a thank you to the thankless contributors to the internet
that's to all you wikipedia warriors
The Internet is a bizarre place - a digital field, wider and more infinite than any grassland, desert or ocean to ever exist.
Despite the overwhelming freedom that comes with user-generated content, it’s a city that has become monopolised, compromised and utterly fucked by the algorithm-churning tech giants who domineer its biggest platforms.
This is a known secret.
“Social” media, note the double-quotation marks there, has given a lot of power to the people - that is, teeny little individuals like you and I, armed with boredom, curiosity and a marketing budget consisting of thirty cents and a phone camera.
I don’t need to talk about its effects. It’s done a lot of good, a lot of bad, and is probably the most covered video essay topic in this day and age.
Prominently, the Internet has the greatest commercial vehicle of the 21st century, with so many cases of people creating incredibly profound and value-added business ventures (Ali Abdaal), a method for many artists to monetise their creativity (watched a video by self-employed artist uncomfy recently which I find very, very adorable), a place for people to just share things and somehow become famous for it (who is Emma Chamberlain and how is she famous), a location to take traditional businesses into a highly scalable and impeccably profitable platform (Jeff Bezos - no link needed) and of course, a prime breeding ground for abusive and predatory but wickedly profitable ventures (Sophie Rain - no link because I am not putting her on my search history).
This letter isn’t for the commercially-minded. There are already so many articles covering them, praising them, bashing them, selling courses on how to be like them.
This letter is for the increasingly lost art of curating knowledge, for no gain whatsoever, simply and whole-heartedly for the love of the craft.
It’s the people who write on Wikipedia.
Wikipedia is the biggest example, but this letter of appreciation extends further than the world’s global encyclopedia. I’m also referring to people who keep fandom sites up to date, from the incredibly popular (like Disney or One Piece) to impressively niche (like Baba Is You) to opinion-based meta studies (like Superpower Wikia, one of my favourites growing up). It’s the people create and maintain sites like TV Tropes, MyAnimeList, and even the brave, cowardly souls who share stories, ideas and knowledge on Reddit and other online forums I cannot name. It’s the people who share positive and negative reviews on Google Reviews, Steam, Rotten Tomatoes, Goodreads, etc. creating a framework on up-to-date and user-generated knowledge on whether something, whether book or show or game or tourist attraction, is worth the visit. Honestly, I’d even put the e-girl simp-seekers in this category, given that they don’t sell any content or do so with the intention to secure sponsorships, carving the image of a niche, occasionally funny Twitter celebrity who posts infrequent thirst traps that get 35k likes at a time.
Lawful Good, these people. Well, for the most part.
This transcends the people who post on social media for their forty-or-so followers because that activity does serve the purpose of sharing to those forty followers that their live is more interesting than it really is - it is still the garnering of social capital.
This transcends the meme pages who, believe it or not, do so with the intention of curating a following large enough to sell suspicious AliExpress products; or even the whole account if the price is right.
This transcends, sorry guys, the people here on Substack; and also those who share their creative projects on Instagram, Twitter, Bluesky, any other social platform. This is also an act of garnering social capital and a library of credibility. We do it, subconsciously, to increase subscriber count and open up commission opportunities; and if not that, it remains a platform to share the opinions and thoughts that we struggle to keep within us. It’s a self-serving purpose too.
Frankly, I don’t know a single person who consistently writes on Google Reviews but I’m doubtful that not only do they exist, but that many of the Google Reviews I’ve read and have dictated where I went to eat have probably been written by the same handful of people.
Part of me wants to be one of them. One of those dudes who share mediocre pictures of the cafes they go to and mention that Alex from Hair Fantasy always gives a sick fuckin’ fade, but I don’t.
Why not? It’s simple. Overwhelmingly simple.
None of these platforms have any chance of generating money for the writer. In fact, it’s often against their terms and conditions.
On platforms like Google Reviews, your account has to be attached to your full name - both first and last (and I know you can simply lie - but you get what I mean)
I’ve been conditioned to believe that if you don’t have anything new and novel to say, then you shouldn’t say anything at all because it’s utterly, undeniably cringe - Oh, but only if I say it. It’s okay when others do, of course! (note to self this would be great article)
And naturally, on platforms like Wikipedia, who am I as a regular and not-so-up-to-date person, meant to know the truth about things?
These internet-based fears are rooted and instigated by, you got it, an Asian upbringing! I’m very glad I believed these when I was younger for I certainly could have posted something unsanitary that would haunt me for the rest of my life - but I am working to unwind these beliefs; that every single byte of information you post online will be found, interrogated and scrutinised by your relatives, the government and your future employer.
(I once wrote a Glassdoor review for my company to get access to the salaries page and at one stage, I overheard some colleagues from across the pond read my comment out loud. Mind you, my review was positive and I made my identity as vague as possible but being found by a future employer is in fact a very real phenomenon.)
Journaling in Public is fairly new, and like many, I’m still crippled by the idea of posting online, especially if it has to do with something creative or opinionated. It is why, even with a serious piece, I continue to sprinkle in self-deprecating jokes and quips for fear of being taken too seriously - cause then I’d be a tryhard, cause then the tall poppy syndrome will flare up, and I’ll be exposed for having supposedly deep and introspective thoughts which are largely unresearched, delusional and incorrect.
(See, I did it just then)
So!
To the wiki-authors who write and edit and create Wikipedia articles for no reason other than the joy and honour of maintaining the world’s greatest cornucopia of knowledge to date; and to the WikiHow article writers and artists, from the most practical topics to the most criminally unhinged.
To the fandom authors with an undying passion for the genres and media in question, creating binary worlds that people can vicariously live through and catch up on episodes they had forgotten about; and also, fruitfully or not, to the fanfiction and Wattpad and AO3 writers who write for the love of writing, giving established characters and worlds a second breath of life whether its through in-character storytelling, out-of-character OC pieces, or well - lemons.
To the gals and lads who write Google Reviews on restaurants, salons, tourist attractions, Pokemon Go stops - keeping tourists safe and well-informed of hidden gems; the same applies to sites like Zomato, Yelp, TripAdvisor, Goodreads, Amazon, IMDb, Rotten Tomatoes, etc. On the topic of curation, a quiet thanks to the tumblr and Pinterest girlies who create and upload aesthetic pictures that help people create boards that speak to their own personality. This is, lo and behold, community making.
Y’all are the beating heart of the internet, the blood that runs through its veins - true traditionalists who personify the interconnected of the worldwide web, before it became the commercial engine that it is today. Thank you for your service.
o7