The question that says "how old is the internet" was just to bring you to this quite related topic that mainly talks about the newest famous platforms such as Facebook, YouTube, And TikTok and compares the present with the past.
BTW, we can't tell exactly how old the internet is, but it's older than 30 years. And for your information, the internet has changed significantly in the last 10-12 years.
Here's the modified story that had been narrated by someone
In the early 2000s, I was around eight years old when I began blogging on the internet. I began by creating a GeoCities web page with parody lyrics for popular songs in elementary school; then I moved on to LiveJournal in middle school, where I met a friend with whom I remain in contact to this day; then I tried Flickr in high school, which taught me so much of what I know about photography; and finally, I created a Tumblr in college. At the time, Tumblr felt like its own digital plot of land, a place where I could freely express myself and share things with others.
I ended up connecting with the apartment where I currently reside, every friend I've ever met, and even many jobs in the IT and social media industries as a result of the small network I created. It had the feeling of being vast and infinite.
Post-college life, as well as the widespread professionalization of all these platforms, followed. It is now possible to upload just certain things and in certain ways, thanks to the concentration of a million specialty channels into a few dominant megaliths such as Instagram and TikTok. This sensation of being crushed into nothingness comes from the vastness and infinity of space.
These days, "community guidelines" tell us what we should publish, how often we should post it, and how we should post it. They are intended to assist us in being our best selves, but they are seldom or never consistently enforced in order to eliminate undesirable conduct, and they appear to serve the purpose of severely homogenizing output. Sound, hashtags, subtitles, and device kinds are all taken into consideration when TikTok's iconic "For You" page is generated by a hacked algorithm and is widely regarded as the "holy grail" of video placement for most users.
Internal training materials that were leaked have also shown that the business ordered moderators to restrict recordings of people who don't conform to a specific image standard (wealthy, attractive, able-bodied). This results in a type of echo chamber effect, in which the content that these platforms showcase gets viral, inspires additional copycats, and ultimately generates even more virality. They're usually bumper-laned by product features that are encouraging, as well as verbiage that emphasizes the significance of "community."
Your interests should not be dictated by your online engagement.
All of the algorithms essentially make generic what individuals produce and how they seem, resulting in a dominant aesthetic monoculture that is designed for likes and shares on social media. What is the best way to take a selfie? What method do you use to photograph your food? What lies behind these questions is the question of how to tell a tale.
For the most part, we know to snap a shot in front of a window or against a brightly colored wall, and then upload it in the morning, when engagement metrics are at their best. When we change the way we share our lives and our interests with others, we change our own lives and interests as well. And for what, exactly? We have the capacity to "puff up," so that we become more appealing to advertising as vehicles for their products.
To the point where we can post a caption that reads "Thank you very much [insert company name here] for allowing me to participate in such a wonderful campaign" and everyone will understand how important you are? Remember when the internet was a place for people to interact with one another based on their shared interests, rather than a clout-accumulation engine that we could use to flex on our friends and strangers? That's something I miss.
Achieving success in life does not entail gaining an audience (you are not entitled to an audience, nor do you require an audience to pursue your passions). Working in social media for five years in a variety of creative and editorial jobs, I've seen much too much of what's going on in the world online.
A number of my colleagues have expressed anger over why their social engagement is minimal, and then they've appeared to give up on their hobbies since they don't receive many likes on their posts. That appears to be a terrible sign. Just because no one like your piano-playing videos does not suggest that you should quit playing the piano altogether, of course. It also does not imply that you should conform to what you believe the public wants to see from you. Do whatever you want with the piano, no matter how ridiculous it is!
I'm well aware that this isn't always the case. Recently, a friend introduced me to the YouTube channel of a person by the name of madcatlady, who uploads bizarre animated films on a consistent basis, several times a week. They receive around 300 views for each video on average, and she has demonetized her channel. I don't believe that in order to be a "true" artist, one must work for free, but I found it refreshing (and, to be honest, reinvigorating in my faith in the internet) to see someone creating and sharing videos simply for the pleasure of doing so, regardless of how many views or how much money it brings them.
Don't let your brand define who you are as a person.
Before you say anything, I'm not the type of person who feels the need to "take a vacation" from social media. It has no effect on my mental health; I don't feel envious or experience FOMO as a result of it. Everything is just so fucking cheesy right now, in my opinion. Remix culture is a two-way street; sometimes it takes something fun and makes it even more fun and weirder. When you add advertising to the mix, though, it completely degrades the experience.
Just take a look at the video of everyone's favorite cranberry juice-drinking, Fleetwood Mac-listening, longboard-riding film, which has now been made into a massive commercial campaign for both TikTok and Ocean Spray, which is both clever and effective. There is no malice meant against the show's star, @420doggface208, who is receiving money and publicity. That's fantastic news for me. How about our online selves, though? What does this imply about our current condition of affairs?
Everything we do now, whether we like it or not, is advertising, whether we like it or not. These platforms have simplified the way we portray ourselves and established so many particular boxes to check that whatever we say, post, or do becomes inextricably associated with "our brand" as a result. The internet promised us frivolity, anonymity, and endless malleability, yet greedy advertisers have trapped us in amber for all of eternity.
Our profiles appear to be permanent, with little possibility for development or investigation; it appears that they own us rather than the other way around. Do you want to try something different with what you post? Simply create a new account in order to avoid "messing up" the original account, which is sponsored by a cosmetics company. After all, it doesn't matter whether you used to be into eye makeup and are now into baking. This is the most insignificant shit on the planet, but people are obsessed with it. What the heck are you doing posting on a timetable like this? You're just a regular individual.
We are allowing these corporations to consolidate us into a single version of ourselves so that we may one day contribute to the spending that they rely on in order to live. The things I desire for us are that we would share with passion, that we will liberate ourselves from self-imposed (but actually algorithmically and corporately enforced) limitations, and that we will be fucking limitless people with ever-changing and never-ending creativity.
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