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Abstract

iting the number of accounts you can follow per day. I was clicking so fast, the algorithms blocked me several times, thinking I was a robot.</p><p id="224d">Following became a reflex. I was even following people on Duolingo. For what? To celebrate their streaks anniversary?</p><p id="277a">I’ve my pride, however. I never paid for additional followers, not directly. Well, I never paid <i>external</i> companies to get me more followers. But, I did pay Instagram to promote my best posts, the most snackable ones.</p><p id="213e">Soon, pictures weren’t enough; I needed to express myself through words, many more words that available on Facebook or Instagram. Exactly as I needed erotic literature on top of my video porn consumption when I was still having one.</p><h1 id="7618">I created my first blog on WordPress. Then another one.</h1><p id="9ef8">I applied there all the strategies I had used on Instagram and learned some new ones. Some I’m not proud of. Everything I did there was a bait of some sort.</p><p id="35b1">My titles? Pure clickbait. My likes? Simple decoys. My comments? Carefully crafted lures to catch more bloggers in my nets.</p><p id="7e06">When I created the tenth blog for better SEO referencing, WordPress shadow-banned me. I must admit they were fair. They took into account our long-standing relationship and gave me a three-month recovery program.</p><p id="9279">To my dismay, I didn’t make it. I couldn’t help but cross-commenting and pinging back between my different blogs, all for views and likes.</p><h1 id="b7ee">A year ago, I joined Medium.</h1><p id="c82d">Attracted by the limelights of detailed statistics. Views, reads, reading time, …, you know them. So many numbers…, they’re all beautiful.

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Do you know this feeling of a 100% perfect read ratio?</p><p id="d810">I built the stat funnel, from awareness (views) to action (mailing list subscription). I compared churn rates between articles, between publications, and months.</p><h2 id="565b">I started doing stats on my stats</h2><p id="5e93">Average number of fans per readers, of claps per clapper, views per publication’s number of followers.</p><p id="ec32">I took into account all the dimensions I could think of. Type of publications, time to first clap (counting from the publication), Time to second clap (did you know it was a good predictor of future success? — p-value of 42%), the impact of distribution on clapping average (negative, more clappers, fewer claps).</p><p id="9a0b">So busy with my stats, I could barely produce content anymore. I standardly spent more time analyzing my readers’ reading time than they did reading. That’s when I hired several content producers for all my endeavors.</p><p id="2e4b"><i>It got worse and worse. Obsessive and compulsive were not strong enough to describe my disorder.</i></p><h1 id="fea0">Last night was another milestone in my downward spiral.</h1><p id="db12">I started touching myself while looking at my stat dashboards.</p><p id="280b">On 3 different platforms at the same time. (A small code is automatically refreshing them every other second).</p><p id="766b">That’s not the worse part. When my partner entered my cabinet, I switched to porn. I switched to porn to hide my stats.</p><p id="b0d5">I’m thinking of creating an AA sort of fellowship. <b>The Masturbating Over Stats Anonymous. </b>Let me start:</p><p id="f498" type="7">Hi, my name is Smillew, and I’m masturbating over my stats.</p></article></body>

I Stopped Porn; Now I Masturbate Over My Stats

Would you like to join the Masturbating Over Stats Anonymous?

*The stats I’m masturbating over by Karolina Grabowska*

First it was Facebook.

It started innocently enough. Ten years ago, I was opening Facebook notifications and checking how many people had liked my posts. It made me genuinely happy.

I was naïve at the time, of course. I knew my mother’s likes were nothing more but a reflex. I knew my dad was commenting just for the opportunity to make jokes. But I thought other people found what I had to say interesting.

Then I got myself into Instagram.

The number of followers was my new performance indicator, and I got hooked. I became an addict.

I updated my meditation mantra to reflect this shift in my mindset.

“I will be kind to myself and my followers today. I’m in love with my profile picture. I’m an influencer. My reach is endless. My posts become viral. I’m worthy of an Instagram life.”

It influenced my love life, as well. I started looking for partners that could be not my better half but the other half of an InstaCouple.

As expected, I followed to be followed. I followed anybody anywhere. People wrote posts about me. I was infamously known as the Instagram stalker. The platform even updated its community guidelines because of me, limiting the number of accounts you can follow per day. I was clicking so fast, the algorithms blocked me several times, thinking I was a robot.

Following became a reflex. I was even following people on Duolingo. For what? To celebrate their streaks anniversary?

I’ve my pride, however. I never paid for additional followers, not directly. Well, I never paid external companies to get me more followers. But, I did pay Instagram to promote my best posts, the most snackable ones.

Soon, pictures weren’t enough; I needed to express myself through words, many more words that available on Facebook or Instagram. Exactly as I needed erotic literature on top of my video porn consumption when I was still having one.

I created my first blog on WordPress. Then another one.

I applied there all the strategies I had used on Instagram and learned some new ones. Some I’m not proud of. Everything I did there was a bait of some sort.

My titles? Pure clickbait. My likes? Simple decoys. My comments? Carefully crafted lures to catch more bloggers in my nets.

When I created the tenth blog for better SEO referencing, WordPress shadow-banned me. I must admit they were fair. They took into account our long-standing relationship and gave me a three-month recovery program.

To my dismay, I didn’t make it. I couldn’t help but cross-commenting and pinging back between my different blogs, all for views and likes.

A year ago, I joined Medium.

Attracted by the limelights of detailed statistics. Views, reads, reading time, …, you know them. So many numbers…, they’re all beautiful. Do you know this feeling of a 100% perfect read ratio?

I built the stat funnel, from awareness (views) to action (mailing list subscription). I compared churn rates between articles, between publications, and months.

I started doing stats on my stats

Average number of fans per readers, of claps per clapper, views per publication’s number of followers.

I took into account all the dimensions I could think of. Type of publications, time to first clap (counting from the publication), Time to second clap (did you know it was a good predictor of future success? — p-value of 42%), the impact of distribution on clapping average (negative, more clappers, fewer claps).

So busy with my stats, I could barely produce content anymore. I standardly spent more time analyzing my readers’ reading time than they did reading. That’s when I hired several content producers for all my endeavors.

It got worse and worse. Obsessive and compulsive were not strong enough to describe my disorder.

Last night was another milestone in my downward spiral.

I started touching myself while looking at my stat dashboards.

On 3 different platforms at the same time. (A small code is automatically refreshing them every other second).

That’s not the worse part. When my partner entered my cabinet, I switched to porn. I switched to porn to hide my stats.

I’m thinking of creating an AA sort of fellowship. The Masturbating Over Stats Anonymous. Let me start:

Hi, my name is Smillew, and I’m masturbating over my stats.