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On May 21st, 2011, I registered my Reddit username.
For the first couple of months, I mainly browsed the site, occasionally upvoting things that made me laugh. My first-ever post was a link to a League of Legends-themed music video that I’d just finished making. It received approximately seven upvotes, then faded from everyone’s feeds. I remember trying to “bump” the thread by leaving a comment, which was a tactic that I’d developed during my time on 4chan… but I quickly discovered – to my intense frustration – that Reddit doesn’t work that way. A close friend of mine informed me that I’d become stuck in “the new queue,” but could provide no advice on how to escape from it.
Feeling fed up and irritated, I closed my browser and played a game with him instead.
During the decade that followed, I thought back to that experience on quite a few occasions. It had been an oddly informative introduction to the site, even if I hadn’t immediately understood the lessons that it had offered. As I became more active, though, and as I started moderating in addition to contributing, the depth and complexity of that deceptively brief moment began to make itself evident.
With ten years, hundreds of posts, thousands of comments, and nearly 5,000,000 karma behind me, I’d like to share some of what I’ve learned about the obstacles and opportunities that make Reddit what it is.
The Hivemind Is Real… But Not In The Way That You Might Think
Most Redditors – even brand-new ones – understand that the almighty upvote governs everything here, and they’re probably aware that a post’s initial activity is a huge determiner of its fate. As much as we might hate to admit this to ourselves, we are more likely to upvote something if other people have already done so, just as we’re more likely to downvote something if we see that it has a negative score.
This doesn’t happen simply because we want to go along with the crowd, though.
Even if we are being influenced, most of us still form our own opinions and cast our own votes. However, if we see that a given submission has already garnered a lot of approval, we may decide to give it more time and attention than we otherwise would have. “There’s apparently something worthwhile in here,” we might think, “so I’ll let its audition go on for a bit longer.” Conversely, if something has been cast in an unfavorable light, we could end up throwing it aside before we’ve given it any real consideration. Negative numbers may pique curiosity on occasion, but we generally tell ourselves that they were deserved.
As such, while score and placement both help to shape our perspectives (and that’s doubly true when we’re trying to interpret someone's tone or intentions), the opportunity that an upvote fosters ultimately plays a larger role: Unique content – especially anything which relies on slow buildups, dedicated focus, or complex nuances – will usually be ignored or met with impatient scorn unless several anonymous Redditors have already said “This is worth your time.” Once that has happened, we'll be more inclined to give something a fair chance… meaning that other people's opinions may not determine our own, but they do become a filter.
This filter is imperfect, though, because…
Reposts Are Preferred
This probably sounds ridiculous on the surface. If there’s one thing that Redditors love to hate, it’s anything that they've already seen. Strangely enough, though, reposts tend to be more successful than original submissions, even when the content is literally identical. Part of that comes down to the posters – there are quite a few karma-hungry users who know how to game the site's algorithm – but another factor plays a larger role.
More than anything else, success on Reddit is a matter of timing and luck… but only slightly less important is familiarity. I’m not just talking about relatable experiences or shared perspectives (although those can serve as shortcuts to success); I’m referring to something much more akin to nostalgia. When we think that we recognize a submission, we spend a brief moment trying to identify it, simultaneously granting more of the time and attention that I described earlier. If we recall any positive impressions, we frequently conflate those with in-the-moment reactions. In essence, reposts receive better chances at success than original content typically does, particularly if they've already passed through the above-mentioned filter.
The impact that familiarity has also manifests in other ways: When a given submission is presented with a recognizable format (as with comic strips, memetic image macros, or captioned GIFs), it's easier to approach, largely because the context has already been defined for us. Furthermore, preexisting associations – whether attached to the context or the content – can more than make up for any lack of inherent information or entertainment. As an example, think about all of the many times that you’ve encountered semi-random quotations from standup routines or movies: On their own, they usually aren’t funny… but folks who have seen the media in question will be reminded of the laughs that they had, so they'll eagerly upvote.
Reposts, references, and recognition all reduce the need for focused thought.
This leads us into the fact that…
Reddit Trains Us To Favor Low-Effort Content
When I use the term “low-effort,” I’m not just referring to the process of creating content; I’m talking about the prospect of consuming it. Redditors expect instant gratification, to the point where many of us prefer submissions that can be assessed with a passing glance. We’ve already covered how unfamiliar, standalone content is disadvantaged, but for a similar example, just consider how many people read only the headlines of news articles, or how few folks look at a given subreddit's rules before posting to it.
Certain exchanges in comment threads showcase another version of this phenomenon: Someone writes a joke that has only one apparent punchline, but intentionally avoids including that same punchline. Having done similar things myself, I understand the intention: The idea is to guide readers toward something humorous, but let them discover it themselves, thereby making the whole thing funnier as a result. Usually, though, somebody else chimes in with the (very obvious) conclusion to the setup, and they get showered with upvotes, awards, and praise for “their” joke. The person who actually wrote it receives very little of the same applause, because the act of reading the heckler's punchline takes less effort than thinking about the author's “incomplete” comment.
All of these behaviors result in the same outcome: Higher-effort content – even that which can be assessed with a glance, but which requires some consideration in order to be understood – gets eclipsed by lower-effort content, thereby teaching us to expect the latter. When that expectation is challenged, people often react in surprisingly aggressive ways. The prevailing sentiment appears to be one of “This submission interrupted me... and since I didn't immediately benefit from that interruption, it just made me angry.”
Now, a lot of folks insist that they shouldn’t have to work in order to enjoy something or learn from it. Sure, we could probably get more entertainment or information out of higher-quality content, but the effort it requires is nonetheless greater than what it takes to just keep scrolling. In a very real way, many of us are more interested in gambling with our time than we are in investing it: We’re content to trudge through an endless array of mediocre posts in the hopes of finding a single semi-good one, but we balk at the suggestion that we should give longer or more-complex offerings any dedicated attention (unless somebody else has already vetted them, of course).
Besides, even if we do take the time to consider something…
Enjoyment Can Result In Downvotes
Again, this probably sounds absurd on the surface, but believe it or not, folks will actually downvote content that they appreciate. This usually occurs when an individual's expectations are at odds with their reactions: “I didn’t want to like this, but I do… and that bothers me. I don’t want to explore why I feel bothered, though, so I’ll just blame the content or the submitter for it.” Along similar lines, popularity on its own is often enough to prompt disapproval: “Well, if everyone else likes this, then it must be bad!”
I’ve seen each of these responses play out hundreds of times, and I’ve even watched folks describe their after-the-fact rationalizations. Whenever a post from the “Unnecessary Inventions” guy hits the front page, you can find long-winded explanations of why the prospect of openly appreciating his work is actually aggravating or embarrasing. Whenever a popular artist has a successful submission in a high-traffic community, you can find tirades about how honest enjoyment is somehow anathema to itself.
More bizarre still, you can find accusations that…
Everyone Is (Allegedly) A Shill
Every time that a content-creator submits something, the question of why they’re offering it arises. Are they looking for attention? Are they hoping to make a profit? Are they just trying to inflate their karma score? Many Redditors have adopted the default assumption that nobody wants to entertain or inform without getting something in return, so they approach original content with suspicion. “There must be some ulterior goal!” they think… and if they're already looking for an excuse to dislike something, they might use that same suspicion as a justification for their feelings: “This person is clearly trying to trick me, so I should downvote them!”
On the other hand, if the skeptic sees that something is being upvoted, they’ll make it their personal mission to yank the wool from the eyes of all the sheep who can’t see the commercial: “Don’t you people get it?! This is an advertisement!” The question of what is actually being sold is irrelevant, because the poster’s assumed motivation has already soured the commenter's mood. Past that point, everything becomes evidence of a marketing conspiracy, and Ra help the poor soul whose post has a corporate logo visible somewhere within it.
There are certainly accounts on the site that are trying to sell something (or just promote themselves in some way), but based on what I’ve seen, they’re in the minority. Artists, musicians, filmmakers, and writers usually just want to share their work with the world… and although that drive doesn’t make sense to people who don’t experience it, it’s nonetheless the primary reason for creators' activity on Reddit.
Unfortunately, those same creators often discover that…
Redditors Can Be Incredibly Entitled and Elitist
As previously mentioned, derisive comments often crop up beneath high-scoring posts. If you look for patterns in these protests, you’ll frequently see rules being misquoted, claims about absent quality, and curiously ill-informed “experts” snarling hostile criticism. The unifying sentiment is that the posts do not belong, and that anyone who argues otherwise is an idiot. Moderators field similar complaints every single day: “I don’t like X, so you should ban it… and if you disagree, then it's clearly because you're either incompetent or corrupt.”
Brand-new posts aren’t immune to these attacks, either… and ironically, many of the outcries about bland, uninteresting, or ill-fitting submissions are voiced by people who haven’t actually consumed the content in question. For instance, a several-minute-long video (or a several-paragraph-long comment) will often be downvoted within seconds of having been posted, and a text-based screech of “I don’t like it!” will appear soon afterward. Unless these detractors are secretly time-travelers, they could not possibly have developed an informed opinion on a piece.
Despite this inconvenient detail, the self-appointed arbiters continue in their crusades, fighting to ensure that only their specific desires are met. Then, when they run out of targets for their downward-facing arrows, they loudly lament that there’s nothing good or interesting to be found on Reddit… and they accuse everyone else – from voters to creators – of being responsible for that. Put in simple terms, the statement is essentially “I demand that you give me exactly what I want right now, even if I keep throwing things back in your face!”
It might sound pretty bleak, but…
These Issues Are Actually Opportunities
Reposts, low-effort content, an impossible-to-please community, rampant entitlement, and a stifling environment for creators probably seem like they should add up to a place that’s best avoided… yet somehow, Reddit is much more than the sum of its parts. Moreover, these ostensibly negative facets can serve as boundaries on a bullseye.
In general, success with anything original requires a few elements:
It has to immediately capture attention.
It needs to be equal parts unique and familiar.
It should be very easy to understand and appreciate.
It has to be submitted at a time when the largest-possible audience will see it.
It needs to avoid anything which even resembles an attempt at advertising or self-promotion.
These requirements aren’t difficult to meet, and they actually allow for an enormous amount of freedom. The only downside is that many creators would prefer to focus their energies on earnest self-expression, ideally without having to trade their integrity for a fleeting chance at exposure. Dumbed-down, nuance-free content may have a better shot at the front page, but it can also be unsatisfying to produce. Fortunately, Reddit’s tacit set of standards also highlights what we – the consumers of that content – can do to raise the proverbial bar:
Upvote effort and quality, not just what you immediately like.
Read, watch, or examine things in their entirety before forming opinions.
Consider if submissions stand on their own, without context or knowledge of outside media.
Whenever something shifts from an expected format, look for the potential merit in that deviation.
In short, treat Reddit less like Twitter, and more like a festival.
That might seem like extra work with no guarantee of a reward, especially considering that millions of other users will still be amplifying the ennui-inducing noise. As we know, though, a single vote can decide the fate of a submission, and thereby influence the tone of the entire site. Furthermore, the act of slightly adjusting your approach will immediately make better content materialize.
That's because it's already here.
You see...
Reddit Is Still The Best Site On The Internet
Someone once told me that for every thousand followers, there’s one imitator, and for every thousand imitators, there’s one inventor. There’s a certain truth to that idea, but I think that it could do with a slight rephrasing: For every one originator, there are a thousand planters, and for every one planter, there are a thousand cultivators.
Without fertile ground and fostering, a flower cannot flourish.
Upvotes, then, are fertilizer… and as disgusting a metaphor as this might be, the manure on Reddit gives rise to some of the most vibrant blossoms that have ever existed.
When a piece of high-quality original content manages to claw its way past all of the many obstacles that it faces, it gets seen by literally millions of people. When someone shares a unique perspective or an engaging story, it can impact minds all across the globe. When a little-known fact or an impromptu writing lesson gets elevated, the average wisdom in the world increases.
Each new offering may only amount to a faint flicker in the darkness, but in the end, even the smallest spark can light the way forward. Reddit allows entertainment and information to be passed between anybody who might want it, and when people upvote, comment, and share, those tiny motes of light can grow to illuminate everyone. Yes, there’s a lot of noise, and yes, there are plenty of problems, but that’s only because the site showcases humanity in its purest form… and humans are capable of astounding brilliance.
I’ve made treasured friends on Reddit. I’ve been approached with opportunities that are usually the stuff of daydreams. I’ve watched things that I made or wrote get passed around all over the Internet. I’ve collaborated with some exceptional individuals, I’ve gotten to see people achieve lifelong ambitions, and I’ve laughed until I literally could not breathe at some of the patently absurd nonsense that shows up on the site.
As such, if I had to distill my time on Reddit into something that would fit on a postcard, here’s what I’d say:
TL;DR: Here's What Ten Years On Reddit Taught Me
When there’s the chance that the eyes of the world will be watching you, make your very best effort to entertain, inform, educate, or inspire… and always offer the highest level of quality that you can. You’ll face derision, hostility, and dismissal, and you’ll be frustrated when low-effort reposts eclipse the work that you’ve done, but you’ll also discover that a single smile, chuckle, or glimmer of new understanding can make all of that worthwhile.
Take advice from people who are more skilled than you, silently dismiss criticism from people who aren't, and pass on your knowledge to folks who might benefit from it. Learn from every experience, choose earnestness over apathy, and remind yourself that applause – much like karma – is only meaningful when it’s offered in response to something that you personally created or accomplished. Even then, keep in mind that you might have just gotten lucky, and never stop looking for your next chance to contribute.
When you approach a piece of content, give it just a little bit more consideration than you initially think that it deserves. Ask yourself if other people – people with different opinions and perspectives than you personally hold – might appreciate something. Put yourself in the shoes of every creator, commenter, and consumer that you encounter. Come to your own conclusions, but temper them with empathy, humility, and respect.
Above all else, remember the human… and all that being human entails.
Alright, so maybe it would have to be a big postcard.
In any case, thank you for reading.
As a reward for making it this far, here's some minimalist toilet-humor.
