The great escape from Reichsdummvogel.

What does it say about the state of the internet when the migration of people from one platform to another generates so many headlines and excitement? And more importantly, why does this matter? I don’t care how many people have joined. Facebook has billions of users and that has zero impact on the quality of discourse on the platform. As evidence, just look to Reichsdummvogel (my new word for the platform formerly known as Twitter) which has devolved into the next 4chan. Numbers are an old spare-no-expense-growth metric from the days of the pandemic and zero percent interest rates. What are those subscribers saying and sharing? Are they actually engaging with one another? And—the old, but somehow new—table stakes are they being civil?

Like millions of others, I logged into Bluesky last week and engaged with the Twitter reunion. I followed some folks and folks followed me. If anything it was great to see an indication that people are still out there, alive and kicking as we haven’t talked in a great long time. As people settled in the inevitable comparisons started popping up on the differences between platforms. Those I don’t mind so much and it has been interesting to see different takes on people’s experiences here, there, and over there. 

What’s gnawing at me this morning are the posts like these: “This is like Twitter 2012, love it already.”, “It’s giving 2012 twitter and I’m here for it!!!!”, and “Feels like 2012 twitter or something.”

Of course, I can only speculate what those statements mean because I copied them wholesale from Bluesky. In all of the posts I’ve come across like this, there is zero context provided to qualify what those statements mean to the author. My assumption is that they are finding old faces and, possibly more important, not seeing others. And it is fun to see more folks knock on the door to the new party. I get it, there is excitement to be had.

I’ve been in a few “hallway conversations” about Bluesky and there are two observations—moments of pause—that bring me to this post. 

Trying to rekindle the past rarely works out. Even if new account registrations were closed forever we’ll never get back to the past. How many movies must we watch to learn? We’ve all been burned by social networks in one way or ten others. Twitter 2012 or 2021 (which has even more references) didn’t come from the platform. That vibe came from the users—and maybe some active content moderation, I’ll give you that—but it did not inherently come from the place. Any remembrances of that time in the place are the reflection of the people, who they were, and what was happening in their lives and all around them. We’ve gone through so much since then and, no matter who you are, we’ve all been through many forms of anger and hostility.

People change, we’ve changed, and no matter where we choose to interact online, who we are today is coming with us. I don’t mean to suggest that in a negative way, but I have yet to come across anyone who is 5-10 years older who hasn’t changed. And many of those folks feel slightly burned by an array of issues or problems. Enjoy the new fresh paint smell while it lasts because in about six months Bluesky will reflect the reality of the userbase and somehow I don’t think that’s going tosound and feel like the Wonder Years.

The other moment of pause I have is Bluesky’s symbiotic attachment to investors. As there is no likely future decoupling of Bluesky from venture capital, so true is what lies ahead for the platform and the people. There’s no way of saying it any better than Cory Doctorow.

Here's the thing: all those other platforms, the ones where I unwisely allowed myself to get locked in, where today I find myself trapped by the professional, personal, and political costs of leaving them, they were all started by people who swore they'd never sell out. I know those people, the old blogger mafia who started the CMSes, social media services, and publishing platforms where I find myself trapped. I considered them friends (I still consider most of them friends), and I knew them well enough to believe that they really cared about their users.

They did care about their users. They just cared about other stuff, too, and, when push came to shove, they chose the worsening of their services as the lesser of two evils.

I have watched virtually every service I relied on, gave my time and attention to, and trusted, go through this process. It happened with services run by people I knew well and thought highly of.

This should give everyone pause. I know some of the people Doctorow is referring to, and he’s right—each of them started with good, even great, intentions. But at the end of the day, money talks. Much like the laws of physics, the rules of venture capital are unbreakable.

Look, I don’t want to take away from the fun people are having. And I know firsthand that the stress relief from deleting a Twitter account is real. But despite the excitement and the collective sigh many people are exhaling as they make the leapI take a step back and wonder, is this what we really want? To spend time and energy to create a Twitter sequel? Do we think this time it’s going to be different because…yeah…wait, why do we think it’s going to be different? For me, the answer is a definitive and resounding no. I’d rather spend time developing deeper relationships with a group of people, not glancing interactions on a social platform.

I’ll always be online—that’s never going to change. But I’m done with platforms tethered to the dark cloud of debt to billionaires and those chasing billionaire dreams. There’s no blue sky in that direction.