Creating for the Algorithm is Not Sustainable

AKA: teaching my kids what "mission over metrics" *actually* means

Are you suffering from a case of the creative blahs? There are 8 spots left in my upcoming Create Anyway cohort! Runs August 11-September 23rd. ❤️

Fuji 400, shot with Nikon f100 | 2021

A few months ago, we let our boys start a YouTube channel.

I know, I know. You're shocked, you're appalled, you think I'm a terrible parent! Trust me when I say: I was the most apprehensive about this decision. And while I'm tempted to write you a list of the many many rules and many many guardrails we have in place, I'm trying this new thing where I don't add 18 disclaimers to my stories out of fear of what people think of me/my parenting.¹

My boys are obsessed with making LEGO stop motion videos, and they are equally obsessed with watching LEGO stop motion videos. After months (years?) of working hard at their craft, they started begging for the ability to be able to share their art with the world, to "feed the lake" as Jean Rhys would say.² As a person who has been sharing my own art online for multiple decades now, I clearly resonate with that desire.

And so—after putting many many many rules and many many many guardrails in place³—their YouTube channel was formed.

In the beginning, it was all fun and games. To be frank, I don't understand 50% of their videos because they contain references to Star Wars and/or Marvel movies I have not seen and have no interest in watching. We wrestled through some stuff (Why are your films so violent? That's just a Star Wars blaster, Mom!) before they got a few subscribers, all friends and families, which was very exciting.

The trouble began the day I heard my husband reference one of their videos going "semi-viral."

Before I go any further, let me state on the record: I am well aware that "going viral" on YouTube means millions of views. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say my boys had gone semi-semi-semi-viral. But still. Overnight one of their videos had been viewed 25,000 times—which is no small thing for a nameless account with 17 subscribers.

I had a lot of questions, namely: How on earth did this happen? I quickly learned that in this particular video, my boys had used a trending audio clip. Obviously the algorithm had favored it, and shown the video to more people.

Everett in particular was nothing short of ecstatic. The boys had instantly earned more subscribers and every time the views went up, I saw shiny dopamine stars light up in his eyes. Apparently it only took two months to accidentally learn how to feed the machine, how to game the system, how to cater their content toward what is trending in order to be rewarded with likes and views.

As much as I didn't want to rain on this exciting little parade, sirens began going off in my brain like a full house fire alarm. And so came the pep talk I could only give my children because I have given it to myself 400 times:

Creating content for the algorithm is not sustainable.
Creating content for the algorithm is not sustainable.
Creating content for the algorithm is NOT sustainable.

My boys looked at me with blank stares, as I attempted to explain how using trending audio isn't wrong, per se, but it is robbing you of an opportunity to master your own voice. When you start creating content simply based on what's trending, you're not getting lost in your own sense of wonder or imagination. You're not letting inspiration lead. You're not going where the energy is. You're not honing your voice, you're just copying everyone else's.

To be clear, there's nothing new under the sun, and I believe with my whole heart that creativity is generative. Last year, I read a poem called "Because I don't have Spotify Premium" which directly inspired me to write "Because I don't have ChatGPT." Totally different topics, slightly similar structure. Am I any less original because I borrowed the title format? I don't think so.

There is a time and a place to be inspired by others, of course. But there is also a time and a place to shut yourself off from the world, to be alone with your own thoughts and your own curiosity and your own LEGO table. There is a time and a place to stop looking around at what everyone else is doing and look down at your own hands, your own craft, your own tools, your own blank canvas.

That quiet process—of nurturing your unique creativity—is, sadly, becoming a lost art. Everywhere we go, there is noise and content and more noise and more content. People can't wait in a line without opening instagram, or take a shower without a podcast blaring on the bathroom counter. We scroll the news while we watch TV and we listen to music while we work. We are being influenced all the time by curated feeds spitting content in front of our eyeballs based on whatever echo chamber the algorithm believes we belong in.

We are losing our ability to sit in silence, along with our ability to sit with our own thoughts (not to mention our ability to even think those thoughts—a dilemma ChatGPT is not helping).

But thinking and dreaming are integral parts of creating. And while it can certainly be fun to get cheap thrills by going semi-semi-semi viral on YouTube, I desperately want my boys to avoid the temptation of that slot machine. Because one day they will do exactly what the algorithm tells them to do and it won't work. And they'll be crushed. And they'll drive themselves mad—absolutely mad—trying to please a fickle beast that wants different kinds of food every hour.

I want my kids to be proud of their work. Not proud of the views; proud of the work. I want them to enjoy the process of making things. I want them to establish a voice, a vibe, a defining characteristic that sets their work apart so that someday, way way way in the future, if they keep doing this, people will be able to say, "Hey, that looks like Everett and Carson's style."

After we talk this out, and after I make Everett re-read the "Mission Over Metrics" chapter of Create Anyway, we add a new rule to the many many rules we have for YouTube. For every trending component the boys use, they have to create a new video—entirely from scratch—using their own imaginations.

"Go be inspired," I tell them. "And then go make something on your own, something original, something only you can make."

Then I put my phone in the nightstand, shut the laptop, and head out to the backyard with a notebook and pen to take my own advice.

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If you liked this post, you might like these, too:

What would Anne Lamott do?
17 Ways to Stop Being a Writer
The Art I Want to Make

1. Harder than it sounds, tbh

2. “Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake.” - Jean Rhys, via The Paris Review

3. No names, no user comments, no location, no pictures of them, no identifying factors whatsoever! (Oops there I go again.)