dad brings in a keg and offer to play beer pong.

The pairing of Facebook's gigantic graph with just about almost any proof of work from another app changes the very nature of that status game, sometimes in undesirable ways. Do you really want your coworkers and business colleagues and family and friends watching you lip synch to "It's Getting Hot in Here" by Nelly on Lasso? Facebook was rumored to be contemplating a special memes tab to try to woo back the young, which, again, completely misunderstands how the young play the meme status game. At last check that plan had been shelved.

Of course, the canonical Facebook feature grab that pundits often cite as having worked is Instagram's copy of Snapchat's Stories format. As I've written before, I think the Stories format is a genuine innovation on the social modesty problem of social networks. That is, all but the most egregious showoffs feel squeamish about publishing too much to their followers. Stories, by putting the onus on the viewer to pull that content, allows everyone to publish away guilt-free, without regard for the craft that regular posts demand in the ever escalating game that is life publishing. In a world where algorithmic feeds break up your sequence of posts, Stories also allow gifted creators to create sequential narratives.

Thus Stories is inherently about lowering the publishing hurdle for users and about a new method of storytelling, and any multi-sided network seeing declining growth will try grafting it on their own network at some point just to see if it solves supply-side social modesty.

Ironically, as services add more and more filters and capabilities into their story functionality, we see the proof of work game in Stories escalating. Many of the Instagram Stories today are more elaborate and time-consuming to publish than regular posts; the variety of filters and stickers and GIFs and other tools in the Stories composer dwarfs the limited filters available for regular Instagram posts. What began as a lighter weight posting format is now a more sophisticated and complex one.

You can take the monkey out of the status-seeking game, but you can't take the status-seeking out of the monkey.

The Greatest Social Capital Creation Event in Tech History

In the annals of tech, and perhaps the world, the event that created the greatest social capital boom in history was the launch of Facebook's News Feed.

Before News Feed, if you were on, say MySpace, or even on a Facebook before News Feed launched, you had to browse around to find all the activity in your network. Only a demographic of a particular age will recall having to click from one profile to another on MySpace while stalking one’s friends. It almost seems comical in hindsight, that we'd impose such a heavy UI burden on social media users. Can you imagine if, to see all the new photos posted in your Instagram network, you had to click through each profile one by one to see if they’d posted any new photos? I feel like my parents talking about how they had to walk miles to grade school through winter snow wearing moccasins of tree bark when I complain about the undue burden of social media browsing before the News Feed, but it truly was a monumental pain in the ass.

By merging all updates from all the accounts you followed into a single continuous surface and having that serve as the default screen, Facebook News Feed simultaneously increased the efficiency of distribution of new posts and pitted all such posts against each other in what was effectively a single giant attention arena, complete with live updating scoreboards on each post. It was as if the panopticon inverted itself overnight, as if a giant spotlight turned on and suddenly all of us performing on Facebook for approval realized we were all in the same auditorium, on one large, connected infinite stage, singing karaoke to the same audience at the same time.

It's difficult to overstate what a momentous sea change it was for hundreds of millions, and eventually billions, of humans who had grown up competing for status in small tribes, to suddenly be dropped into a talent show competing against EVERY PERSON THEY HAD EVER MET.

Predictably, everything exploded. The number of posts increased. The engagement with said posts increased. This is the scene in a movie in which, having launched something, a bunch of people stand in a large open war room waiting, and suddenly a geek staring at a computer goes wide-eyed, exclaiming, "Oh my god." And then the senior ranking officer in the room (probably played by a scowling Ed Harris or Kyle Chandler) walks over to look at the screen, where some visible counter is incrementing so rapidly that the absolute number of digits starts is incrementing in real time as you look at it, because films have to make a plot development like this brain dead obvious to the audience. And then the room erupts in cheers while different people hug and clap each others on the back, and one random extra sprints across the screen in the background, shaking a bottle of champagne that explodes and ejaculates a stream of frothy bubbly through the air like some capitalist money shot that inspires, later, a 2,000 word essay from Žižek.

Of course, users complained about News Feed at first, but their behavior belied their words, something that would come to haunt Facebook later when it took it as proof that users would always just cry wolf and that similar changes in the future would be the right move regardless of public objections.

Back in those more halcyon times, though, News Feed unleashed a gold rush for social capital accumulation. Wow, that post over there has ten times the likes that my latest does! Okay, what can I learn from it to use in my next post? Which of my content is driving the most likes? We talk about the miracles of machine learning in the modern age, but as social creatures, humans are no less remarkable in their ability to decipher and internalize what plays well to the peanut gallery.

Stories of teens A/B testing Instagram posts, yanking those which don't earn enough likes in the first hour, are almost beyond satire; a show like Black Mirror often just resorts to episodes that show things that have already happened in reality. The key component of the 10,000 hour rule of expertise is the idea of deliberate practice, the type that provides immediate feedback. Social media may not be literally real-time in its feedback, but it's close enough, and the scope of reach is magnitudes of order beyond that of any social performance arena in history. We have a generation now that has been trained through hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of social media reps on what engages people on which platforms. In our own way, we are all Buzzfeed. We are all Kardashians.

The tighter the feedback loop, the quicker the adaptation. Compare early Twitter to modern Twitter; it's like going from listening to your coworkers at a karaoke bar to watching Beyonce play Coachella. I wrote once that any Twitter account that gained enough followers would end up sounding like a fortune cookie, but I underestimated how quickly everyone would arrive at that end state.

As people start following more and more accounts on a social network, they reach a point where the number of candidate stories exceeds their capacity to see them all. Even before that point, the sheer signal-to-noise ratio may decline to the point that it affects engagement. Almost any network that hits this inflection point turns to the same solution: an algorithmic feed.

Remember, status derives value from some type of scarcity. What is the one fundamental scarcity in the age of abundance? User attention. The launch of an algorithmic feed raises the stakes of the social media game. Even if someone follows you, they might no longer see every one of your posts. As DiCaprio said in Django Unchained, “You had my curiosity, but now, under the algorithmic feed, you have to earn my attention.”

As humans, we intuitively understand that some galling percentage of our happiness with our own status is relative. What matters is less our absolute status than how are we doing compared to those around us. By taking the scope of our status competitions virtual, we scaled them up in a way that we weren't entirely prepared for. Is it any surprise that seeing other people signaling so hard about how wonderful their lives are decreases our happiness?

As evidence of how anomalous a change this has been for humanity, witness how many celebrities continue to be caught with a history of offensive social media posts that should obviously have been taken down long ago given shifting sensibilities? Kevin Hart, baseball players like Josh Hader, Trea Turner, and Sean Newcomb, and a litany of other public figures and their management teams didn't think to go back and scrub some of their earlier social media posts despite nothing but downside optionality.

Could social networks have chosen to keep likes and other such metrics about posts private, visible only to the recipient? Could we have kept this social capital arms race from escalating? Some tech CEO's now look back and, like Alan Greenspan, bemoan the irrational exuberance that led us to where we are now, but let's be honest, the incentives to lower interest rates on social capital in all these networks, given their goals and those of their investors, were just too great. If one company hadn’t flooded the market with status, others would have filled the void many times over.

A social network like Path attempted to limit your social graph size to the Dunbar number, capping your social capital accumulation potential and capping the distribution of your posts. The exchange, they hoped, was some greater transparency, more genuine self-expression. The anti-Facebook. Unfortunately, as social capital theory might predict, Path did indeed succeed in becoming the anti-Facebook: a network without enough users. Some businesses work best at scale, and if you believe that people want to accumulate social capital as efficiently as possible, putting a bound on how much they can earn is a challenging business model, as dark as that may be.

Why Social Capital Accumulation Skews Young

I'd love to see a graph of social capital assets under management by user demographic. I'd wager that we'd see that young people, especially those from their teens, when kids seem to be given their first cell phones, through early 20's, are those who dominate the game. My nephew can post a photo of his elbow on Instagram and accumulate a couple hundred likes; I could share a photo of myself in a conga line with Barack Obama and Beyonce while Jennifer Lawrence sits on my shoulders pouring Cristal over my head and still only muster a fraction of the likes my nephew does posting a photo of his elbow. It's a young person's game, and the Livejournal/Blogger/Flickr/Friendster/MySpace era in which I came of age feels like the precambrian era of social in comparison.

While we're all status-seeking monkeys, young people tend to be the tip of the spear when it comes to catapulting new Status as a Service businesses, and may always will be. A brief aside here on why this tends to hold.

One is that older people tend to have built up more stores of social capital. A job title, a spouse, maybe children, often a house or some piece of real estate, maybe a car, furniture that doesn't require you to assemble it on your own, a curriculum vitae, one or more college degrees, and so on.

[This differs by culture, of course. In the U.S., where I grew up, one’s job is the single most important status carrier which is why so many conversations there begin with “What do you do?”]

Young people are generally social capital poor unless they've lucked into a fat inheritance. They have no job title, they may not have finished college, they own few assets like homes and cars, and often if they've finished college they're saddled with substantial school debt. For them, the fastest and most efficient path to gaining social capital, while they wait to level up enough to win at more grown-up games like office politics, is to ply their trade on social media (or video games, but that’s a topic for another day).

Secondly, because of their previously accumulated social capital, adults tend to have more efficient means of accumulating even more status than playing around online. Maintenance of existing social capital stores is often a more efficient use of time than fighting to earn more on a new social network given the ease of just earning interest on your sizeable status reserves. That's just math, especially once you factor in loss aversion.

Young people look at so many of the status games of older folks—what brand of car is parked in your garage, what neighborhood can you afford to live in, how many levels below CEO are you in your org—and then look at apps like Vine and Musical.ly, and they choose the only real viable and thus optimal path before them. Remember the second tenet: people maximize their social capital the most efficient way possible. Both the young and old pursue optimal strategies.

That so much social capital for the young comes in the form of followers, likes, and comments from peers and strangers shouldn't lessen its value. Think back to your teen years and try to recall any real social capital that you could accumulate on such a scale. In your youth, the approval of peers and others in your demographic tend to matter more than just about anything, and social media has extended the reach of the youth status game in just about every direction possible.

Furthermore, old people tend to be hesitant about mastering new skills in general, including new status games, especially if they involve bewildering new technology. There are many reasons, including having to worry about raising children and other such adult responsibilities and just plain old decay in neural malleability. Perhaps old dogs don't learn new tricks because they are closer to death, and the period to earn a positive return on that investment is shorter. At some point, it's not worth learning any new tricks at all, and we all turn into the brusque old lady in every TV show, e.g. Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey, dropping withering quips about the follies of humanity all about us. I look forward to this period of my life when, through the unavoidable spectre of mortality, I will naturally settle into my DGAF phase of courageous truth-telling.

Lastly, young people have a surplus of something which most adults always complain they have too little of: time. The hurdle rate on the time of the young is low, and so they can afford to spend some of that surplus exploring new social networks, mining them to see if the social capital returns are attractive, whereas most adults can afford to wait until a network has runaway product-market fit to jump in. The young respond to all the status games of the world with a consistent refrain: "If you are looking for ransom I can tell you I don't have money, but what I do have are a very particular set of skills. Among those are the dexterity and coordination to lip synch to songs while dancing Blocboy JB's Shoot in my bedroom, and the time to do it over and over again until I nail it" (I wrote this long before recent events in which Liam Neeson lit much of his social capital on fire, vacating the “wronged and vengeful father with incredible combat and firearms skills” role to the next aging male star).

These modern forms of social capital are like new money. Not surprisingly, then, older folks, who are worse at accumulating these new badges than the young, often scoff at those kids wasting time on those apps, just as old money from the Upper West and Upper East Sides of New York look down their noses at those hoodie-wearing new money billionaire philistines of Silicon Valley.

The exception might be those who grew up in this first golden age of social media. For some of this generation’s younger NBA players, who were on Instagram from the time they got their first phone, posting may be second nature, a force of habit they bring with them into the league. Witness how many young NBA stars track their own appearances on House of Highlights the way stars of old hoped looked for themselves on Sportscenter.

If this generational divide on social media between the old and the young was simply a one-time anomaly given the recent birth of social networks, and if future generations will be virtual status-seeking experts for womb to tomb, then capturing users in their formative social media years becomes even more critical for social networks.

“I contain multitudes” (said the youngblood)

Incidentally, teens and twenty-somethings, more so than the middle-aged and elderly, tend to juggle more identities. In middle and high school, kids have to maintain an identity among classmates at school, then another identity at home with family. Twenty-somethings craft one identity among coworkers during the day, then another among their friends outside of work. Often those spheres have differing status games, and there is some penalty to merging those identities. Anyone who has ever sent a text meant for their schoolmates to their parents, or emailed a boss or coworker something meant for their happy hour crew knows the treacherous nature of context collapse.

Add to that this younger generation's preference for and facility with visual communication and it's clearly why the preferred social network of the young is Instagram and the preferred messenger Snapchat, both preferable to Facebook. Instagram because of the ease of creating multiple accounts to match one's portfolio of identities, Snapchat for its best in class ease of visual messaging privately to particular recipients. The expiration of content, whether explicitly executed on Instagram (you can easily kill off a meme account after you've outgrown it, for example), or automatically handled on a service like Snapchat, is a must-have feature for those for whom multiple identity management is a fact of life.

Facebook, with its explicit attachment to the real world graph and its enforcement of a single public identity, is just a poor structural fit for the more complex social capital requirements of the young.

Common Social Network Arcs

It's useful to look at some of the common paths that social networks traverse over time using our two axis model. Not all of them took the same paths to prominence. Doing so also helps illuminate the most productive strategies for each to pursue future growth.

First utility, then social capital

Come for the tool, stay for the network

This is the well-known “come for the tool, stay for the network” path. Instagram is a good example here given its growth from filter-driven utility to social photo sharing behemoth. Today, I can't remember the last time I used an Instagram filter.

In the end, I think most social networks, if they've made this journey, need to make a return to utility to be truly durable. Commerce is just one area where Instagram can add more utility for its users.

First social capital, then utility

Lots of the internet’s great resources were built off people seeking a hit of fame and recognition

Come for the fame, stay for the tool?

Foursquare was this for me. In the beginning, I checked in to try to win mayorships at random places. These days, Foursquare is trying to become more of a utility, with information on places around you, rather than just a quirky distributed social capital game. Heavier users may have thoughts on how successful that has been, but in just compiling a database of locations that other apps can build off of, they have built up a store of utility.

IMDb, Wikipedia, Reddit, and Quora are more prominent examples here. Users come for the status, and help to build a tool for the commons.

Utility, but no social capital

Plenty of huge social apps are almost entirely utilitarian, but it’s a brutally competitive quadrant

Some companies manage to create utility for a network but never succeed at building any real social capital of note (or don’t even bother to try).

Most messaging apps fall into this category. They help me to reach people I already know, but they don't introduce me to too many new people, and they aren't really status games with likes and follows. Skype, Zoom, FaceTime, Google Hangouts, Viber, and Marco Polo are examples of video chat apps that fit this category as well. While some messaging apps are trying to add features like Stories that start to veer into the more performative realm of traditional social media, I’m skeptical they’ll ever see traction doing so when compared to apps that are more pure Status as a Service apps like Instagram.

This bottom right quadrant is home to some businesses with over a billion users, but in minimizing social capital and competing purely on utility-derived network effects, this tends to be a brutally competitive battleground where even the slimmest moat is fought for with blood and sweat, especially in the digital world where useful features are trivial to copy.

Social capital, but little utility

When a social network loses heat before it has built utility, the fall can come as quickly as the rise

One could argue Foursquare actually lands here, but the most interesting company to debate in this quadrant is clearly Facebook. I'm not arguing that Facebook doesn't have utility, because clearly it does in some obvious ways. In some markets, it is the internet. Messenger is clearly a useful messaging utility for a over a billion people.

However, the U.S. is a critical market for Facebook, especially when it comes to monetization, and so it's worth wondering how things might differ for Facebook today if it had succeeded in pushing further out on the utility axis. Many people I know have just dropped Facebook from their lives this past year with little impact on their day-to-day lives. Among the obvious and largest utility categories, like commerce or payments, Facebook isn't a top tier player in any except advertising.

This comparison is especially stark if we compare it to the social network to which it's most often contrasted.

Both social capital and utility simultaneously

The holy grail for social networks is to generate so much social capital and utility that it ends up in that desirable upper right quadrant of the 2x2 matrix. Most social networks will offer some mix of both, but none more so than WeChat.

While I hear of people abandoning Facebook and never looking back, I can't think of anyone in China who has just gone cold turkey on WeChat. It's testament to how much of an embedded utility WeChat has become that to delete it would be a massive inconvenience for most citizens.

Just look at the list of services in the WeChat or WePay or AliPay menu for the typical Chinese user and consider that Facebook isn’t a payment option for any of them.

Of course, the competitive context matters. Facebook faced much stiffer competition in these categories than WeChat did; for Facebook to build a better mousetrap in any of these, the requirements were much higher than for WeChat.

Take payments for example. The Chinese largely skipped credit cards, for a whole host of reasons. In part it was due to a cultural aversion to debt, in part because Visa, Mastercard, and American Express weren’t allowed into China where they would certainly have marketed their cards as aggressively as they always do. That meant Alipay and WePay launched competing primarily with cash and all its familiar inconveniences. Compare that to, say, Apple Pay trying to displace the habit of pulling out a credit card in the U.S., especially given how so many people are addicted to credit card points and miles (airline frequent flier programs being another testament to the power of status to influence people’s decision-making).

Making a real dent in new categories like commerce and payments will require a long-term mindset and a ton of resources on the part of Facebook and its subsidiaries like WhatsApp and Instagram. Past efforts to, for example, improve Facebook search, position Facebook as payment option, and introduce virtual assistants on Messenger seem to have been abandoned. Will new efforts like Facebook's cryptocurrency effort or Instagram's push into commerce be given a sufficiently long leash?

Social Network Asymptote 1: Proof of Work

How do you tell when a Status as a Service business will stop growing? What causes networks to suddenly hit that dreaded upper shoulder in the S-curve if, according to Metcalfe's Law, the value of a network grows in proportion to the square of its users? What are the missing variables that explain why networks don’t keep growing until they’ve captured everyone?

The reasons are numerous, let’s focus on social capital theory. To return to our cryptocurrency analogy, the choice of your proof of work is by definition an asymptote because the skills it selects for are not evenly distributed.

To take a specific example, since it's the app du jour, let's look at the app formerly known as Musical.ly, TikTok.

You've probably watched a TikTok video, but have you tried to make one? My guess is that many of you have not and never will (but if you have, please send me a link). This is no judgment, I haven’t either.

You may possess, in your estimation, too much self-dignity to wallow in cringe. Your arthritic joints may not be capable of executing Orange Justice. Whatever the reason, TikTok's creator community is ultimately capped by the nature of its proof of work, no matter how ingenious its creative tools. The same is true of Twitter: the number of people who enjoy crafting witty 140 and now 280-character info nuggets is finite. Every network has some ceiling on its ultimate number of contributors, and it is often a direct function of its proof of work.

Of course, the value and total user size of a network is not just a direct function of its contributor count. Whether you believe in the 1/9/90 rule of social networks or not, it’s directionally true that any network has value to people besides its creators. In fact, for almost every network, the number of lurkers far exceeds the number of active participants. Life may not be a spectator sport, but a lot of social media is.

This isn’t to say that proof of work is bad. In fact, coming up with a constraint that unlocks the creativity of so many people is exactly how Status as a Service businesses achieve product-market fit. Constraints force the type of compression that often begets artistic elegance, and forcing creatives to grapple with a constraint can foster the type of focused exertion that totally unconstrained exploration fails to inspire.

Still, a ceiling is a ceiling. If you want to know the terminal value of a network, the type of proof of work is a key variable to consider. If you want to know why Musical.ly stopped growing and sold to Bytedance, why Douyin will hit a ceiling of users in China (if it hasn’t already), or what the cap of active users is for any social network, first ask yourself how many people have the skill and interest to compete in that arena.

Social Network Asymptote 2: Social Capital Inflation and Devaluation

More terrifying to investors and employees than an asymptote is collapse. Recall the cautionary myth of the fall of Myspace, named after the little known Greek god of vanity Myspakos (Editor’s note: I made that up, it’s actually Narcissus). Why do some social networks, given Metcalfe's Law and its related network effects theories, not only stop growing but even worse, contract and wither away?

To understand the inherent fragility in Status as a Service businesses, we need to understand the volatility of status.

Social Capital Interest Rate Hikes

One of the common traps is the winner's curse for social media. If a social network achieves enough success, it grows to a size that requires the imposition of an algorithmic feed in order to maintain high signal-to-noise for most of its users. It's akin to the Fed trying to manage inflation by raising interest rates.

The problem, of course, is that this now diminishes the distribution of any single post from any single user. One of the most controversial of such decisions was Facebook's change to dampen how much content from Pages would be distributed into the News Feed.

Many institutions, especially news outlets, had turned to Facebook to access some sweet sweet eyeball inventory in News Feeds. They devised all sorts of giveaways and promotions to entice people to follow their Facebook Pages. After gaining followers, a media company had a free license to publish and publish often into their News Feeds, an attractive proposition considering users were opening Facebook multiples times per day. For media companies, who were already struggling to grapple with all the chaos the internet had unleashed on their business models, this felt like upgrading from waving stories at passersby on the street to stapling stories to the inside of eyelids the world over, several times a day. Deterministic, guaranteed eyeballs.

Then, one day, Facebook snapped its fingers like Thanos and much of that dependable reach evaporated into ash. No longer would every one of your Page followers see every one of your posts. Facebook did what central banks do to combat inflation and raised interest rates on borrowing attention from the News Feed.

Was such a move inevitable? Not necessarily, but it was always likely. That’s because there is one scarce resource which is a natural limit on every social network and media company today, and that is user attention. That a social network shares some of that attention with its partners will always be secondary to accumulating and retaining that attention in the first place. Facebook, for example, must always guard against the tragedy of the commons when it comes to News Feed. Saving media institutions is a secondary consideration, if that.

Social Capital Deflation: Scarcity Precarity or the Groucho Marx Conundrum

Another existential risk that is somewhat unique to social networks is this: network effects are powerful, but ones which are social in nature have the unfortunate quality of being just as ferocious in reverse.

In High Growth Handbook by Elad Gil, Marc Andreessen notes:

I think network effects are great, but in a sense they’re a little overrated. The problem with network effects is they unwind just as fast. And so they’re great while they last, but when they reverse, they reverse viciously. Go ask the MySpace guys how their network effect is going. Network effects can create a very strong position, for obvious reasons. But in another sense, it’s a very weak position to be in. Because if it cracks, you just unravel. I always worry when a company thinks the answer is just network effects. How durable are they?

Why do social network effects reverse? Utility, the other axis by which I judge social networks, tends to be uncapped in value. It's rare to describe a product or service as having become too useful. That is, it's hard to over-serve on utility. The more people that accept a form of payment, the more useful it is, like Visa or Mastercard or Alipay. People don’t stop using a service because it’s too useful.

Social network effects are different. If you've lived in New York City, you've likely seen, over and over, night clubs which are so hot for months suddenly go out of business just a short while later. Many types of social capital have qualities which render them fragile. Status relies on coordinated consensus to define the scarcity that determines its value. Consensus can shift in an instant. Recall the friend in Swingers, who, at every crowded LA party, quips, "This place is dead anyway." Or recall the wise words of noted sociologist Groucho Marx: "I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."

The Groucho Marx effect doesn't take effect immediately. In the beginning, a status hierarchy requires lower status people to join so that the higher status people have a sense of just how far above the masses they reside. It's silly to order bottle service at Hakkasan in Las Vegas if no one is sitting on the opposite side of the velvet ropes; a leaderboard with just a single high score is meaningless.

However, there is some tipping point of popularity beyond which a restaurant, club, or social network can lose its cool. When Malcolm Gladwell inserted the term "tipping point" into popular vernacular, he didn't specify which way things were tipping. We tend to glamorize the tipping into rapid diffusion, the toe of the S-curve, but in status games like fashion the arc of popularity traces not an S-curve but a bell curve. At the top of that bell curve, you reach the less glamorous tipping point, the one before the plummet.

When the definition of status is distributed, often one minority has disproportionate sway. If that group, the cool kids, pulls the ripcord, everyone tends to follow them to the exits. In fact, it’s usually the most high status or desirable people who leave first, the evaporative cooling effect of social networks. At that point, that product or service better have moved as far out as possible on the utility axis or the velocity of churn can cause a nose bleed.

[Mimetic desire is a cruel mistress. Girard would've had a field day with the Fyre Festival. Congratulations Billy McFarland, you are the ritual sacrifice with which we cleanse ourselves of the sin of coveting thy influencer’s bounty.]

Fashion is one of the most interesting industries for having understood this recurring boom and bust pattern in network effects and taken ownership of its own status devaluation cycles. Some strange cabal of magazine editors and fashion designers decide each season to declare arbitrarily new styles the fashion of the moment, retiring previous recommendations before they grow stale. There is usually no real utility change at all; functionally, the shirt you buy this season doesn’t do anything the shirt you bought last season still can’t do equally well. The industry as a whole is simply pulling the frontier of scarcity forward like a wave we're all trying to surf.

This season, the color of the moment might be saffron. Why? Because someone cooler than me said so. Tech tends to prioritize growth at all costs given the non-rival, zero marginal cost qualities of digital information. In a world of abundance, that makes sense. However, technology still has much to learn from industries like fashion about how to proactively manage scarcity, which is important when goods are rivalrous. Since many types of status are relative, it is, by definition, rivalrous. There is some equivalent of crop rotation theory which applies to social networks, but it's not part of the standard tech playbook yet.

A variant of this type of status devaluation cascade can be triggered when a particular group joins up. This is because the stability of a status lattice depends just as much on the composition of the network as its total size. A canonical example in tech was the youth migration out of Facebook when their parents signed on in force. Because of the incredible efficiency of News Feed distribution, Facebook became a de facto surveillance apparatus for the young: Mommy and Daddy are watching, as well as future universities and employers and dates who will time travel back and scour your profile someday. As Facebook became less attractive as a platform for the young, many of them flocked to Snapchat as their new messaging solution, its ephemeral nature offering built-in security and its UX opacity acting as a gate against clueless seniors.

I've written before about Snapchat's famously opaque Easter Egg UI as a sort of tamper-proof lid for parents, but if we combine social network utility theory with my post on selfies as a second language, it's also clear that Snapchat is a suboptimal messaging platform for older people whose preferred medium of communication remains text. Snapchat opens to a camera. If you want to text someone, it's extra work to swipe to the left pane to reach the text messaging screen.

I would be shocked if Facebook did not, at one point, contemplate a version of its app that opened to the camera first, instead of the News Feed, considering how many odd clones of other apps it’s considered in the past. If so, it’s good they never shipped it, because for young people, publishing to a graph that still contained their parents would've still been prohibitive, while for old folks who aren't as biased towards visual mediums, such a UI would've been suboptimal. It would've been a disastrous lose-lose for Facebook.

Patrick Collison linked to an interesting paper (PDF) on network effects traps in the physical world. They exist in the virtual world as well, and Status as a Service businesses are particularly fraught with them. Another instance is path dependent user composition. A fervent early adopter group can define who a new social network seems to be for, merely by flooding the service with content they love. Before concerted efforts to personalize the front page more quickly, Pinterest seemed like a service targeted mostly towards women even though its basic toolset are useful to many men as well. Because a new user’s front page usually drew upon pins from their friends already on the service, the earliest cohorts, which leaned female, dominated most new user’s feeds. My earliest Pinterest homepage was an endless collage of makeup, women’s clothing, and home decor because those happened to be some of the things my friends were pinning for a variety of projects.

Groucho Marx was ahead of his time as a social capital philosopher, but we can build upon his work. To his famous aphorism we should add some variants. When it comes to evaporative cooling, two come to mind: “I don’t want to belong to any club that will have those people as a member” and “I don’t want to belong to any club that those people don’t want to be a member of.”

Mitigating Social Capital Devaluation Risk, and the Snapchat Strategy

In a leaked memo late last year, Evan Spiegel wrote about how one of the core values of Snapchat is to make it the fastest way to communicate.

The most durable way for us to grow is by relentlessly focusing on being the fastest way to communicate.

Recently I had the opportunity to use Snapchat v5.0 on an iPhone 4. It had much of Bobby's original code in many of my original graphics. It was way faster than the current version of Snapchat running on my iPhone X.

In our excitement to innovate and bring many new products into the world, we have lost the core of what made Snapchat the fastest way to communicate.

In 2019, we will refocus our company on making Snapchat the fastest way to communicate so that we can unlock the core value of our service for the billions of people who have not yet learned how to use Snapchat. If we aren't able to unlock the core value of Snapchat, we won't ever be able to unlock the full power of our camera.

This will require us to change the way that we work and put our core product value of being the fastest way to communicate at the forefront of everything we do at Snap. It might require us to change our products for different markets where some of our value-add features detract from our core product value.

This clarifies Snapchat's strategy on the 3 axes of my social media framework: Snapchat intends to push out further on the utility axis at the expense of the social capital axis which, as we’ve noted before, is volatile ground to build a long-term business on.

Many will say, especially Snapchat itself, that it has been the anti-Facebook all along. Because it has no likes, it liberates people from destructive status games. To believe that is to underestimate the ingenuity of humanity in its ability to weaponize any network for status games.

Anyone who has studied kids using Snapchat know that it's just as integral a part of high school status and FOMO wars as Facebook, and arguably more so now that those kids largely don’t use Facebook. The only other social media app that is as sharp a stick is Instagram which has, it’s true, more overt social capital accumulation mechanisms. Still, the idea that kids use Snapchat like some pure messaging utility is laughable and makes me wonder if people have forgotten what teenage school life was like. Whether you see people attend a party that you’re not invited to on Instagram or on someone’s Snap, you still feel terrible.

Remember Snapchat's original Best Friends list? I'm going to guess many of my readers don't, because, as noted earlier, old people probably didn't play that status game, if they'd even figured out how to use Snapchat by that point. This was just about as pure a status game feature as could be engineered for teens. Not only did it show the top three people you Snapped with most frequently, you could look at who the top three best friends were for any of your contacts. Essentially, it made the hierarchy of everyone's “friendships” public, making the popularity scoreboard explicit.

I’m glad this didn’t exist when I was in high school, I really didn’t need metrics on how much of a loser I was

I’m glad this didn’t exist when I was in high school, I really didn’t need metrics on how much of a loser I was

You don’t want to know what the proof of work is to achieve Super BFF-dom

As with aggregate follower counts and likes, the Best Friends list was a mechanism for people to accumulate a very specific form of social capital. From a platform perspective, however, there's a big problem with this feature: each user could only have one best friend. It put an artificial ceiling on the amount of social capital one could compete for and accumulate.

In a clever move to unbound social capital accumulation and to turn a zero-sum game into a positive sum game, broadening the number of users working hard or engaging, Snapchat deprecated the very popular Best Friends list and replaced it with streaks.

If you’ve never seen those numbers and emojis on the right of your Snapchat contacts list, no one loves you. Just kidding, it just means you’re old.

If you and a friend Snap back and forth for consecutive days, you build up a streak which is tracked in your friends list. Young people quickly threw their heart and souls into building and maintaining streaks with their friends. This was literally proof of work as proof of friendship, quantified and tracked.

Streaks, of course, have the wonderful quality of being unbounded. You can maintain as many streaks as you like. If you don't think social capital has value, you've never seen, as I have, a young person sobbing over having to go on vacation without their phone, or to somewhere without cell or wifi access, only to see all their streaks broken. Some kids have resorted, when forced to go abroad on a vacation, to leaving their phone with a friend who helps to keep all the streaks alive, like some sort of social capital babysitter or surrogate.

What's hilarious is how efficiently young people maintain streaks. It's a daily ritual that often consists of just quickly running down your friend list and snapping something random, anything, just to increment the streak count. My nephew often didn’t even bother framing the camera up, most his streak-maintenance snaps were blurry pics of the side of his elbow, half his shoulder, things like that.

Of course, as evidence of the fragility of social capital structures, streaks have started to lose heat. Many younger users of Snapchat no longer bother with them. Maintaining social capital games is always going to be a volatile game, prone to sudden and massive deflationary events, but while they work, they’re a hell of a drug. They also can be useful; for someone Snapping frequently, like all teens do, having a best friends list sorted to the top of your distribution list is a huge time-saver. Social capital and utility often can’t be separated cleanly.

Still, given the precarious nature of status, and given the existence of Instagram which has always been a more unabashed social capital accumulation service, it’s not a bad strategy for Snapchat to push out towards increased utility in messaging instead. The challenge, as anyone competing in the messaging space knows, is that creating any durable utility advantage is brutally hard. In the game theory of tech competition, it's best to assume that any feature that can be copied will. And messaging may never be, from a profit perspective, the most lucrative of businesses.

As a footnote, Snapchat is also playing on the entertainment axis with its Discover pane. Almost all social networks of some scale will play with some mix of social capital, utility, and entertainment, but each chooses how much to emphasize each dimension.

Lengthening the Half-life of Status Games

The danger of having a proof of work burden that doesn't change is that eventually, everyone who wants to mine for that social currency will have done so, and most of it will be depleted. At that point, the amount of status-driven potential energy left in the social network flattens. If, at that inflection, the service hasn't made headway in adding a lot of utility, the network can go stale.

One way to combat this, which the largest social networks tend to do better than others, is add new forms of proof of work which effectively create a new reserve of potential social capital for users to chase. Instagram began with square photos and filters; it's since removed the aspect ratio constraint, added video, lengthened video limits, and added formats like Boomerang and Stories. Its parent company, Facebook, arguably has broadened the most of any social network in the world, going from a text-based status update tool for a bunch of Harvard students to a social network with so many formats and options that I can’t keep track of them all. These new hurdles are like downloadable content in video games, new levels to spice up a familiar game.

Doing so is a delicate balance, because it’s quite possible that Facebook is so many things to so many people that it isn't really anything to anyone anymore. It is hard to be a club that admits everyone but still wants to offer a coherent status ladder. You can argue Facebook doesn't want to be in the status game, but if so, it had better add a lot more utility.

Video games illuminate the proof of work cycle better than almost any category, it is the drosophila of this type of analysis given its rapid life cycle and overt skill-versus-reward tradeoffs. Why is it, for example, that big hit games tend to have a life cycle of about 18 months?

A new game offers a whole new set of levels and challenges, and players jump into the status competition with gusto. But, eventually, skill differentiation tends to sort the player base cleanly. Players rise to the level of their mastery and plateau. Simultaneously, players become overly familiar with the game's challenges; the dopamine hit of accomplishment dissipates.

A franchise like, say, Call of Duty, learns to manage this cycle by investing hundreds of millions of dollars to issue a new version of the game regularly. Each game offers familiarity but a new set of levels and challenges and environments. It's the circle of life.

Some games can lengthen the cycle. For example, casino games in Vegas pay real money to set an attractive floor on the ROI of playing. Some MMORPGs offer other benefits to players, like a sense of community, which last longer than the pure skill challenge of playing the game. Looking at some of the longer lasting video game franchises like World of Warcraft, League of Legends, and Fortnite reveal a lot about how a parallel industry has succeeded in lengthening the productive middle age of its top properties.

I suspect the frontier of social network strategy will draw more and more upon deep study of these adjacent and much older social capital games. Fashion, video games, religion, and society itself are some of the original Status as a Service businesses.

Why Some Companies Will Always Struggle with Social

Some people find status games distasteful. Despite this, everyone I know is engaged in multiple status games. Some people sneer at people hashtag spamming on Instagram, but then retweet praise on Twitter. Others roll their eyes at photo albums of expensive meals on Facebook but then submit research papers to prestigious journals in the hopes of being published. Parents show off photos of their children performances at recitals, people preen in the mirror while assessing their outfits, employees flex on their peers in meetings, entrepreneurs complain about 30 under 30 lists while wishing to be on them, reporters check the Techmeme leaderboards; life is nothing if not a nested series of status contests.

Have I met a few people in my life who are seemingly above all status games? Yes, but they are so few as to be something akin to miracles, and damn them for making the rest of us feel lousy over our vanity.

The number of people who claim to be above status games exceeds those who actually are. I believe their professed distaste to be genuine, but even if it isn't, the danger of their indignation is that they actually become blind to how their product functions in some ways as Status as a Service business.

Many of our tech giants, in fact, are probably always going to be weak at social absent executive turnover or smart acquisitions. Take Apple, which has actually tried before at building out social features. They built one in music, but it died off quickly. They've tried to add some social features to the photo album on iOS, though every time I've tried them out I end up more bewildered than anything else.

iMessages, Apple fans might proclaim! Hundreds of millions of users, a ton of usage among teens, isn't that proof that Apple can do social? Well, in a sense, but mostly one of utility. Apple's social efforts tend to be social capital barren.

Since Apple positions itself as the leading advocate for user privacy, it will always be constrained on building out social features since many of them trade off against privacy. Not all of them do, and it’s possible a social network based entirely on privacy can be successful, but 1) it would be challenging and 2) it's not clear many people mind trading off some privacy for showing off their best lives online.

This is, of course, exactly why many people love and choose Apple, and they have more cash than they can spend. No one need feel sorry for Apple, and as is often the case, a company’s strengths and weaknesses stem from the same quality in their nature. I’d rather Apple continue to focus on building the best computers in the world. Still, it’s a false tradeoff to regard Apple’s emphasis on privacy as an excuse for awkward interactions like photo sharing on iOS.

The same inherent social myopia applies to Google which famously took a crack at building a social network of its own with Google+. Like Apple, the team in Mountain View has always seemed more suited to building out networks of utility rather than social capital. Google is often spoken of as a company where software engineers have the most power. Engineers, in my experience, are driven by logic, and status-centered products are distasteful or mysterious to them, often both. Google will probably always be weak at social, but as with Apple, they compensate with unique strengths.

Oddly enough, despite controlling one of the two dominant mobile platforms, they have yet to be able to launch a successful messaging app. That’s about as utility-driven a social application as there is, akin to email where Google does have sizeable market share with GMail. It's a shame as Google could probably use social as an added layer of utility in many of their products, especially in Google Maps.

Amazon and Netflix both launched social efforts though they’ve largely been forgotten. It's likely the attempts were premature, pushed out into the world before either company had sufficient scale to enable positive flywheel effects. It’s hard enough launching a new social network, but it’s even harder to launch social features built around behaviors like shopping or renting DVD’s through the mail which occur infrequently. Neither company’s social efforts were the most elegantly designed, either (Facebook is underrated for its ability to launch a social product that scaled to billions of users, its design team has a mastery of maintaining ease of use for users of all cultures and ages).

Given the industrialization of fake reviews, and given how many people have Prime accounts, Amazon could build a social service simply to facilitate product recommendations and reviews from people you know and trust; I increasingly turn a skeptical eye to both extremely positive and negative reviews on Amazon, even if they are listed as coming from verified purchasers. The key value of a feature like this would be utility, but the status boost from being a product expert would be the energy turning the flywheel. The thing is, Amazon actually has a track record of harnessing social dynamics in service of its retail business with features like reviewer rankings and global sales rank (both are discussed a bit further down).

As for Netflix, I actually think social isn’t as useful as many would think in generating video recommendations (that’s a discussion for another day, but suffice it to say there is some narcissism of small differences when it comes to film taste). However, as an amplifier of Netflix as the modern water cooler, as a way to encourage herd behavior, social activity can serve as an added layer of buzz that for now is largely opaque to users inside Netflix apps. It's a strategy that is only viable if you can achieve the size of subscriber base that a Netflix has, and thus it is a form of secondary scale advantage that they could leverage more.

However, there's another reason that senior execs at most companies, even social networks, are ill-suited to designing and leveraging social features. It’s a variant of winner's curse.

Let Them Eat Cake

You'll hear it again and again, the easiest way to empathize with your users is to be the canonical user yourself. I tend to subscribe to this idea, which is unfortunate because it means I have hundreds of apps installed on my phone at any point in time, just trying to keep up with the product zeitgeist.

With social networks, one of the problems with seeing your own service through your users’ eyes is that every person has a different experience given who they follow and what the service's algorithm feeds them. When you have hundreds of millions or even billions of users, across different cultures, how do you accurately monitor what's going on? Your metrics may tell you that engagement is high and growing, but what is the composition of that activity, and who is exposed to what parts?

Until we have metrics that distinguish between healthy and unhealthy activity, social network execs largely have to steer by anecdote, by licking a finger and sticking it in the air to ascertain the direction of the wind. Some may find it hard to believe when execs plead ignorance when alerted of the scope of problems on their services, but I don't. When it comes to running a community, the thickest veil of ignorance is the tidy metrics dashboard that munges hundreds, thousands, or maybe even millions of cohorts into just a handful.

To really get the sense of a health of a social network, one must understand the topology of the network, and the volume and nature of connections and interactions among hundreds of millions or even billions of users. It’s impossible to process them all, but just as difficult today to summarize them without losing all sorts of critical detail.

But perhaps even more confounding is that executives at successful social networks are some of the highest status people in the world. Forget first world problems, they have .1% or .001% problems. On a day-to-day basis, they hardly face a single issue that their core users grapple with constantly. Engagement goals may drive them towards building services that are optimized as social capital games, but they themselves are hardly in need of more status, except of a type they won't find on their own networks.

[The one exception may be Jack Dorsey, as any tweet he posts now attracts an endless stream of angry replies. It’s hard to argue he doesn’t understand firsthand the downside risk of a public messaging protocol. Maybe, for victims of harassment on Twitter, we need a Jack that is less thick-skinned and stoic, not more.]

The Social Capital - Financial Capital Exchange

[If you fully believe in the existence and value of social capital, you can skip this section, though it may be of interest in understanding some ways to estimate its value.]

That some of the largest, most valuable companies in history have been built so quickly in part on creating status games should be enough to convince you of the existence and value of social capital. Since we live in the age of social media, we live in perhaps the peak of social capital assets in the history of civilization. However, as noted earlier, one of the challenges of studying it is that we don't have agreed-upon definitions of how to measure it and thus to track its flows.

I haven't found a clean definition of social capital but think of it as capital that derives from networks of people. If you want to explore the concept further, this page has a long list of definitions from literature. The fact is, I have deep faith in all my readers when it comes to social capital that, like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart once said about pornography, you "know it when you see it."

But more than that, the dark matter that is social capital can be detected through those exchanges in which it converts into more familiar stores of value.

If you've ever borrowed a cup of milk from your neighbor, or relied on them to watch your children for an afternoon, you know the value of social capital. If you lived in an early stage of human history, when people wandered in small nomadic tribes and regularly clubbed people of other tribes to death with sticks and stones, you also know the value of social capital through the protective cocoon of its presence and the sudden violence in its absence.

Perhaps the easiest way to spot social capital is to look at places where people trade it for financial capital. With the maturing of social networks, we've seen the infrastructure to facilitate these exchanges come a long way. These trades allow us to assign a tangible value to social capital the way one might understand the value of an intangible assets like leveled-up World of Warcraft characters when they are sold on the open market.

Perhaps the most oft-cited example of a social-to-financial-capital exchange is the type pulled off by influencers on Instagram and YouTube. I've met models who, in another life, might be mugging outside an Abercrombie and Fitch or working the front door at some high end restaurant in Los Angeles, but instead now pull down over 7 figures a year for posting photos of themselves luxuriating in specific resorts, wearing and using products from specific sponsors. When Jake or Logan Paul post a video of themselves preening in front of their new Lamborghini in the driveway of the mansion they bought using money stemming from their YouTube streaming, we know some exchange of social capital for financial capital has occurred upstream. Reshape distribution and you reshape the world.

Similarly, we see flows the other direction. People buying hundreds of thousands of followers on Twitter is one of the cleanest examples of trading financial capital for social capital. Later, that social capital can be converted back into financial capital any number of ways, including charging sponsors for posts. Depending on the relative value in both directions there can be arbitrage.

[Klout, a much-mocked company online, attempted to more precisely track social capital valuations of people online, but, just as the truly wealthy mock the nouveau riche as gauche, many found the explicit measurement attempts unseemly. Most of these same people, however, compete hard for social capital online, so ¯\(ツ)/¯. The designation of which status games are acceptable is itself a status game.]

Asia, where monetization models differ for a variety of cultural and contextual reasons, provides an even cleaner valuation of social capital. There, many social networks allow you to directly turn your social capital into financial capital, without leaving the network. For example, on live-streaming sites like YY, you can earn digital gifts from your viewers which cost actual money, the value of which you split with the platform. In the early days, a lot of YY consisted of cute girls singing pop songs. These days, as seen in the fascinating documentary People’s Republic of Desire, it has evolved into much more.

Agencies have sprung up in China to develop and manage influencers, almost like farm systems in baseball with player development and coaches. The speed at which social capital can be converted into your own branded product lines is accelerating by leaps and bounds, and nowhere more so than in China.

Meanwhile, on Twitter, if one of your tweets somehow goes massively viral, you still have to attach a follow-up tweet with a link to your GoFundMe page, a vulgar monetization hack in comparison. It’s China, not the U.S., that is the bleeding edge of influencer industrialization.

I'm skeptical that all of Asia's monetization schemes will export to the culture in America, but for this post, the important thing is that social capital has real financial value, and networks differ along the spectrum of how easily that exchange can be made.

Social Capital Accumulation and Storage

As with cryptocurrency, it's no use accumulating social capital if you can't take ownership of it and store it safely. Almost all successful social networks are adept at providing both accumulation and storage mechanisms.

It may sound obvious now, but consider the many apps and services that failed to provide something like this and saw all their value leak to other social networks. Hipstamatic came before Instagram and was the first photo filter app of note that I used on mobile. But, unlike Instagram, it charged for its filters and had no profile pages, social network, or feed. I used Hipstamatic filters to modify my iPhone photos and then posted them to other social networks like Facebook. Hipstamatic provided utility but captured none of the social capital that came from the use of its filters.

Contrast this with a company like Musical.ly, which I mentioned above. They came up with a unique proof of work burden, but unlike Hipstamatic, they wanted to capture the value of the social capital that its users would mine by creating their musical skits. They didn't want these skits to just be uploaded to Instagram or Facebook or other networks.

Therefore, they created a feed within the app, to give its best users distribution for their work. By doing so, Musical.ly owned that social capital it helped generate. If your service is free, the best alternative to capturing the value you create is to own the marketplace where that value is realized and exchanged.

Musical.ly founder Alex Zhu likens starting a new social network to founding a new country and trying to attract citizens from established countries. It's a fun analogy, though I prefer the cryptocurrency metaphor because most users are citizens of multiple social networks in the tech world, managing their social capital assets across all of those networks as a sort of diversified portfolio of status.

For the individual user, we've standardized on a few basic social capital accumulation mechanisms. There is the profile, to which your metrics attach, most notably your follower count and list. Followers or friends are the atomic unit of many social networks, and the advantage of followers as a measure is it generally tends to only grow over time. It also makes for an easy global ranking metric.

Local scoring of social capital at the atomic level usually exists in the form of likes of some sort, one of the universal primitives of just about every social network. These are more ephemeral in nature given the nature of feeds, which tend to prioritize distribution of more recent activity, but most social networks have some version of this since followers tend to accumulate more slowly. Likes correlate more strongly with your activity volume and serve as a source of continual short-term social capital injections, even if each like is, in the long-run, less valuable than a follower or a friend.

Some networks allow for accelerated distribution of posts through resharing, like retweeting (with many unintended consequences, but that's a discussion for another day). Some also allow comments, and there are other network-specific variants, but most of these are some form of social capital that can attach to posts.

Again, this isn't earth-shattering to most users of social networks. However, where it’s instructive is in examining those social networks which make such social capital accumulation difficult.

A good example is the anonymous social network, like Whisper or Secret. The premise of such social networks was that anonymity would enable users to share information and opinions they would otherwise be hesitant to be associated with. But, as is often the case, that strength turned out to be a weakness, because users couldn't really claim any of the social capital they'd created there. Many of the things written on these networks were so toxic that to claim ownership of them would be social capital negative in the aggregate.

A network like Reddit solved this through its implementation of karma, but it's fair to say that it's also been a long struggle for Reddit to suppress the dark asymmetric incentives unlocked by detaching social capital from real-life identity and reputation.

[Balaji Srinivasan once mentioned that someday the cryptocurrencies might allow someone to extract the value from an anonymous social network without revealing their identity publicly, but for now, at least, a lot of this status on social networks isn’t monetary in nature. A lot of it’s just for the lulz.]

For any single user, the stickiness of a social network often correlates strongly with the volume of social capital they've amassed on that network. People sometimes will wholesale abandon social networks, but it's rare unless the status earned there has undergone severe deflation.

Social capital does tend to be non-fungible which also tends to make it easier to abandon ship. If your Twitter followers aren't worth anything on another network, it's less painful to just walk away from the account if it isn't worth the trouble anymore. It's strange to think that social networks like Twitter and Facebook once allowed users to just wholesale export their graphs to other networks since it allowed competing networks to jumpstart their social capital assets in a massive way, but that only goes to show how even some of the largest social networks at the time underestimated the massive value of their social capital assets. Facebook also, at one point, seemed to overestimate the value of inbound social capital that they'd capture by allowing third party services and apps to build on top of their graph.

The restrictions on porting graphs is a positive from the perspective of the incumbent social networks, but from a user point-of-view, it's frustrating. Given the difficulty of grappling with social networks given the consumer welfare standard for antitrust, an option for curbing the power of massive network effects businesses is to require that users be allowed to take their graph with them to other networks (as many have suggested). This would blunt the power of social networks along the social capital axis and force them to compete more on utility and entertainment axes.

Social Capital Arbitrage

Because social networks often attract different audiences, and because the configuration of graphs even when there are overlapping users often differ, opportunities exist to arbitrage social capital across apps.

A prominent user of this tactic was @thefatjewish, the popular Instagram account (his real name was Josh Ostrovsky). He accumulated millions of followers on Instagram in large part by taking other people's jokes from Twitter and other social networks and then posting them as his own on Instagram. Not only did he rack up followers and likes by the millions, he even got signed with CAA!

When he got called on it, he claimed it wasn't what he was about. He said, "Again, Instagram is just part of a larger thing I do. I have an army of interns working out of the back of a nail salon in Queens. We have so much stuff going on: I'm writing a book, I've got rosé. I need them to bathe me. I've got so many other things that I need them to do. It just didn't seem like something that was extremely dire." Which is really a long, bizarre way of saying, you caught me. Let he who does not have an army of interns bathing them throw the first stone.

Since then, similar joke aggregator accounts on Instagram have continued to proliferate, but some of them now follow the post-fatjewish-scandal social norm of including the proper attribution for each joke in the photo (for example including the Twitter username and profile pic within the photo of the “borrowed” tweet). But many do not, and even for those who do, the most prominent can trigger a backlash. The hashtag #fuckfuckjerry is an emergent protest against the popular Instagram account @fuckjerry which, like @fatjewish, curates the best jokes from others and daytraded that into a small media company, one that featured in the Fyre Festival debacle.

As long as we have multiple social networks that don't quite work the same way, there will continue to be these social media arbitragers copying work from one network and to a different network to accumulate social capital on closing the distribution gap. Before the internet, men resorted to quoting movies or Mitch Hedberg jokes in conversation, to steal a bit of personality and wit from a more gifted comedian. This is the modern form of that, supercharged with internet-scale reach.

At some level, a huge swath of social media posts are just attempts to build status off of someone else's work. The two tenets at the start of this article predict that this type of arbitrage will always be with us. Consider someone linking to an article from Twitter or Facebook, or posting a screenshot of a paragraph from someone else's book. The valence of the reaction from the original creators seems to vary according to how the spoils of resharing are divvied up. The backlash to Instagram accounts like @thefatjewish and @fuckjerry may stem from the fact that they don't really share value from those whose jokes they redistribute, whereas posting an excerpt from a book on Twitter, for example, generates welcome publicity for the author.

Social Capital Games as Temporary Energy Sources

Structured properly, social capital incentive structures can serve as an invaluable incentive. For example, curation of good content across the internet remains an never-ending problem in this age of infinite content, so offering rewards for surfacing interesting things remains one of the oldest and most reliable marketplaces of the internet.

A canonical example is Reddit, where users bring interesting links, among other content, in exchange for a currency literally named karma. Accumulate enough karma and you'll unlock other benefits, like the ability to create your own subreddit, or to join certain private subreddits.

Twitter is another social network where people tend to bring interesting content in the hopes of amassing more followers and likes. If you follow enough of the right accounts, Twitter becomes an interestingness pellet dispenser.

Some companies which aren't typically thought of as social networks still turn to social capital games to solve a particular problem. On one Christmas vacation, I stumbled downstairs for a midnight snack and found my friend, a father of three, still up, typing on his laptop. What, I asked, was he doing still up when he had to get up in a few hours to take care of his kids? He was, he admitted sheepishly, banging out a litany of reviews to try to maintain his Yelp Elite status. To this day, some of my friends still speak wistfully about some of the Yelp Elite parties they attended back in the day.

Think of how many reviews Yelp accumulate in the early days just by throwing a few parties? It was, no doubt, well worth it, and at the point when it isn't (what's the marginal value of writing the, at last count, 9655th review of Ippudo in New York City?), it's something easily dialed back or deprecated.

Amazon isn't typically thought of as a company that understands social, but in its earliest days, before even Yelp, it employed a similar tactic to boost its volume of user reviews. Amazon Top Reviewers was a globally ranked list of every reviewer on all of Amazon. You could boost your standing by accumulating more useful review votes from shoppers for your reviews. I'll always remember Harriet Klausner, who dominated that list for years, reviewing seemingly every book in print. Amazon still maintains a top customer reviewer list, but it has been devalued over time as volume of reviews is no longer a real problem for Amazon.

Another example of a status game that Amazon employed to great effect, and which doesn't exist anymore, was Global Sales Rank. For a period, every product on Amazon got ranked against every other product in a dynamic sales rank leaderboard, and the figure would be displayed prominently near the top of each product detail page. Book authors pointed customers to Amazon to buy their books in the hope of goosing their sales rank the same way authors today often commit to buy some volume of their own book when it releases in the hopes of landing on the NYTimes bestseller list the week it releases.

IMDb and Wikipedia are two companies which built up entire valuable databases almost entirely by building mechanisms to harness the equal mix of status-seeking and altruism of domain experts. As with Reddit, accumulating a certain amount of reputation on these services unlocked additional abilities, and both companies built massive databases of information with very low production and editorial costs.

You can think of social capital accumulation incentives like these as ways to transform the potential energy of status into whatever form of kinetic energy your venture needs.

Why Most Celebrity Apps Fail

For a while, a trend among celebrities was to launch their own app. The Kardashian app is perhaps the most prominent example, but there are others.

From a social capital perspective, these create little value because they simply draw down upon the celebrity's own status. Almost every person who joins just wants content from the eponymous celebrity. The volume of interaction between the users of the app themselves, the fans, is minimal to non-existent. Essentially these apps are self-owned distribution channels for the stars, and as such, they tend to be vanity projects rather than durable assets.

One can imagine such apps trying to foster more interaction among the users, but that is a really complex effort, and most such efforts have neither the skills to take this on nor the will or capital necessary to see it through.

Another way to think of all these celebrity ventures is to measure the social capital and utility of the product or service if you remove all the social capital from the celebrity in question. A lot minus a lot equals zero.

Conclusion: Everybody Wants to Rule the World

In the immortal words of Obi-Wan Kenobi, "Status is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together."

That many of the largest tech companies are, in part, status as a service businesses, is not often discussed. Most people don't like to admit to being motivated by status, and few CEO's are going to admit that the job to be done for their company is stroking people’s egos.

From a user perspective, people are starting to talk more and more about the soul-withering effects of playing an always-on status game through the social apps on their always connected phones. You could easily replace Status as a Service with FOMO as a Service. It’s one reason you can still meet so many outrageously wealthy people in Manhattan or Silicon Valley who are still miserable.

This piece is not my contribution to the well-trod genre of Medium thinkpieces counseling stoicism and Buddhism or transcendental meditation or deleting apps off of your phone to find inner peace. There is wisdom in all of those, but if I have anything to offer on that front, it’s this: if you want control of your own happiness, don’t tie it to someone else’s scoreboard.

Recall the wisdom of Neil McCauley in the great film Heat.

To get off the hedonic treadmill, heed the words of Robert DeNiro’s Neil McCauley in that classic film about status, Heat, “Don't let yourself get attached to any social capital you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.”

At the end of Heat, he fails to follow his own advice, and look what happened to him.

Yet, I come not to bury Caesar, but also not to praise him. Rather, as Emily Wilson says at the start of her brilliant new translation of The Odyssey, “tell me about a complicated man.” So much of the entire internet was built on a foundation of social capital, of intangible incentives like reputation. Before the tech giants of today, I combed through newsgroups, blogs, massive FAQs, and countless other resources built by people who felt, in part, a jolt of dopamine from the recognition that comes from contributing to the world at large. At Amazon, someone coined a term for this type of motivational currency: egoboo (short for, you guessed it, egoboost). Something like Wikipedia, built in large part on egoboo, is a damned miracle. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t think we have to lose that.

Of course, like the Force, status is equally potent as fuel for the darkest, cruelest parts of human nature. If you look at the respective mission statements of Twitter and Facebook—"to give everyone the power to create and share ideas and information instantly without barriers" and “to give people the power to share and make the world more open and connected”—what is striking is the assumption that these are fundamentally positive outcomes. There’s no questioning of what the downsides of connecting everyone and enabling instant sharing of information among anyone might be.

Of course, both companies, and many others, have now had to grapple with the often unbounded downside risk of just wiring together billions of people with few guardrails. Reading the Senate Intelligence Committee reports on Russian infiltration of social networks in the 2016 election, what emerges is unsettling: in so many ways the Russians had a more accurate understanding of the users of these services than the product teams running them. In either case, much of the cost has been born not by the companies themselves but society. Companies benefit from the limitless upside of their models, so it’s not unreasonable to expect them to bear the costs, just as we expect corporations to bear the cost of polluting rivers with their factories. If we did, as Hunter Walk has noted, profit margins would be lower, but society and discourse might be healthier.

Contrary to some popular Twitter counsel, the problem is not that the leaders of these companies don’t have humanities degrees. But the solution also doesn’t lie in ignoring that humans are wired to pursue social capital. In fact, overlooking this fundamental aspect of human nature arguably landed us here, at the end of this first age of social network goliaths, wondering where it all went haywire. If we think of these networks as marketplaces trading only in information, and not in status, then we're only seeing part of the machine. The menacing phone call has been coming from inside the house all along. Ben Thompson refers to this naivete from tech executives as the pollyannish assumption.

Having worked on multiple products in my career, I’m sympathetic to the fact that no product survives engagement with humans intact, But this first era of Status as a Service businesses is closing, and pleading ignorance won’t work moving forward. To do so is to come off like Captain Louis Renault in Casablanca.

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