OPINION: Actually, you ARE a product. Just deal with it.

Written by Paul Dail

Perhaps by now you’ve heard of Ello. If not, it’s a new social network, and some Facebook users are jumping ship (Well, if they’re invited to jump ship, that is. Ello is by invitation only.), claiming that it’s more genuine and actually more “social.” The lack of a “like” feature appeals to many in that they are forced to interact with one another. Heaven forbid.

However, some Facebook users seem to think it’s just one more social networking site that they’ll have to maintain.

But is it just one more social networking site? Not according to the founders of Ello. A visit to the “About” section of their site offers up their manifesto, revealing what supposedly sets them apart from Facebook (and presumably other social networks, as if anyone is actually using any other social network).

On a side note, I do like that they call it their “manifesto.” Feels all edgy and a little crazy… like the Unabomber.

While they spend some time explaining how beautiful and artsy and grassrootsy the site — and their intent — will be, here are the excerpts that relate to this column:

“Your social network is owned by advertisers.”

“Every post you share, every friend you make, and every link you follow is tracked, recorded, and converted into data. Advertisers buy your data so they can show you more ads. You are the product that’s bought and sold…”

“You are not a product.”

Seriously? Have the developers of Ello been living on another planet for the past 100 years?

I’m not buying it.

I’ll admit there are times when I get a little freaked out when I’ve been online shopping for, say, a new recliner because my kids beat the last one to hell, and the next time I log into Facebook, bam! I see furniture store listings on my sidebar. Sure, I’m frequently tempted to pull a Ron Swanson and heft my computer into a dumpster and go off the grid (to understand this “Parks and Recreation” reference, search “Ron Swanson Google Earth” on YouTube. Then heft your computer into a dumpster).

However, I also recognize this is the world we live in. It is the world we have lived in since the concept of “market research” was born in the early 20th century, when almost every radio program had a sponsor’s name in the title. Advertisers realized that knowledge about the listeners could help them sell more products. Market research has always been about discovering not only what people want and need, but also what they believe and how they act in certain situations.

A large portion of the population used to think it was fun. Remember the taste tests held in malls across the country for everything from Toaster Strudels to diet sodas? Remember how you kinda wanted to be part of one of those? And how about the Nielsen ratings, back when people actually watched regular television? I always wished our family could be a Nielsen family. Imagine being able to impact television programming just based on the shows you liked to watch.

Imagine that your behavior impacted what advertisers chose to put in front of you every night.

“Advertisers buy your data so they can show you more ads.”

Uh, yeah. So what else is new?

The problem is, we stopped being easy to track for awhile. When I was teaching high school, I always polled the kids at the beginning of the year to get a rough idea of how much time in a week they spent watching television, surfing the web, and reading a book, magazine, or newspaper (I had to qualify the last one with, “those are like magazines, but bigger and with less color and pictures… unless it’s USA Today.”)

The results? Kids don’t watch television anymore. The hours we used to spend watching television (and I’m dating myself here), kids are now spending online.

I would dare say the same is true for many adults. If nothing else, we’ve stopped watching commercials, either because we fast-forward through them, or because we get our television on Netflix, Amazon, or Hulu. We also stopped reading magazines and newspapers. And when everyone went to cell phones, we stopped getting calls to do surveys.

After a period of panic, the advertisers found us again. Turns out we were on Facebook. Can you blame them for trying to sell to us there?

While we’re on the topic of Facebook and the “atrocity” of being treated like a product, I’d like to say that when you treat yourself like a product, why wouldn’t everyone else?

I certainly can’t speak for everyone’s Facebook experience, but personally, I’m friends with a lot of writers. This means that every other status update is an advertisement for someone’s book or short story. Or their blog posts, which often conveniently link to the topic of their book or short story.

I’m just as guilty. While I try to balance — if not tip — the scales with genuine content, I still promote my writing. Because in this changing technological world, unless you’re Stephen King, the publisher doesn’t really do it for you anymore. It’s expected that you market yourself.

I have to assume the same is true for many business endeavors. People use Facebook as a marketing tool. In fact, as soon as this article is published on The Independent’s website, I’ll be sharing it on Facebook. Because that’s how I get paid.

And, guess what? The same thing is already happening at Ello. On their home page, they invite you check out some of their “favorite user profiles.” The second one I clicked on was an artist. His third post was a link to his personal webpage, where you could — you guessed it — buy his art.

Now I’m not saying that we should completely sell our soul to The Man or anything, but let’s be realistic. Unless you’re willing to heft your computer in the dumpster, just buy the damn recliner already.

And don’t invite me to Ello. I have a hard enough time maintaining one social network.

So, what are your thoughts? Comment below, and I promise not to make fun of you. In fact, for the first two weeks following the publication of each column, I will respond to all comments within 48 hours.

Click This Ad

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here