Werd I/O

Erin and I stood at the front of the room, our seven-minute pitch slides for Known still projected above us. At the wooden table in front of us, investors and media executives prepared to give us unfiltered feedback about what we’d just presented to them. Beyond them, an audience of entrepreneurs, more investors, and other enthusiasts were raising their hands.

“Does your excitement outweigh your hesitations?” Corey Ford asked the Matter audience. A spattering of hands shot up; most of the audience did not raise theirs.

At Matter, Design Reviews were a big deal: a structured, safe way to find out what investors and potential customers actually thought about your business. You would pitch; then the audience would vote on a handful of questions; then the panel would weigh in.

Corey took a beat before asking his next question, microphone in hand. “Does this venture have the potential to change media for good?” A few more hands shot up this time.

“Does this venture have the potential to raise investment? If not, does it have the potential to raise alternative funding?” No hands.

The panel eviscerated us.

I’d started writing the first version of Known while my mother recovered from her double lung transplant. My mother wanted people to talk to about her experiences, but she didn’t trust the likes of Facebook to host those conversations. I’d built the platform to provide an alternative. I cared about the platform deeply; I cared about the idea of communities that didn’t yield their data to one of a handful of centralized services even more.

Indieweb and open social web people seemed excited. But I couldn’t tell the story in a way that resonated with people who weren’t a part of those worlds. This was 2014, before Cambridge Analytica or the genocide in Myanmar. The most common question I was asked was, “what’s wrong with Facebook?”

A decade later, nobody’s asking that question. We’ve all seen what’s wrong. The centralized social web has failed us; its owners treat their platforms as a way to spread propaganda and further entrench their power, often at the expense of democracy. Mark Zuckerberg likens himself to a Roman emperor even while his policies fail community after community. Under Elon Musk, X has been reinvented as a firehose of toxicity. Users are hungry for alternatives.

In my previous posts in this series, I discussed what I would do if I ran Bluesky and Mastodon. But now let’s zoom out: what if I started fresh?

There are several ways you could approach building a new open social web platform. You could hope to be remembered for building a great open protocol, as Tim Berners-Lee is, but I believe today’s need is more acute. Few people were asking for the web in 1989; it emerged anyway, changing peoples’ minds, habits, and culture. For its first decade, it was a slow-burning movement. In 2025, great harms are being done to vulnerable communities, and the profits from centralized platforms are used in part to fuel global fascism. Building a great protocol isn’t enough to get us where we need to go. We need to adopt a different mindset: one of true service, where we build an alternative to serve people’s direct needs today.

I think these principles are important:

• Any new product must be laser-focused on solving people’s needs. The technical details — protocols, languages, architecture, approach — are all in service of creating a great solution to real human problems.
• The perfect can never be allowed to obstruct the good. Ideological purity is next to impossible. The important thing is to build something that’s better than what we have today, and continue iterating towards greatness.
• Everyone who works on such a platform must be able to make a good living doing so. Or to put it another way, nobody should be financially penalized for working on the open social web.
• The platform must be sustainable. If you’re making something people rely on, you owe it to them to ensure it can last.

In his post Town squares, backyards, better metaphors, and decentralised networks, Anders Thoresson points out that social media and social networks are two different things that have sometimes been conflated. Social media is the proverbial global town square. A social network is the web of relationships between people; these might span apps, the web, and in-person conversations alike.

As I wrote in my 2008 piece The Internet is people:

Let’s reclaim a piece of language: a social network is an interconnected system of people, as I’ve suggested above. The websites that foster social networks are simply social networking tools. A social network doesn’t live on the Web, but a website can help its members communicate and share with each other.

I believe there’s enormous value to be found in building new platforms to support social networks in particular. The goal shouldn’t be to try and gather everyone in the world around a particular voice or algorithmic spectacle, as X now does with Elon Musk’s account and ideas; it should be to support networks of people and help them connect with each other on their terms.

From the same piece:

The idea of a social networking tool is to make that network communicate more efficiently, so anything that the tool does should make it easier for that network to talk to each other and share information. The tool itself shouldn’t attempt to create the network – although that being said, new network connections may arise through a purpose. Most of us have made new contacts on Flickr or Twitter, for example, because we enjoyed someone’s content.

Compare and contrast with Meta’s latest strategy to fill its platforms with AI-generated users, literally creating the network.

If I were starting from scratch — grounded in these principles, and committed to serving real human networks — here’s what I’d build.

As I hinted at in my if I ran Mastodon piece, I believe there is a need for a private-by-default, federated platform designed for groups that already know each other or are actively building trust. Think mutual aid groups, local advocacy orgs, artist collectives, parent groups, cooperatives, or even small media orgs with deeply engaged communities.

On this platform, anyone can build a group with its own look and feel, set of features, rules, and norms. As a user, I can join any number of groups with a single account, and read updates on a dashboard where I can easily switch between types of content (long-form vs short-form), modes of engagement (conversations vs published pieces), and categories (topics, timely updates vs evergreen).

Because it embraces the open social web, a user can connect to these groups using any compatible profile, and if a user doesn’t like the dashboard that the platform provides, perhaps because they don’t like how it prioritizes or filters content, they can choose another one made by someone else. Over time, groups can be hosted by multiple platform providers — and users will still be able to interact, collaborate, and share content as if they were on the same system.

Let’s say I’m part of three very different communities: a neighborhood mutual aid group, a nonprofit newsroom, and a writing collective. On this platform, each has its own space, with its own tone, style, and boundaries.

The local mutual aid group uses their space to coordinate grocery drop-offs, ride shares, and emergency needs. Everything is private, and posts are tagged by urgency. There’s a shared resource library and a microblogging space for check-ins. Members can signal availability without having to explain.

The newsroom uses its space to share behind-the-scenes updates with engaged readers, collect community tips, and publish previews of investigations. It connects directly with their existing WordPress site and lets audience editors manage conversations without needing a developer.

The writing collective is weird and messy and fun. It has a public-facing stream of essays and poetry, but also a rotating “writing prompt room” and a long-form thread space that acts like a slow-moving group zine. It’s run as a co-op, and contributors vote on changes to how it’s governed. The writing is mostly private for its members, but every so often the group makes a piece available for the outside world.

Each of these groups lives in its own lane and can be accessed individually on the web, but I choose to keep up to date on all of them from a dashboard that reflects how I think and what I care about. I can configure it, but it also learns from my use over time, and even suggests new groups that I might want to be a part of. It also lets me search for people I know or ideas I want to hear more about and surfaces groups relevant to both. The dashboard is available on the web and as a clean, responsive mobile app with a best-in-class consumer-grade design.

Because it’s all built on the open social web, I can take my identity and content with me if I ever leave. If there’s a dashboard by another company that works better for me (or fits my ideals better, for example by not learning from my use automatically), I can switch to it seamlessly. If I want, I can move my profile and memberships to an account hosted by another provider. Even if I don’t do those things, I can connect other apps to my account that give me new insights about the content and conversations I’m interested in — for example to highlight breaking news stories, surface group events I might be interested in, or to give me extra moderation powers for communities I run.

Here’s the bit that might make open social web purists upset: all of this would be built by a for-profit public benefit company and run as a hosted service. At launch, there would be no open source component.

Gasp! I can already read the Mastodon replies to this post. But rather than a betrayal of open social web values, I see these things as a way to better support the needs of the platform and the values of the space. This isn’t about profit above all else. It’s about aligning incentives to support a healthy, values-driven product, and making that alignment resilient over time. (Don’t worry, I’ll get back to open source below.)

So far, most open source self-hosted platforms have prioritized engineering efforts. Resources haven’t been available for researchers, designers, trust and safety teams, or for dedicated staff to foster partnerships with other projects. Those things aren’t nice-to-haves: they’re vital for any service to ensure that it is fit for purpose for its users, a delightful experience to use, and, crucially for any social platform, safe for vulnerable users to participate in. Building a financial model in from the start improves the chances of those things being available. If we want great design, we need to pay designers. If we want a safe, healthy community, we need to pay a trust and safety team. And so on.

In order to pay for the teams that make it valuable, the platform will charge for non-core premium features like SSO and integrations, offer a hands-on enterprise concierge service, and take a cut from marketplace transactions inside groups. Most importantly, the business model isn’t based on reach, surveillance, or ads; the values of the business are aligned with the communities it hosts.

In its earliest stages, every platform needs to reduce the feedback loop between its users and builders as much as possible. Incubating it internally until the basic interaction models, look and feel, and core feature-set are right will allow that to happen faster. I’ve found in the past that open source communities can muddy that feedback loop in the earliest stages of a project: there are people who will cheerlead something because it’s open source and not because the product works for them in itself. There are also other people who will relentlessly ask for esoteric features that benefit only them — or will be abusive or disrespectful in the open source community itself. None of these is what you want if your focus is on building something useful.

Finally, something happens when you release a project under an open source license: anyone can use it. It’s a permissive ethos that sits at the core of the movement, but it also has a key downside for open source social platforms: someone may take a platform you’ve put a great deal of work into and use it for harm. There is nothing to stop someone from taking your code and using it to support Nazis, child abuse, or to organize other kinds of real-world violence. In contrast, a hosted product can be vigilant and remove those communities.

By not releasing an open source project at first, the business has a chance to seed the culture of the platform. It can provide the resources, support, and vigilance needed to make sure the space is inclusive, respectful, and safe. Once the platform has matured and there are thriving, healthy communities, that’s when we can release a reference codebase — not as a symbolic gesture, but as a foundation others can build on without compromise. That moment would come once the platform has proven its core use case, the community culture is thriving, and the financial base is strong enough to support long-term governance.

In the meantime, because it’s all based on open social web protocols, other developers could have been building their own participating open source community platforms, dashboards, and libraries.

Last thing: I haven’t mentioned where I would run this from. Vulnerable communities are under attack in many parts of the world, notably the US, and it isn’t clear that data will be safe from subpoenas or other legal threats. So the business would be headquartered in Switzerland, a traditional home for neutral parties and a jurisdiction that offers stronger protections for user data. While starting it would require raising investment — and, perhaps, grants for starting a mission-driven high-tech business from Switzerland, the EU, and elsewhere — it would not aim to be a venture-scale business, and would operate largely independently from the US tech ecosystem. It would inclusively hire talent from all over the world and offer hybrid work: remotely but with the opportunity to come to Zurich and collaborate in-person as the need arose.

It would, of course, be a business that invested heavily in DEI, with strong benefits. These policies would allow a more diverse staff to collaborate on building it, ensuring that a greater array of perspectives were involved in its design. This isn’t just morally correct: along with the choice of location and business model, it represents a commitment to resilience.

Resilience, I hope you’ll agree, is something we need in abundance.

I began this series by asking how I’d run someone else’s platform. But the real question is: what should we build now, and how do we build it together? What are the mindsets that will provide a true alternative? And how can we ensure it succeeds?

If any of this resonates, I’d love to chat. You can always email me at ben@werd.io or on Signal at benwerd.01.

Previously in this series: if I ran Bluesky Product and if I ran Mastodon. Subscribe to get every post via email.

Photo by Renzo D'souza on Unsplash

This is the second part in a three-part series. Part one was about Bluesky. To make sure you get part three, make sure you’re subscribed.

In 2011, I sat on a panel at SXSW Interactive with Blaine Cook, the former Twitter CTO who had demonstrated an decentralized integration with the social media platform Jaiku, and Christian Sandvig, who at the time was the founder of the Center for People and Infrastructures at the University of Illinois.

The argument I presented was that social media sites are, at their core, search engines: people want to search for their friends’ names and topics they’re interested in, and are generally not excited to remember the URI of someone’s identity. Any decentralized social media network is going to need to create a great search experience if it wants to win users from centralized services. That search experience is not necessarily where the networks need to start, but it is where they need to end up.

As evidence, I brought up the time that the tech news website ReadWriteWeb briefly outranked Facebook for the search term “facebook login” and received thousands of very confused visitors wondering why their favorite site had changed. People weren’t typing “facebook dot com” into their browsers; they were searching for Facebook.

It was not well-received by the decentralization community in the audience. “People know how to use URLs,” someone said, disdainfully. “That’s how browsers work.”

Fourteen years later, in Ghost’s latest update about joining the ActivityPub network, they noted:

Many people have requested a more comprehensive search function, and are confused about the lack of username autocomplete, or why - when they search for keywords like "news" or "pugs" - nothing comes up. This problem exists across almost every ActivityPub product out there.

There is a long-standing disconnect between the technical assumptions of the open source decentralized web community and the expectations of mainstream users. The result has often been products that feel exciting and powerful for technical early adopters and mystifying to everyone else.

Earlier this year, Mastodon revealed that it was hiring a new CEO and moving to a new non-profit entity. In the spirit of my previous post about how I’d approach Bluesky’s product strategy, I want to explore how I’d think about Mastodon, too. What would I do if I was the CEO of Mastodon?

In practice, Mastodon is actually three entities: the new, European-based non-profit; its original, German non-profit, which is now a wholly-owned for-profit subsidiary; and a US 501(c)3 that is primarily used to allow it to fundraise from American sources. For the purposes of this discussion, I’m going to treat it like one cohesive whole, headquartered in Europe, although there may be nuances to how each one is led.

It describes its mission like this:

To replace centralised platforms with robust social networking software that is inherently decentralised, open source and fully interoperable, with a commitment to privacy.

It has also described its mission like this:

To create the tools and digital spaces where people can build authentic, constructive online communities free from ads, data exploitation, manipulative algorithms or corporate monopolies.

These are different! The first explicitly calls to replace the existing social networking landscape with decentralized, open source software. The second one is less combative; instead of replacing the existing ecosystem, it implies an alternative ecosystem, free from exploitation and monopoly control.

Mastodon’s declared “vision” is:

To reimagine the social media landscape, one that is inclusive, diverse, user driven and supports dialogue.

Vision statements describe the world an organization wants to create. They’re not frivolous. The most famous one in software is Microsoft’s, which was a computer on every desk and in every home, running Microsoft software. This concreteness of vision allowed Microsoft to make strategic decisions clearly: would a proposed strategy potentially lead it to this world, or would it not?

By this definition, Mastodon’s declared “vision” reads more like another mission: well-intentioned, but still focused on what it opposes, not what it aims to build.

The implication is some confusion over the difference between Mastodon’s reason for being (its why) and its immediate goals (its what and how). The first step to establishing a robust direction for Mastodon is to clear this up. We need to define:

• The mission: why Mastodon exists
• The vision: what world it intends to create, in service to that mission
• The strategy: how, concretely, it will take its next steps to get there

If I was stepping into the CEO’s shoes, here’s what I would propose. The following revised statements are inspired by Mastodon’s existing three mission statements, as well as Mozilla’s mission statement:

Mission: To ensure the social web is a commons that is open, accessible, decentralized, and safe for all.

Vision: A world where everyone can easily join and create authentic, constructive online communities that are free from ads, data exploitation, manipulative algorithms, or corporate monopolies.

Strategy: To build and steward the world’s best decentralized, open source community platform, based on the ActivityPub protocol.

I suspect people on the Mastodon team might bristle at “the world’s best”; like many highly-principled people, it’s not their style to be competitive. My point is to help the team aim high: it’s not enough to build an open source, decentralized community platform, although that’s a significant achievement in itself. It’s got to be really good.

Of course, those statements — really good, the world’s best — are subjective. They invite probing into what it means to be great.

My mission and vision statements imply certain characteristics. Here’s what I think are the minimum requirements for Mastodon to be a viable decentralized platform for communities; these things aren’t what will make it great, but what it needs to provide in order to exist at all.

• Open source: anyone can view, modify, and re-share its code. Development is maintained with a participatory approach that actively invites contributions from outside the core organization.
• Decentralized: based on an open protocol that allows anyone on one Mastodon instance to communicate with anyone on another, with a coherent and consistent user experience across the network.
• Permissionless: anyone can use Mastodon without signing an agreement with the Mastodon organization. Mastodon cannot prevent someone from using the software, and the software does not rely on centralized services provided by Mastodon itself.
• Safe: the platform includes infrastructure for communities to manage moderation, prevent abuse, and establish effective trust and safety norms.
• Usable: the platform follows modern UX patterns, is mobile-friendly, accessible, and easy to onboard onto across devices and user skill levels.
• Searchable: users can find relevant people, resources, and conversations across the network with ease and precision.
• Discoverable: users can find and join communities that match their interests.

But meeting the table stakes isn’t enough. If Mastodon is going to set the standard — not just participate — in the next era of social media, it needs to offer something more than principled infrastructure. It needs to be the platform people want to use.

From the beginning, Mastodon has worn its values on its sleeve. When you click through from the website to sign up, you’re presented with a plurality of different servers to start from, all with different owners who have signed a server covenant that attempts to keep users safe and ensure a decent baseline experience. This is a principled approach: nobody could accuse Mastodon of trying to maintain a monopoly over the network. On the other hand, before they can get started with reading, posting, and sharing on the network, users need to consider which server owner is trustworthy and can meet their needs. This user experience — principled but hard to understand — is where many users drop off, never to return.

For users that really care about decentralization, the need to make this up-front choice is a sign that Mastodon is ideologically aligned. But for everyone else, it’s a sign that the team doesn’t care about their experience.

The same goes for features like quote-posting: the ability to reshare someone’s post with your own commentary added. This originally emerged organically from Twitter’s userbase; people were doing it themselves before Twitter turned it into a core feature. It’s become a key part of Bluesky’s platform, and has been a longtime Mastodon feature request. But quote-posts can also be a vector for abuse, so the team is undergoing a careful process to implement it that might take years.

For users that want Mastodon to be as safe as possible, this approach could demonstrate that the team really cares about their needs. For everyone else, it’s a sign that they shouldn’t expect the features that have become normal elsewhere.

People who deeply care about safety and decentralization see Mastodon as responsive and aligned. Others might see it as slow, frustrating, and lacking baseline social features. To thrive, Mastodon needs to overcome this dissonance.

I think the key is in its role as a community platform. Every Mastodon server is its own community, with its own norms, settings, standards, and ideals. We should stop calling them instances or servers, and treating them as homogenous nodes in a wider network. Instead, we should describe each Mastodon site as being a community in itself.

Mastodon should be the WordPress of decentralized communities.

Each Mastodon-powered community should have its own look and feel — and its own distinct features. Mastodon’s greatest strength isn’t in being a single network — it’s in being an ecosystem of communities, each with its own identity, design, tooling, and norms.

One of the challenges of the current signup process is that every Mastodon community looks and acts more or less the same. Right now, choosing a server often means parsing descriptions and guessing which admin seems trustworthy. Instead, every community should feel alive with its own personality: not just a hostname and a set of rules, but a clear sense of what it's for and who it's for, and an experience and set of features that match this purpose.

What if:

• A community for climate scientists featured up-to-date live dashboards and research highlights?
• A queer art collective could display an evolving digital gallery of its members’ work?
• A Black-led tech community could feature tools for job support, mentorship, and organizing?

Decentralization is flexibility: one size does not need to fit all. In this world, the decision about whether or not to enable quote-posting, join network-wide search, or let news websites know they’ve been linked to is devolved to individual community owners, not the platform owners themselves. The decision about whether to build a large, expansive fediverse or keep it small and safe is devolved too: any community owner can decide how locked down or opened up their space should be, because it’s their space.

The ability to theme Mastodon also means the ability to brand it. Today, every paid Medium subscriber can have an account on its Mastodon community, but that community looks like Mastodon, not Medium. The Newsmast Foundation’s community looks exactly the same. The ability to deeply customize a Mastodon community allows organizations with deeper pockets to adopt the platform in a way that adheres to their existing standards. These users are more likely to invest in customizations — and in doing so, help grow the broader ecosystem.

Mastodon should treat its own flagship community, mastodon.social, as a living testbed — a place to experiment, learn from user behavior, and refine the experience. That’s the community space that Mastodon itself owns. It can try new themes, run experiments with new features, and, yes, make it the default community new users try, so they can get a handle on what Mastodon is and how it works before they potentially move to another community. All with a best-in-class mobile app experience.

So far, I’ve described a world where Mastodon communities are:

• Visually distinct: with themes and branding that reflect their identity and vibe.
• Feature-extended: with plugins or integrations tailored to the needs of a specific group — whether that’s custom moderation workflows, polls, discussion threads, or event coordination.

But remember our vision statement? All of this only matters if it’s easy. So we also need to add:

• Easy to spin up: where launching and running your own Mastodon community is as simple as starting a blog.

The mission can’t be met if only technical people can create and run Mastodon communities. Part of the task of lowering this barrier to entry is about infrastructure: the underlying platform needs to be able to run simply on any number of hosting providers. Mastodon could also offer a turnkey service — similar to WordPress.com — that abstracts away the hosting layer entirely for non-technical users. Not only will this bring more people onto the network, but accessible hosted services will serve as an avenue to bring in funding.

Another part of the task is about running a healthy community: moderation, abuse prevention, and trust and safety. Some communities are equipped to provide this themselves, but others simply cannot. Mastodon can provide conduits to both paid and volunteer services to help communities keep themselves safe.

Finally, there are the legal implications of running a community: adhering to local regulations and protecting community owners from undue risk. Just as newsletter platforms help writers comply with the CAN-SPAM Act, and WordPress.com makes handling DMCA takedowns straightforward, Mastodon can offer built-in tools and guidance to help communities stay legally compliant in their jurisdictions — without requiring every community owner to become a lawyer.

WordPress has built a valuable ecosystem of plugin authors, theme designers, and infrastructure providers, who all gain as the ecosystem grows. The same can be true of Mastodon if it embraces its role as a movement-defining layer of a vibrantly diverse social web.

That means supporting an ecosystem where:

• It’s easy for developers to build and monetize plugins, themes, and integrations.
• Service providers, including Mastodon itself, can offer hosting, customization, moderation, or legal compliance as value-adds.
• Organizations — from local newsrooms to global NGOs — can create spaces that reflect their missions and identities without starting from scratch.

In that vision, Mastodon is no longer just a destination. It’s a foundation: a public utility for self-governed, interest-driven communities across the world. Some might be tiny and personal; others might grow large and influential.

But all of them would benefit from a shared protocol, a shared codebase, and a shared commitment to making the web better — without requiring lock-in or top-down control.

That’s the opportunity: not just to build a platform, but to unlock a new era for the social web — one where communities are in charge.

And that’s where I’d start if I ran Mastodon.

Previously in this series: if I ran Bluesky Product. Next up: if I was starting a new platform. Subscribe to get them all via email.

A lifetime or two ago, Biz Stone was showing me and my co-founder around South Park in San Francisco. The Twitter office was sat there, a weird building with glass bricks across the road from what would later be the Instagram office. We grabbed a coffee at Caffe Centro and talked social media; two founders talking shop with a member of our advisory board.

He was particularly excited about the Twitter API. At the time, over 80% of Twitter’s traffic wasn’t driving through the website: it was through third-party apps that used the API to create entirely new experiences on top of the platform. Around the same time, unbeknownst to me, Blaine Cook was internally demonstrating interoperability between Twitter and Jaiku, another social network, establishing the first decentralized link between two unrelated social networking sites.

Of course, we know what happened next. Twitter realized that the proliferation of the API was actively blocking its ability to make money through advertising, and radically locked it down in favor of its own experiences. Blaine’s adventure in decentralized social networking was shut down for the same reason. Subsequently, a lot of people made a lot of money. And, you know, some other stuff involving the future of democracy happened, too.

What happens when you build, well, the opposite of that?

Bluesky’s origins lie in that moment when Twitter turned away from the open social web. It is both a user-friendly social media site and an open protocol that could underpin all social media sites. Like Twitter, it has built a lively community of engaged people who talk in real time about anything that hits the zeitgeist, from current events to pop culture. It has a growing ecosystem of third-party apps and services. And it has venture investors who, ultimately, will need to see it make money and raise its valuation so that they can make a return. Unlike Twitter, it has no way of turning off its openness in order to do so.

Recently, the company advertised for a new Head of Product. Whoever assumes this position will have quite a job ahead of them: growing the protocol and the social app together in symbiosis. Nobody has ever tried to build a highly-valuable tech company this way before; it’s new ground. I think it’s a very positive experiment — we need people to be able to make money doing the right thing — but it is an experiment.

I’m not applying for the job, but I think it’s interesting to consider how one might go about it.

The first paragraph of that job description is interesting for what it prioritizes:

Our mission is to build an open protocol for public conversation. We give users more choice, developers more freedom, and creators more control. The Bluesky app is a gateway to a more human-centered social web, and we’re looking for the right strategist to shape its future.

The mission isn’t to build a social network: it’s to build an open protocol for public conversation. (Emphasis on the protocol.) The vision is a world where everyone is in control of their social presence. From the About Bluesky FAQ:

We want modern social media and public conversation online to work more like the early days of the web, when anyone could put up a blog or use RSS to subscribe to several blogs.

The strategy is to build a central tool based on the protocol — the Bluesky app — and use it as a way to grow the reach and influence of the protocol, and further these open ideals. In some ways, the app is a means to an end: a way to understand what the community needs, ensure that the protocol provides it, and shorten the feedback loop between the company and its users. It’s also its best chance to make revenue in the short term.

Bluesky is not currently self-sustaining. In order to continue to do this work, it will need to continue to raise more money and prove that it can generate revenue.

Currently, its venture investors are largely drawn from the world of decentralization: either people who are friendly to the ideals of the open web or come from decentralized spaces like crypto. That mission alignment is going to be harder to maintain the larger the funding rounds get; mission-driven investments are more common in earlier, smaller rounds, and later-stage institutional investors don’t typically back companies for their ideals.

The norms of venture capital dictate that it will also likely need to raise more money in a subsequent round so as to maintain investor enthusiasm: raising a similar amount as the last round, or a lower amount, could be seen as a sign to VCs that the company is struggling. So Bluesky the company needs to quickly prove to investors that it and its protocol can make them a meaningful financial return.

Providing strong investor returns and maintaining the ideals of an open social web is a very ambitious needle to thread. Where to begin?

It’s no secret that Bluesky is going to introduce a subscription layer. It sounds like this will come in two parts:

1. A Twitter Blue style subscription called Bluesky+ that will give users profile customizations, higher-quality video uploads, and post analytics, among other features.
2. Creator monetization tools that will allow creators to “get paid right on Bluesky and any other platforms built on their open AT Protocol ecosystem”.

The first will obviously sit as part of Bluesky’s own service; while features like analytics will obviously draw on the protocol, these are really features that improve the experience of using the app itself. Speaking personally, I can’t say that I care that much about profile customizations or video uploads — although I know that these will be draws for some users — but I can certainly see a reason why an organization might want to pay for brand analytics. It makes sense as a place to start.

The second is interesting for the way it’s described. I’m generally not bullish about venture-funded creator economy services: Substack, which has kind of become the flag-bearer for creative economy services, is not profitable, and Patreon has had real trouble reaching sustainability. Medium is profitable, but only after Tony Stubblebine radically shifted the company away from high-growth VC dynamics (and cut a ton of unnecessary costs).

So if Bluesky was pinning its future on a creator subscription play, that wouldn’t grab me at all — but that’s not what’s going on here. The “… and any other platforms built on the AT Protocol ecosystem” demands my attention. This is the future of Bluesky as a platform and a company.

One analogy you could use (and Bluesky has used) to describe Bluesky’s app on its protocol is GitHub: git is an open protocol for collaborating on software development, but GitHub’s implementation is so good and so seamless that almost every software development team uses it. You absolutely could use GitLab, Codeberg, Gitea, or any number of others, but they’re considered to be the long tail to the market. Similarly, Bluesky’s app is going to be the best social experience on the protocol, even if there are many others.

But you could also use Android as an analogy. The open source mobile operating system is largely developed by Google, and Google’s implementation is the one most people use: most Android phones use its Play store, its payments system, and its discovery layer. You don’t have to — many others are available — but if you’re an app developer, you’re probably going to write your software for Google’s ecosystem.

There’s a credible exit from GitHub in that you could move your development to Codeberg. There’s a credible exit from the Google ecosystem in that you could move to the Amazon ecosystem, the Samsung Galaxy ecosystem, or open source ecosystems like Aptoide. You’re not locked in, even if Google’s ecosystem is the most convenient for most users.

There will be a credible exit from Bluesky’s social app on its protocol: other social apps will be available. But this principle also goes for tertiary services. Bluesky will clearly provide payments over the protocol, taking a cut of every transaction; others will be available, but theirs will be the easiest way to pay and accept payments on the network. You’ll be able to discover apps that run on the protocol any number of ways, but Bluesky’s discovery mechanisms will be the best and the most convenient. There will be any number of libraries that help you build on the protocol, but Bluesky’s will be the best and easiest for developers — and, of course, they will have strong links to Bluesky’s default services. Each of these is a potential revenue stream.

The goal here is to grow the AT Protocol network to be as big as possible. Anyone will be able to permissionlessly build on that platform, but Bluesky’s services will be there to provide the best-in-class experience and de facto defaults, ensuring that its revenues grow with the protocol, but not in a way that locks in users.

This principle also answers a few questions people have had about the community:

• Why did crypto investors put money into Bluesky when the company itself has stated it won’t become a crypto company?
  The company’s own payment systems are likely to run off credit cards, taking a standard transaction. But clearly, crypto is another option, particularly in nations that might not be well-served by credit card companies, and crypto networks can step in to provide alternative payment mechanisms. By establishing the notion of decentralized subscriptions, Bluesky creates a ready-made bedrock for those payments.
• How will VC investors see the financial return they need without Bluesky necessarily having to let go of its principles?
  The company actually becomes more valuable as more people use its open protocol: the bigger the network is, the greater the addressable market available to its services. It needs developers to build tools, services, and experiences that its own team wouldn’t produce. It also needs them to address markets that it itself cannot, allowing the possibility for local control of app experiences. (Imagine if developers in Myanmar could have easily created their own Facebook with their own local trust and safety.) It will then serve them with easy payments, great libraries, and perhaps other services like analytics and even dedicated hosting.

Clearly, there’s work to do on both the protocol and the app. For one thing, payments become more valuable if scarcity is introduced: people may be more likely to pay for content if it is not otherwise available. That means adding features like per-item access permissions — which also help vulnerable communities that might not feel comfortable posting on the completely open protocol today. Discovery and trust and safety on the app can still be improved. But these things are intrinsic to creating a valuable ecosystem and best-in-class tools that sit upon it.

Perhaps ironically, this vision comes closer to building an “everything app” than will ever be possible in a closed ecosystem. That’s been Elon Musk’s longtime goal for X, but Bluesky’s approach, in my opinion, is far more likely to succeed. It’s not an approach that aims to build it all themselves; it’s a truly open social web that we can all build collaboratively. What Musk is branding, Bluesky may build.

To be sure, this isn’t a Twitter clone play. If Bluesky succeeds, it won’t be because it tried to beat Twitter at its own game. It’ll be because it stayed open, built the right tools, and helped others do more than it could do alone. That’s not just a better app. It’s a better kind of company.

This is the first post in a three-part series. Next up: Mastodon. Subscribe to get them all via email.

Photo by __ drz __ on Unsplash.

As I write this, I’m flying home from the International Journalism Festival in Perugia, Italy. Now in its 19th year, it’s an annual meeting of newsrooms, journalists, and news professionals from all over the world.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was blown away by the whole event.

Perugia in itself is a beautiful city: ancient, cobblestoned alleyways weave their way between the old city walls, revealing unexpected views, storefronts, restaurants, street vendors, and gardens. These days, I’m settled into a sedentary life in the Philadelphia suburbs, and I found myself walking a great deal more than I would even in a city like New York. The Italian tradition is to eat dinner far later than in America, so it was the norm for me to find my way back to my hotel far past midnight, buzzing from interesting conversations throughout the day. My legs were sore; I was hopelessly jet-lagged; I wandered dark alleyways in the vague hope that I was heading in the right direction; it was fantastic.

There’s something about that far-removed context, the beautiful surroundings, the breadth of journalists present, and our collective physical state that led to more honest conversations. At most conferences, I always have the sense that someone is out to sell me something; here, when someone attempted a pitch it stuck out like a sore thumb. The sense that people were holding back to maintain their newsrooms’ professional reputations and appease their comms teams was also mercifully missing.

In the panels and talks, people were willing to share their failures at least as readily as their successes, and I was particularly taken by a panel on AI deepfake detection that went into the computer science and discussed the practicalities, rather than gearing itself for a surface-level introductory audience.

The pure journalism track — which comprises almost all of the Festival — was similarly wonderful. A panel about media censorship in Israel and Ukraine didn’t shy away from the details, revealing a more complex situation in Ukraine in particular than I’ve been hearing from the US press, alongside some specifics about Israeli censorship that I found very surprising. (They have a direct WhatsApp chat with the censor! Who gives them a thumbs up or a thumbs down on stories before publication!)

This year, for the first time, the Festival also held a Product track. The News Product Alliance, where I participate in an AI advisory group, helped to shape it — and I was honored to participate in one of its panels.

My session, with Damon Kiesow and Upasna Gautam (both brilliant people in the field who I felt privileged to present alongside), was about ensuring we use technology in ways that are aligned with our values. As we put it in our description, “every design choice, paywall adjustment, build/buy evaluation, or marketing campaign carries a potential risk of violating journalistic ethics or harming reader trust” — and that’s before you take on the issue of newsrooms trying to model themselves on Silicon Valley business models:

“Social is radically transforming. Search is flatlining. AI continues to rapidly change the web. News organizations that relied on unearned audience windfalls to drive programmatic advertising revenues are in similar straits. It is time for local news organizations to return to their roots: serving local readers and local advertisers and giving up on the dreams of limitless scale and geographic reach which is the pipedream of Silicon Valley and the bête noire of local sustainability.”

Upasna shared a succinct, powerful summary of our key takeaways afterwards on Threads:

1) The false promise of scale:

• Journalism has always been innovative but adopting Silicon Valley’s values of scale, surveillance, and extraction was a false shortcut.
• Tech platforms succeed by commodifying attention but journalism succeeds by earning trust.
• When we embed vendor platforms without scrutiny, we don’t just adopt the tool, but the business model, the values, and the blind spots.

2) There is no such thing as neutral software:

• Software is not neutral. It’s a creative work, just like journalism. It’s shaped by the priorities, privileges, and politics of the people who build it.
• Tech decisions can enable serious harm when teams optimize for growth without understanding community impact.
• It’s not enough to ask if a tool works. We must ask: Who built it? Who benefits? Whose values does it encode?

3) Assumptions are the first ethical risk:

• The highest-leverage activity we have is to relentlessly challenge assumptions. Assumptions hide risks, and audience value should be the north star of every system we build.
• Ask not just what we’re building, but why and for whom. Does it create real value for our audience?
• Systems thinking is a necessity. If you don’t understand how your paywall, CMS, personalization engine, and editorial goals connect, you’re building on sand.

The message seemed to resonate with the room, and plenty of interesting conversations with newsrooms of all sizes followed. My most controversial idea was that newsrooms should join together, as governments and higher educational institutions have in the past, to build open source software that supports newsroom needs and safeguards the duty of care we have to our sources, journalists, and readers in ways that big tech platforms tend not to. To many people in today’s news industry, it feels like a giant leap — but it is possible, and products like the French and German government project Docs are showing the way.

While the Festival now has a Product track, it’s still sorely missing a true Technology track. These are different things: Product is about addressing problems from a human-centered perspective — and using technology to solve them where it makes sense. That’s a mindset journalism urgently needs to embrace. But it hasn’t yet made enough space for the people who make the technology: not Silicon Valley tech companies, but engineers and other technologists who should be treated as domain experts and involved at every level of newsroom strategy, not relegated to a backroom office and handed a list of product requirements. Newsrooms still seem wary of bringing hard technology skills into their strategic circles. That’s extremely shortsighted: every newsroom today lives or dies on the web.

But there were technologists and open source projects in attendance. Notably, representatives from the Mastodon and Bluesky teams were at the Festival. The Newsmast Foundation was also present, incisively taking part in conversations to help newsrooms onboard themselves onto both of them. I got to hang out with them all, connecting with people I’d spoken with but never interacted with in person. Mastodon has undergone a transformation, has doubled its team, and is working on smoothing out some of its rough edges, while not letting go of its core ethos. It’s also beginning to position itself as a European alternative to American social media platforms, with a community-first values system and new services to directly help organizations join the network.

Bluesky, on the other hand, has done an able job of bringing journalists onto its existing social app, and is now hard at work explaining why its underlying protocol matters. Both want to engage with newsrooms and journalists and do the right thing by them. They each have something different to prove: Mastodon that it can be usable and accessible, and Bluesky that it can provide a return to its investors and truly decentralize while holding onto its values. I’m rooting for both of them.

These platforms’ messages dovetail with my own: news can own the platforms that support them. Lots of people at the Festival were worried about the impact of US big tech on their businesses — particularly in a world where tech moguls seem to be aligning themselves with a Presidential administration that has positioned itself as being adversarial to news, journalists, sources, and, arguably, the truth. The good news is that the technology is out there, the values-aligned technologists are out there, and there’s a strong path forward. The only thing left is to follow it.

I’ve seen a lot of this sentiment lately, and can relate:

I miss being excited by technology. I wish I could see a way out of the endless hype cycles that continue to elicit little more than cynicism from me. The version of technology that we’re mostly being sold today has almost nothing to do with improving lives, but instead stuffing the pockets of those who already need for nothing. It’s not making us smarter. It’s not helping heal a damaged planet. It’s not making us happier or more generous towards each other. And it’s entrenched in everything — meaning a momentous challenge to re-wire or meticulously disconnect.

Many of us got excited about technology because of the web, and are discovering, latterly, that it was always the web itself — rather than technology as a whole — that we were excited about. The web is a movement: more than a set of protocols, languages, and software, it was always about bringing about a social and cultural shift that removed traditional gatekeepers to publishing and being heard.

It’s perhaps hard to remember now, but in the early nineties, finding an audience really meant being discovered and highlighted by a small number of very rich publishing companies (or record labels, etc) who were most often not representative of their audiences. The web was a revolution: anyone could publish their words, their music, or their art, without asking anyone for permission, and they could find their communities equally permissionlessly.

The web, of course, didn’t turn out to be quite as utopian as the promise. The truth is, the people who could afford to publish on the early web were also from a narrow, relatively wealthy demographic. To make publishing accessible to most people (who didn’t, quite reasonably, want to learn HTML or pay for or configure a domain name and hosting), we needed a set of easy-to-use publishing platforms, which in turn became centralized single points of failure and took the place of the old gatekeepers. Replacing publishers with Facebook wasn’t the original intention, but that’s what happened. And in the process, the power dynamics completely shifted.

The original web was inherently about redistribution of power from a small number of gatekeepers to a large number of individuals, even if it never quite lived up to that promise. But the next iteration of the web was about concentrating power in a small set of gatekeepers whose near-unlimited growth potential tended towards monopoly. There were always movements that bucked this trend — blogging and the indie web never really went away — but they were no longer the mainstream force on the internet. And over time, the centralized platforms disempowered their users by monopolizing more and more slices of everyday life that used to be free. The open, unlimited nature of the web that was originally used to distribute equity was now being used to suck it up and concentrate it in a handful of increasingly-wealthy people.

For the people who were attracted to the near-unlimited wealth hoarding and rent-seeking potential, this new web was incredibly exciting. Conversely, for those of us who were attracted by the power redistribution more than the technology itself, it was incredibly disheartening. The reason we got involved in the first place had all but evaporated.

For a while, decentralization did become a hot topic. Unfortunately, this was more about avoiding the trappings of traditional banking — crucially, including avoiding regulatory controls — than it was about distributing power. The actual equity redistribution was mostly an illusion; although there certainly were people with their hearts in the right place in the movement, the people who truly gained from blockchain and cryptocurrencies were libertarian grifters who saw potential in moving money away from the prying eyes of regulatory oversight and saw banking regulations designed to protect people as being unnecessarily restrictive. Blockchain wore the clothes of power redistribution, but rather than empowering a large number of people, it enriched very few, often at other people’s expense.

I do think the brief popularity of blockchain helped bring attention to decentralization, which was useful. I don’t know that as much attention would have been paid to the new crop of decentralized social networks like Mastodon and BlueSky, for example, had Web3 not previously seeded some of the core ideas in a more mainstream consciousness. The web3 community was also the most successful at, for example, embedding identity in the browser. It wasn’t valueless as a movement, but it fell far short of the hype.

Which brings us to AI, the current hotness. Like any software technology, it’s being sold to us as an empowering tool. But the broad perception is that it’s anything but: models are trained, unpaid, on the work of artists, writers, and researchers, who are already relatively low-paid, in order to build value for a small handful of vendors who are making deals worth tens or hundreds of billions of dollars. Or as one commenter put it:

The underlying purpose of AI is to allow wealth to access skill while removing from skill the ability to access wealth.

If you think this is hyperbole, consider Marc Benioff’s comments about not hiring any more software engineers in 2025:

“We’re not adding any more software engineers next year because we have increased the productivity this year with Agentforce and with other AI technology that we’re using for engineering teams by more than 30% – to the point where our engineering velocity is incredible. I can’t believe what we’re achieving in engineering.”

Whether you care about software engineering jobs or not, the same dynamics are underway for writers, artists, and any other creative job. Even the productivity gains that are being realized through use of AI tools are benefiting a small number of wealthy companies rather than individuals. This is the exact opposite of the power redistribution that led to so many people seeing such promise in the web.

It’s very hard to get excited about technology that redistributes wealth and power in favor of people who already have it.

The trajectory of the web — starting as a tool for redistributing power and becoming one that entrenches it — was not inevitable. It was the result of specific choices: business models that prioritized monopolization, technologies designed for centralization, and a relentless focus on extracting value rather than creating it. If we want a different future, we have to make different choices.

What does an alternative look like? It starts with software designed for people rather than for capital. The web once thrived on protocols instead of platforms — email, RSS, blogs, personal websites — before closed networks turned users into data sources. We are now seeing efforts to return to that ethos. The Fediverse, open-source publishing tools, community-run platforms, and decentralized identity projects all point to a path where individuals have more control over their online lives. They aren’t perfect, but they represent a fundamental shift in intention: building systems that work for people instead of on them.

The first wave of the web was decentralized by default but only accessible to a small number of people. The second wave was more accessible but centralized by profit motives. If there is to be a third wave, it will have to be intentional: built with equity and accessibility as core values, not an afterthought. That’s a hard road, because open and ethical technology doesn’t attract billion-dollar investments the way extractive models do. But if history has shown anything, it’s that the web’s greatest strength is in the people who believe it can be better. The real question is not whether more equitable software is possible: it’s whether enough of us are willing to build it.

For many of us, the social movement, rather than the underlying technology, was always the point. We need that movement more than ever before. Hopefully building it is something that more of us can get excited about.

Photo: Tim Berners-Lee's tweet "This is for everyone" at the 2012 Summer Olympics opening ceremony, released under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.