[fr]
Plus, ce n'est pas forcément mieux. Quand une communauté grandit, sa dynamique aussi. Un outil comme Twitter est peut-être plus gratifiant avec quelques centaines ou milliers de followers. Quand on arrive dans les dizaines ou centaines de milliers, le côté "conversation" disparaît. Au cours des dernières années, la blogosphère s'est aussi transformée: plus de blogs, plus de gros blogs, plus de lecteurs, et la disparition du sentiment d'être un peu "spécial" que l'on avait, tant lecteur que blogueur, au début.
Faire équivaloir le plus grand nombre au succès, c'est à mon avis faire fausse route. Ce n'est pas parce qu'un blogueur a plus de lecteurs qu'il est meilleur qu'un autre. Ou parce qu'on a plus de suiveurs sur Twitter qu'on exerce plus d'influence, comme l'a démontré une étude dont a parlé ReadWriteWeb.
[en]
In his blog post Defriendization is the future of social networks, that I commented upon in Defriending, Keeping Connections Sustainable and Maybe Superficial, Laurent Haug mentions his previous article Openness is difficult to scale, about how the kind of community involvement that worked for Lift in the early days just did not scale once the conference became more successful. This is a rule we cannot get escape from. Scale changes things. Success is a double-edged sword, because it might bring you into a country where the very thing that made your success is not possible anymore.
Clive Thompson explains this very well when it comes to the number of followers on Twitter, for example, in his Wired piece In Praise of Obscurity. Even if as the person being followed, you don’t really care about the size of the community gathered around you, the people who are part of that community feel its size and their behaviour changes. Bigger is not always better. More people in a community does not make it a better or even more powerful community.
This is one of the reasons it annoys me immensely when people try to measure the value of something by measuring its size. More readers does not mean I’m a better blogger. More friends on Facebook does not mean I’m more popular. More followers on Twitter does not mean I’m more influential.
I think that this is one of the things that has happened to the blogging world (another topic I have simmering for one of these days). Eight-ten years ago, the community was smaller. Having a thousand or so readers a day already meant that you were a big fish. Now, being a big fish means that you’re TechCrunch or ReadWriteWeb, publications that for some reason people still insist on calling “blogs”, and we “normal bloggers” do not recognize ourselves anymore in these mega-publications. The “big fish” issue here is not so much that formerly-big-fish bloggers have had the spotlight stolen from them and they resent it (which can also be true, by the way), but more that the ecosystem has completely changed.
The “blog-reading community” has grown hugely in numbers. Ten years ago, one thousand people reading a blog felt special because they were out-of-the-mainstream, they could connect with the author of what they read, and maybe they also had their own little blog somewhere. Nowadays, one thousand people reading a blog are just one thousand people doing the mainstream thing online people do: reading blogs and the like. The sense of specialness has left the blogosphere.
If you want to keep on reading, I comment upon another of the links Laurent mentions in Log-Out Day: Victims of Technology, or a Chance to Grow?
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- Comment Ownership, Reloaded









Comment Ownership, Reloaded
[fr]
Quelqu'un vient de me demander de supprimer un commentaire (tout à fait inoffensif) qu'il avait laissé sur mon blog il y a près de 4 ans. Raison, je suppose: quand on Google son nom, l'article en question apparaît quelque part au milieu de la première page des résultats.
Que ce soit dit clairement: ça me gonfle, ce genre de chose. La "propriété" d'un commentaire est une chose complexe. Dès le moment que vous publiez un commentaire, il devient partie d'une conversation avec d'autres, d'un tout qui le dépasse. On ne peut pas simplement le supprimer ensuite sans conséquences. Les blogueurs le savent bien et évitent depuis longtemps de supprimer des articles, sauf en cas de force majeure.
Solution qui s'impose ici: caviarder le nom du commentateur.
[en]
Nearly four years ago, I wrote a post about comment ownership and coComment (it was initially published on their blog, and I moved it over here at some point). I don’t use coComment anymore, but a few of the points I made then are still valid.
And also the following:
Here’s an example. Somebody e-mails me, out of the blue, to ask me to remove a comment of his on a post published ages ago (ironically, it’s the post published just before the one I’m quoting above!)
I went to look at the comment in question, and frankly, it’s completely innocuous. So I googled that person’s name and realised that my post appears somewhere in the middle of the first page of results. This gives me a guess as to why the person is contacting me to remove the comment.
And really, it seems pretty petty to me. And removing that comment bugs me, because I responded to it, and the person responded back, so what the person is in fact asking me to do is to remove (or dismember) a conversation in the comments of my blog, which has been sitting there for nearly four years. All that because they’re not happy that CTTS makes their comment appear somewhere on the first page of results for a Google search on their name.
Which brings me back to comment ownership. Saying the comment belongs to the commentator is simplistic. C’mon, if everybody who left a comment on CTTS these last 10 years started e-mailing me to remove them because they “taint” their ego-googling, I simply wouldn’t have time to deal with all the requests.
But saying the comment belongs to the blog owner is simplistic too.
I think we’re in a situation which mirrors (in complexity) that of photography ownership between model and photographer. With the added perk that in the case of blog comments, as soon as it is published, the comment becomes part of a conversation that the community is taking part in. Allowing people to remove published comments on a whim breaks that. (Just like bloggers don’t usually delete posts unless there is a very strong reason to do so — when published, it becomes part of something bigger than itself, that we do not own.)
So, for this situation, I guess the obvious response is to change the full name to initials or a nickname, and leave the comment.
But I see this with discussion lists, too. The other day, a pretty annoyed woman was complaining that somebody had called her out of the blue about coworking, when she was not at all interested in sharing an office space. Well, she had written a message or two on a local coworking discussion list, with all her contact details in signature.
What do you expect? And what happened to taking a deep breath and deciding “OK, I’ll do things differently in the future” when you realise you behaved a little cluelessly in the past?
I think all this concern about e-reputation is going to start becoming a real pain in the neck. Get over it, people. Open a blog and make sure you own your online identity, and you can stop worrying about the comments you made four years ago.
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