While we probably all broadly understand what a “paradox” is, I think it’s still useful to define it so we’re all on the same page.
A paradox consists of a set of beliefs or statements; each is seemingly true on its own, but together, they entail a contradiction. While beliefs reside in the mind, when articulated as statements, they often can reveal the paradox.
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Digital narration by ElevenLabs (voice of Burt Reynolds, recorded at 1.3x)
You have an idea you think others will get value from. Even pay for! You’ve shared it with a few friends. They love it, they tell you. They encourage you to take your show on the road. Publish it online. If only 0.00001887% of people also love it, you’ll be rich!
But the other 5.3 billion people have the same opportunity, so you only have to beat the competition — all the other inhabitants of planet Earth who have the same dream.
But your thing is special, it’s different…
It’s unusual and novel, which makes it so valuable. The long tail of the Internet means there are people out there who will want your weird shit. It’ll be valuable to them, you know. They’ll be so glad they’ve found you that they’ll trip over themselves to pay for it. You’ll be rich!
However, the Internet has democratized and commoditized knowledge and information. Everything can be found for free on YouTube, personal blogs, Substacks, or on the other side of a ChatGPT prompt chain.
Your potential audience is billions of people with credit cards burning a hole in their pockets, all one click away. The Internet is the world’s largest shopping mall. Amazon has validated this, as have the millions of active Shopify stores. It’ll be impossible for shoppers not to wander into your virtual patch of digital dirt and look at what you offer. You know it’s special, people will love it, your friends keep reminding you. People only need to be exposed to it. And when they do, you’ll be rich! Or, worse case, well off.
But most websites on the Internet are ghost towns. Excited ideas, externalized, published … then nothing, just the chirp-chirp of crickets. “If you build it, they will come,” a phrase suggesting that by simply creating something valuable or interesting, people will eventually discover it — like magic. Balls! Simply building something isn’t enough.
You scan your Facebook and Instagram and TikTok feeds, and see everyone’s best lives externalized in vivid, filtered beauty: ten thousand-watt smiles, cocktails in hand in not-so-hidden luxurious getaways in exotic faraway locations. You wonder if your life is too boring.
Yet, on TV, you watch celebrities discuss their mental health breakdowns from the crushing weight of maintaining expectations. Then they hold up their memoir, hot off the press and already climbing the Christmas bestseller lists, of how they’ve navigated the perils of fame and how you can, too. The irony isn’t lost on you.
The very platforms that promise connection and success seem to breed isolation and anxiety. This, it dawns on you, is the underlying paradox of our Internet. It giveth and it taketh.
The Internet offers opportunities for sharing your ideas and reaching any perceivable audience, yet the noise in the signal drowns individual voices in a sea of competing same-same content.
The contradiction deepens as you consider the nature of value in the information age. While knowledge is more accessible than ever, for free, many people still seek the safety of curated experiences, vertical expertise, and the reliability of paywalled experiences.
Your friends tell you your unique perspective is invaluable, but the Internet seems saturated with unique perspectives. The long tail that promises to connect niche creators with eager audiences also ensures that almost every conceivable niche is already seemingly saturated.
You oscillate between hope and despair, excitement and overwhelm.
One moment, you’re convinced your idea is worth sharing and the key to your success. Your friends tell you it’s only a matter of time before your efforts catch fire and spread across the Internet like a forest fire in summer.
Just look at all the influencers they point out to you. How hard can it be? Then, the next moment, you’re paralyzed by the sheer volume of content already out there, wondering if adding your voice to the cacophony is futile.
This paradox extends beyond content creation, vertical expertise, and novel value packaged up for the weird.
It seeps into our daily lives, our relationships, our sense of self. We’re more connected than ever, yet loneliness is epidemic if the news headlines are to be believed. The contradictions are hard to make sense of. How can both be true?
You have access to more information than any generation before, yet the tsunami of misinformation is omnipresent. You can reach anyone instantly, just a click or tweet away, yet meaningful discourse seems harder to find.
The Internet promises meritocracy, you always believed. The best ideas will naturally rise to the top, like the cream in milk. But the reality is far more complex.
The all-powerful algorithms, designed to help you navigate the firehose of information, often create echo chambers and angry cliques instead. They amplify controversy, stoke drama, confirm biases, pitting groups against each other.
The viral nature of online content means that “popularity,” not necessarily quality, drives visibility, reach, and discourse.
As you grapple with these contradictions, you realize that the Internet, like any tool, is neither inherently good nor bad. It’s a reflection of human nature, amplifying both our greatest aspirations and our deepest insecurities — a mirror for the flawed beauty of the human condition.
The challenge lies not in resolving the paradox but in learning to accept and navigate it for what it is.
Perhaps one solution is to shift focus from external validation to internal fulfillment, from being goal-oriented to process-oriented.
You create not for the promise of Internet riches or fame but in the sacred act of service. To contribute to collective understanding and betterment.
In embracing these paradoxes, you might find a new way forward through the deafening noise.
We need an approach that recognizes the complexities of the Internet paradox without being paralyzed by them.
That recognizes that true richness comes not from viral success but from authentic long-term engagement with ideas and others who care — “people like us.”
The Internet, with all its contradictions, offers you opportunities to navigate its complexities. It’s an open-world adventure. You get to choose paths that resonate with your values and dreams and salience, bridging the gap between creating meaningful work — work that’s slower, calmer, and more personal — and connecting with the right people who “overvalue” what you have because your resonance aligns with theirs, transcending the noise of the Internet.
You feel ready now. You know what you must do, excitement bubbling up for the first time without the paralyzing fear.
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I wrote this essay as much for you as for me.
I’ve wrestled for eighteen months with a persistent thought that won’t go away: Does the world need or want this esoteric “Tiny Digital Worlds” creation of mine?
Yes, I suspect … but … but … what if it doesn’t “land” like I hope it will? What if people don’t “get it?”
Fears, yes.
Insecurities, no doubt.
Imposter syndrome, absolutely.
Yet, friends say this:
(Sept 7, 2024) “Holy shit. Masterful. My mind is blown” (…) “This is your greatest work to date, it’s brilliant. And that’s coming from the person who thought your previous stuff was the best thing on the internet.” — LP (about ‘Tiny Digital Worlds: The Principles’)
And so, I fight back the fears and hesitantly, yet excitedly, forge on.
I know this isn’t only me.
Which is why I wrote this for you, too.
The final two paragraphs are for us who fight past the paralyzing fear, knowing we have important work to share because a pocket of weirdos needs it.
~ André
P.S.
The Sept 7th comment/blurb from LP was for my paid membership tier, Tiny Digital World Builders. It’s closed right now, but I plan to open general enrollment mid-2025. I’ve created this for you.
P.P.S.
In May 2024, I subscribed to Muse by Mail, a curated media subscription service by writer Ellen Fishbein. In one of the mailings, I received a small book called Anti-Content. An article within it, titled “The Internet Paradox,” resonated with me so much that it inspired me to write my take on the subject, which you’ve just read. I hope you enjoyed it.