Is it possible for a social media platform to plan for its own death? I’ve been contemplating this while enjoying the “fizzy, fuck-around energy” of Bluesky, as described by my WIRED colleague Kate Knibbs in her article a few months ago. I find myself immersed in the shitposting, the earnestness, and the misguided takes from newbies trying to navigate the platform’s vibe. (Friendly advice: Please refrain from speaking negatively about the public library here.) Although I wasn’t present during Twitter’s inception, I’ve been told that Bluesky somewhat resembles the rowdy early days of its predecessor.
Bluesky users have become fervent defenders of this beautiful chaos, especially this week with the influx of users signing up for Meta’s new Twitter clone, Threads. However, they also express their concerns and criticisms. My feed is filled with complaints about bugs, discussions about what constitutes a ban-worthy death threat, and demands for transparency from the platform’s CEO regarding the terms of service that seem to infringe on users’ rights. I believe this grumbling is indicative of their passion and, for the most part, Bluesky’s leaders have been attentive. Twitter’s decline left us stranded on a deserted island, but now we’re building a collective ship to escape. While some of the volunteers might seem a bit eccentric, progress is being made and the ship is starting to look seaworthy.
Ironically, this flourishing social media app was never meant to exist. Back in 2019, when former Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey tweeted about Bluesky, the intention was not to create a platform that would compete with Twitter, but to develop a decentralized protocol that Twitter and other platforms could adopt. This would establish a system of “federated” servers or platforms, each operated by different organizations with their own rules and policies, yet capable of interconnecting. Users on Twitter would have the ability to communicate with individuals on other Bluesky-compatible services and, if necessary, migrate their digital identities elsewhere.
There were many reasons to be skeptical. The notion that Twitter would willingly relinquish its power to control (and monetize) its user base seemed absurd. As a cynical crypto reporter at the time, the term “decentralized” evoked thoughts of peculiar Bitcoin-related concepts. Moreover, during the 2020 election season and the subsequent calls to regulate social media, it seemed like a convenient way to avoid difficult moderation decisions.
However, everything changed with Musk and the new Twitter. The stakes became higher. Firstly, the tumultuous acquisition emphasized the importance of keeping digital territories open to prevent exclusion. It also severed the connection between Bluesky and Twitter, prompting Bluesky’s leaders to develop their own social app to facilitate usage of the AT Protocol, their federated network. Suddenly, they found themselves simultaneously building what was essentially Twitter 2.0 and the protocol that would safeguard it from meeting the same fate as its predecessor.
One word that some Bluesky developers use to describe this fate is “enshittification.” Coined by writer Cory Doctorow, it pertains to the way for-profit digital platforms, such as social networks or online marketplaces, gradually deteriorate. Initially, these platforms treat their users well, assisting them in building a following and establishing connections. However, once the user base becomes entrenched, the platform alters its rules to maximize profits. The speed at which tech monopolists can manipulate these adjustments distinguishes them from railroad barons, as Doctorow explains. Post-Musk Twitter serves as an example: suddenly users have to pay fees to reach their audience, such as with Twitter Blue, or they have their desired content obscured by an inundation of ads. These changes are irreversible. Users suffer more detrimental abuses as the platform pursues greater profits, until it reaches a breaking point and renders itself unusable. The platform ultimately self-destructs.