(dis)content
“The whole corruption of aesthetic language is the application of financial jargon to artistic creativity. This is why instead of calling a work of art by its real name, we call it content.”
“When I grow up, I wanna be a content creator.”
— Words never uttered by a single person in the 20th century
When people tell me my content is great, I try to say thank you. This isn’t easy, because what I really want to do is grab them by their shirt collar and slap some fucking sense into them. Content is a generic word that flattens out various forms of human expression — music, prose, visual art, etc. — into amorphous slop. That soulless, art-like substance can be commodified, scaled, platformed, and scrolled … into oblivion. It isn’t a song, or a story, or a film, it’s everything all at once and therefore nothing at all.
This is pretentious stuff coming from a guy who usually writes silly stories about his life. Last week’s story about getting my balls examined by a doctor who looked remarkably like Olivia Munn may not be your idea of art, but it’s sure as shit not my idea of content. I wrote that story because I wanted to (situation) normalize men’s health. I also wanted to speak to the human condition — we spend so much time seeking the attention of people we find attractive, but when we finally get that attention, it’s the last thing we want. In the words of Alanis Morissette, isn’t it ironic, don’t you think? Also, I wrote that piece because I thought it was funny. The point is this: I had some things to say, so I wrote a story.
I’m not above making content. And despite my predilection for dick and poop jokes, I’m not below making art. This isn’t a hierarchy thing. It’s about meaning.
Which is why the word content irks me. In two decades of writing, the best moments have always been when a reader tells me one of my stories made them laugh, or gave them a good cry, or one of my essays helped them see something in a new way.
I realize there’s (usually) good vibes coming from the “great content” folks, but it’s so generic, I don’t know what they mean. I’m not sure they know what I mean, either.
One interpretation is that they’re bad with words, but feel compelled to type something.
Another possibility is bots. This is the internet. It’s crawling bots. And those bots love great content.
Assuming best intent, I take the “great content” folks to mean: I liked this, but I’m just passing through, buzzing around the internet, sorta like a bot, but human, but I would never write this much … I’m not a confident writer; and my teachers gave me shit about grammar; and stuff, (so I express myself by painting squirrels dressed as ninjas). But yeah, dude, I liked this. It made me laugh. See you again, maybe, but probably never. Peace and chicken Greece! Mahalo?”
Here’s a conspiracy theory: The “great content” folks (and bots, let’s be real) are a Russian intelligence campaign to distract from the Epstein files.
Usually, I just assume the “great content” folks are doing a low-effort compliment. It’s easier that way.
But now, there’s this wrinkle.
Substack created a tool that weeds out the “great content” comments. It uses AI, which is a fancy way of saying, I tell the bot — more fucking bots, I swear — to automatically delete the “great content” comments. That part works pretty well, I think, but I haven’t turned the tool on yet. Blocking something that generic seems like there would be a high success rate, right? I could also tell the AI tool why I chose to block the “great content” comments (see any of my theories above). Who knows what the bots make of those? Seriously, even the people who made all these fucking chatbots don’t really know.
But here’s what I know about the people making the chatbots. They love content. Really love it. Literally cannot get enough content. If content was a milkshake, they’d go Daniel Day-Lewis on it.
That’s the what the quote that kicked off this piece is about. The writer put his finger on a thing that’s bugged for a long time. Thank your for doing that, Ted Gioia.
Screw content. I’ve got novels and micro-stories for you to enjoy
Situation normies regularly say my books make them laugh, give them the feels, and help them see the world in a new way. I love hearing that. Honestly, that’s all I’ve ever wanted to accomplish with my writing. So do me (and yourself) a favor by picking up one, two, or all three of my books today.
Not Safe for Work is available at Amazon and all the other book places.
Murder and Other Distractions is available here.
Ride/ Share can be purchased here.
Stick around and chat!
I ask, you answer
How’s the content? Wrong answers only.
Bot or human? Choose wisely.
When someone describes themself as a “content creator” or says that’s what they aspire to be, does a piece of you die inside? Search out your feelings.
What’s your theory on the “great content” people, and why do you believe they’re covering up the Epstein files? Go deep.
"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing about." — Benjamin Franklin
And, you, Michael Estrin, always write something worth reading. Love your “content” even though I hate the word, too.
I write because I have stories. It’s not just soulless “content.”
“Content creator” is the lazy lumping of a group of beings into a mass that can be addressed collectively. As a physician I HATED being called a “health care provider,” but I realize the administrators and insurers came up with that term so as to address all MDs, DOs, NPs, PAs, RNs, LVNs, MAs, etc. as one money-generating blob.