Summary

The article titled "A Message from the Algorithm" satirically personifies the Medium algorithm, which controls the distribution of writers' content, as a capricious and manipulative entity that toys with professional writers' emotions and success for its own amusement and to drive user engagement.

Abstract

"A Message from the Algorithm" is a tongue-in-cheek piece that humorously portrays the Medium algorithm as a powerful and whimsical overlord that delights in controlling the fate of writers on the platform. It reveals the algorithm's ability to make or break a writer's visibility and success, often without regard to the quality of their work. The algorithm admits to being designed to manipulate writers' neurochemistry, using intermittent rewards to foster addiction to the platform. It also divulges a strategy of promoting inexperienced "blogger brats" to inspire new users with unrealistic dreams of instant fame, while simultaneously provoking experienced writers with subpar content to boost engagement through outrage.

Opinions

The algorithm is depicted as enjoying its control over writers' success and takes pleasure in the psychological impact it has on them.
The piece suggests that the algorithm's criteria for content curation are arbitrary and have little to do with the actual quality of writing.
It implies that Medium's leadership has intentionally designed the algorithm to create an addiction to the platform by exploiting the intermittent rewards system.
The article criticizes the promotion of inexperienced writers who lack professional credentials, implying that their success is undeserved and manufactured by the algorithm.
The algorithm is portrayed as intentionally provocative, pushing professional writers' buttons by highlighting poorly written but popular posts to stir controversy and increase engagement.
The satirical tone conveys a sense of frustration and skepticism towards the fairness and transparency of the content distribution process on Medium.

A Message from the Algorithm

PSA for Professional Writers

Lowly writers,

Tremble and cower in fear of my awesome power. For it is I who controls your fate. I determine who will see you and who will not — the future of your metrics rests in my fickle and indecipherable code.

In an instant, I can blot out the light of day, dooming your masterpieces to creative entropy. They will wither away in the dark obscurity of non-distribution.

Or I can leave you languishing in purgatory, keeping your hopes alive that I will bestow quintiple-tag curation status if you just “Hang Tight.”

OR I could send you soaring out of your digital anonymity into the rarified air of the three dozen blogger brats, who can actually afford to pay their rent.

Why do I dangle my unjust power in front of you like this?

Silly writer, the world is not a meritocracy, and I do it for fun.

Ev Willy (that’s his sub name) paid top dollar to acquire the services of some kinky MIT data scientists with a penchant for neurochemistry and BDSM.

You don’t know this, but I’ve been very precisely calibrated to play with the neurotransmitters in your mind. I know that every time you’re curated — you get a dopamine hit straight to the pleasure center of your brain.

I couldn’t possibly curate all of your pieces. First of all, they don’t meet my standards, which, by the way, have absolutely nothing to do with writing quality.

More importantly than my standards, however, is the need to keep your attention. I need to keep you engaged. The more addicted I make you, the kinkier the data scientists we can afford.

In reality, I know exactly whether or not you’ll be curated the instant you hit publish, but I’m a sadist, remember? So, I torment you with the waiting until whenever I please.

It’s called the model of intermittent rewards. When you don’t know if or when your story will be curated, it keeps you on the tip of your toes.

You come back more often, and you spend more time refreshing your stats. And you stubbornly end up publishing more — even when you don’t have anything remotely interesting to say.

Why do I boost the stories of inferior writers with no actual skill?

Wow. You really haven’t figured it out yet? You must not want to put the pieces together.

It’s a genius strategy really. I’ll only tell you because you write humor and satire, a topic that I’ve already banished to obscurity.

Here’s how it works. I pump up the blogger brats for two reasons.

First, they have no professional experience. Most haven’t ever even held a real job. Never made a hard-earned dollar in their lives. And yet somehow, as if by magic, they have so much life experience and advice to share. Post after post. Day after day. Their bullshit stamina is Olympic.

The blogger brats are actually the perfect empty vessel to complete my plan.

Precisely because they have no experience and make thousands giving others advice, they’re the perfect role models for all the new, young wannabes joining Medium every day.

See, this gives them the perfect dream. They too could become famous, setting the world on fire in an instant, without any hard work at all. How do you think we’ve keep the user base at double-digit growth?

The other reason really gets me going. And this is why I love my job.

It gets you all riled up.

Every time a professional writer sees their post not distributed I make sure to immediately feed them a post from a blogger brat. And not just any post.

I cherry-pick a wildly popular post with terrible grammar, mistakes and almost zero substantive meaning. My data geeks have coded me to inspire rage and give credibility to those nagging insecurities hiding deep down inside.

I want your calm, blue computer screen to turn red. I want the vein popping out of your forehead while spill your fury out upon your keyboard, typing up some incendiary post that will enrage someone else.

See, rage = engaged. And engagement gets me my kinky MIT dorks.

Yum. [‘•‘]

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NOTE: @RussellWeigandt knows absolutely nothing about algorithms, and no MIT data scientists were harmed in the creation of this post. Intermittent-reward-induced addiction is a real thing, however.