In the late 1980s, the internet was a very different place. Social media did not exist, but there were still communities, albeit on a scale that was orders of magnitude smaller. Knowledge of the web was not widespread, and the people who frequented these communities were generally computer professionals, hobbyists, or university students studying the fledgling discipline. Thus, these early internet communities were populated with like-minded individuals and had unique cultures and lingo. The online etiquette that was required to fit in and interact properly in the community took time to learn. To established users, communicating with someone new to these customs would be cumbersome and annoying.
However, the nature of the internet at that time dictated that the inflow of new users into the system was relatively slow. Sure, a few hobbyists might enter here and there, but these would be isolated encounters. There was one exception: in September of each year, hundreds of university students around the country would be introduced to the internet at the same time. The seasoned veterans of the internet grew to dread September.
By the early 1990s, the internet, which had been growing exponentially, hit a tipping point. The internet was no longer just for professionals and die-hards. People complained about the low-quality and low-effort content and bemoaned the good old days. The never-ending surge of new users caused September 1993 to be declared "Eternal September."
The total number of internet users in 1993 was ~15 million; by the year 2000, a hundred times this amount would join the internet each calendar year. It can no longer be compared to a small town, city, or even country; if the internet were a country it would be by far the most populous in the world. Present day social media platforms, blogs, forums, and comment sections must weather this deluge each day, with no seasonal respite.
The problem has intensified much further than just larger numbers, though. The localization of the early internet ensured that there were no major incentives to participation other than the intrinsic joy of sociality. Today, there are bots, trolls, catfishes, scammers, adbots, and other agents whose goal is to take your money, influence your opinions, or exploit you. The platforms themselves are in on the game, and have commodified your attention. It's hard to find genuine connection amidst the noise.
Yet the market for personal, deep interactions has not quite shriveled up yet. Enter the "cozy web": small, gate-kept communities which eschew openness and publicity in favor of privacy and authenticity. Think WhatsApp chats, Discord groups, or closed-access forums. These spaces are geared towards nurturing natural conversation.
Of course, the existence of this sheltered space necessitates the demonization of the rest of the internet: "The Dark Forest." The term is taken from Liu Cixin's novel of the same name, in which any spacefaring civilization must both hide its existence and exterminate other life it detects to maximize its own odds of survival. Substitute scammers, ad providers, trolls, and nation-state interference for interstellar predators and the result is a similar situation in which broadcasting your own views or communicating to persons unknown can have disastrous effects.
I find this incredibly depressing. Is the only humane response to mass communication and interconnectedness to reject it? Is it really impossible to build truly meaningful communities at scale?
Maybe, maybe not. What made the early web at least through the lens of nostalgia, an untamed frontier of genuine discourse? Firstly, the barrier to entry was quite high. Computers were expensive for all but wealthy consumers, costing thousands of inflation-adjusted dollars. Also, the connection process was not as streamlined as today and simply logging in required technical know-how.
Additionally, the incentive of participating in these ad-hoc communities was the participation itself. Sure, there were a couple of financially relevant interactions, but the vast majority of people who connected were doing do so with no ulterior motive because there was no ulterior motive. There few ads to click or products to sell; the web was not commercialized.
In 2024, there are people who can connect to the internet but not flush their own toilets. Connected hardware is ubiquitous even in third world countries. Booting up a computer or iPhone is a simple process, and making an account requires less than five minutes in most cases. There is virtually no barrier to entry.
On the other hand, the incentives have been magnified. In a financial sense, everyone has skin in the game. Over 15% of consumer purchases were made online in the first quarter of 2024; money changes hands in the blink of an eye. This isn't limited to e-commerce giants or digital retailers; affiliate marketing and ads mean that anyone can sell you anything, at any time, with few practical or legal barriers.
The expansion of internet access has resulted in the existence of more sinister, non-monetary incentives as well. In democracies, politicians use digital media to beg, ask, or demand our votes; autocratic dictators cement their power with propaganda. A snippet of electronic media can reach millions of individuals, and can tip elections and ignite protests.
For those without financial or political motivations, the reward structure of social media strongly discourages traditional connection. Take a look at the Instagram home screen, which prioritizes images over text and draws the user into a dreaded "doom scroll"--- a rollercoaster of pretty colors and dopamine hits catered so you will pretty please just stay on the app for one minute longer. Even Twitter, which was started to solve this exact problem, has become a vehicle less for getting your views out there and more for letting people know what your views are.
We can think of these two attributes--- the barrier to entry and the participation incentive--- as levers that we can modify to set up proper communal apparatuses. To set up a "cozy community," just make the barrier to entry very strong. Maybe you have to work at a specific company, or have played for a Jersey City soccer league active in the early 2010s or even have been born into a specific family. Strictly gatekeeping who is in and who is out prevents bad actors from exerting their influence.
Keeping with the outdoorsy theme, I call these communes "walled gardens." Their purity stems from exterior protection and exists only as long as the fence stays up. Imagine if the content of your family group-chat was broadcast live on air. Its nature would shift from a relaxed atmosphere to one with implicit tight rules.
This concept doesn't apply to just web communities. Churches, sports teams, and other affinity groups let people in based on arbitrary criteria to provide a comfortable space to those who are included.
However, these groups are inherently exclusionary. While this is not *per se* a negative, these are spaces that are especially vulnerable to becoming echo chambers and can only facilitate communication between people who are lucky enough to maintain "in-group" status. More pertinent to our discussion, though, is that the early web did not need to intentionally exclude anyone.
If we push the participation incentive lever, we what what I call "wilderness trails." Unlike walled gardens, anyone can walk on a wilderness trail--- you just might not find it very fun. Surviving in the outdoors can be lonely, uncomfortable, and dangerous--- or it can be enlightening, restful, and thrilling. By changing the incentive structure, we encourage those who want the discourse itself to stay on the platform and give no reason for exploitive opportunists to stay.
What does this look like? Maybe links and images are banned, to crack down on quick-hitting tidbits and stimulate long-form discussion; some forums implement this approach. In another implementation, strict rules could be implemented-- and importantly, enforced effectively--- to moderate responses before they are posted. Perhaps content could be locked behind a "login-wall," limiting the exposure of any comment. Group administrators have to think long and hard about why people would want to participate in their platform, pick the reasons that make people good community members, and craft incentive structures that reward prosocial behavior while discouraging exploitation and bad faith actors.
I'm not saying there is no room for walled gardens. These "cozy" spaces are probably the ones we derive the most meaning from. But you'll never meet someone new in a walled garden. That's why we go out on the trail.