I’ve led social media and community management for companies, hired, and worked with many social media managers and community managers.
Let’s be honest – the two roles are often confused. The number of blog posts explaining the difference should be a tip-off.
(I like this one, fwiw: Differentiating Between Social Media and Community Management - Rachel Happe, Community Roundtable)
In Australia, for example, most Community Manager jobs advertised are actually Social Media Manager jobs.
There’s a few of reasons for this. One is that advertising agencies dominate the discourse around social media and online ‘community’ in Australia.
Another is that there are fewer enterprise and organisational online communities in Australia compared to North America and Europe, where the distinction is more native.
Finally, the market in Australia is a small one and it’s all but assured social and community professionals will end up delivering both functions at some point.
So we muddy our waters – what’s the harm?
Here’s why this confusion can be a problem.
Why the difference matters
Just like anything in life and business, if you’ve got the wrong tool for the job, you won’t get the outcome you expect or need.
You might be using the wrong strategy
Communities and social media solve different problems for businesses and organisations.
Are you building brand awareness, or do you want to scale customer service? Does your roadmap take into account community life-cycles over the long haul (communities take years to build and pay off more over time – a little like bricks and mortar)?
Communities are different systems to social networks, defined by the structure of their relationship matrix, not the platform they inhabit.
Here’s a nice way to visualise this important difference (big thanks to Matthew Cox for the image):
You don’t know what you’re measuring
Objectives, end goals, metrics for success, measuring tools and methodologies are very different for Social Media Managers and Community Mangers.
Social Media Managers might look at engagement metrics around native social content, reach and amplification, social media sentiment and conversions (however that’s defined for the organisation in question).
Community Manager measurement includes: membership funnels (visitor to registration), engagement ratios over time, volume and balance of strong and weak ties, progress toward member objectives, number of volunteers – and critically – community health (including sense of belonging, level of influence). If you don’t know what you’re measuring, you can’t define or achieve success.
If you don’t know what you’re measuring, how will you know success?
You’re devaluing both functions
Saying an SEO Strategist is the same as a Digital Editor doesn’t do justice to either, even though a Digital Editor will have strong SEO skills and understanding, and an SEO Strategist will understand the mechanics of great content.
In particular, this conflation tends to disadvantage community builders, whose work is commonly longitudinal (complex peer-to-peer relationship building across many years).
You’re hiring the wrong people for the job
If you hire a Social Media Manager when you need someone to design a community strategy, you’ll be disappointed. It’s a different mission, with different timeframes and different skill requirements.
You might also be facing wasted resources, morale issues and broken outcomes.
What’s in a name?
Community is frustratingly, beguilingly oblique word. It’s about identity and investment, so it’s inevitably bespoke to at least some extent. But there is a long history of established social science defining community structures and a network structures that should inform us here.
At a high level, social media is about reach. Communities are about relevance. Content is the glue of social media (formal or informal). Relationships are the glue of communities. They complement one another functionally and structurally. Deftly managed social media is an effective way to discover community member prospects and spark the journey to registration.
Neither is better or worse – and together they’re supremely powerful.
Audiences on social media and community members are part of are very different social systems – and we’re not doing ourselves any favours confusing the two. We can’t set objectives, define and measure success, or hire the right professionals if we don’t know whether we want people getting excited about our latest product, or a sense of belonging.
Audiences on social media and community members are part of different social systems.
Many Community Managers have become adept Social Media Managers as social media platforms have risen to nest the conversations of our age. And great Social Media Managers understand the way people tick in ways similar to community builders and negotiators.
We’ve developed deep and real appreciation for our respective functions and talents.
But it’s a risk to assume we’re fluent in each other’s discipline, and riskier still to not match person – to role – to need.
Too often people hire community managers when they’re really looking for a social media marketer, an SEO specialist, or customer service officer.
These can all be helpful skills for an online community manager – there are frequently things expected of a community manager in a role – but recruiting to those backgrounds is looking in the wrong place.
It starts with knowing what you need, which is another blog post altogether…
Let’s say you know you need an online community manager. What should you look for?
In my experience, there are some non-negotiable characteristics, then a range of qualities or skills that relate to the role you’re recruiting for and the culture of the organisation doing the hiring.
Community manager must-haves
A popular misconception about community managers is that they’re inherently social – at a party, they’ll be the centre of action, directed at them.
Yet some of the best community managers I know are shy, even socially awkward offline. Popularity has nothing to do with community management. Let’s get rid of that myth once and for all.
A popular misconception about community managers is that they’re inherently social.
What the great ones have in common is that they’re native relationship builders - people who believe building relationships is a good and useful thing, are skilled at doing it and care that it’s done well.
They need to be able to connect others with others, not just themselves. They make members the centre of each others attention. Beware community manager ‘rock stars’.
I’m not talking about the kind you measure with Klout. Successful community managers, particularly those who grow into senior management or executive community roles, have finely honed influencing instincts and skills.
You need to motivate prospective members to convert and remain; current members to activate and connect. You must coax quieter voices into contribution and less useful voices out of the way.
You need to persuade prospective members to convert and remain; current members to activate and connect.
You need to persuade staff to engage with – and be accountable to – the community, product creators to adopt member considerations, and lobby leadership for the resourcing to reach objectives. You also have to detect influencing capacity in others, and harness it constructively.
Patience & resilience
If you’re someone who requires a steady stream of quick wins, I wouldn’t recommend community management. Though the world of social media can deliver some professional dopamine hits, community managers need to work across months and years to execute and refine their approach and end run.
In every community you’ll run into bad behaviour. The topic, technical platforms and social culture will determine the costumes and arsenal of the offenders, but it’s inevitable.
You need to roll with the many punches you’ll take from – and on behalf of – your community. You have to manage and distill the impacts of conflict, then weather the haters, trolls, sock puppets and crazies.
This isn’t about literacy. You could have a Pulitzer and not be able to ‘read’ the room in a community and communicate effectively with members.
It’s about being able to take on the voice of a community, in their language, and create content and context they care about.
You need to interpret and articulate stories, needs and issues within the community and back to the organisation, and help members express themselves effectively.
You’ll do this within a communication framework for the community that drives toward overall community goals and outcomes.
It’s about being able to take on the voice of a community, in their language.
A chameleonic empathy that can extend in every direction is also a community manager lightning rod.
Commercial acumen matters. Your community manager doesn’t have to be shooting for the C-suite, but they must understand how and why the community is part of business strategy and operations, and analyse data to create actionable insights about community content and direction.
Although community managers are more social scientist than salesperson, their work can and should support and empower world class marketing efforts.
When you demonstrate the relevant business case for the value of community management, you help the entire profession, not just your own career. You also make sure your community gets the recognition it deserves as a business asset and revenue generator.
When you demonstrate the relevant business case for the value of community management, you help the entire profession.
Nous also provides objectivity. Good judgement and common sense will see your community manager through plenty of trials.
Duty of care
Work ethic is always important, but it’s even more significant for community managers. We’re not curing cancer here, but we are accountable to a group of people that, if we’re succeeding, will place their trust in our intentions and efforts.
There’s a responsibility implicit in that transaction we can’t afford to blind spot.
If a member turns to community management, you’ll need to find a way to deliver – whether it’s you personally or not.
Other things to look for: curiosity, agility and a genuine interest in how and why people tick – and stick (that’s why the social sciences are an ideal foundation).
Square peg, square hole
What matters most of all, is that your community manager is a fit for the community you want to build, or need to nurture and grow.
For certain communities it won’t matter if they’re not an expert in the subject matter – only that they understand and empower it’s value. For others, fluency around topic and purpose is a non-starter. Fan communities are an example of the type to swiftly out an imposter community manager if they don’t know their material.
Don’t hire a soft-spoken person who loathes sport as the community manager of a large, loud football community. They won’t match topically or tonally, and they won’t last. The brusque, tough-talker isn’t the best candidate for a community dedicated to families dealing wit palliative care.
A credible frame of reference is essential. The employee needs to fit company culture and your community manager needs to match community culture. If you haven’t launched your community yet, they should reflect the culture you want or need to create.
Your community manager needs to match community culture.
Once you’ve ticked the boxes on these must-haves, then you consider the relevance other skill sets to the role you’re hiring – SEO, social marketing, customer service and more.
You’ll notice passion isn’t on this list. Why? It’s there in everything else. You don’t attend to a suicide threat in the middle of the night if you’re not passionate. You don’t work long and hard to convey member sentiment to the business if you don’t really care about that business.
Passion is awesome, but without these other qualities, it’s just unfocused energy.
I wrote about other qualities a good community manager needs here, unpacking ageism in the industry.
Before I became a community manager, I studied at Tisch School of the Arts and worked in musical theatre. I grew up a performer and still work as a choreographer.
Since transitioning to a career in online community, I’ve found I draw on lessons from that former life regularly. After participating in a Google Hangout about this exact topic with the crew from My Community Manager, I thought I’d reflect what’s translated over the years.
An acting teacher once told me to be a great artist you need ‘the hide of a bear and the soul of a poet’. The strength to let nothing bother you, yet empathy for others and the belief their stories matter.
It’s what I look for in community management hires to this day.
“Never allow yourself externally to portray anything that you have not inwardly experienced and which is not even interesting to you,” wrote iconic acting teacher Constantin Stanislavski.
To act well is to summon another’s truth, and intimately understand your own. If you cannot access and harness authenticity, you’ll falter before you begin.
So it is with conceiving, building and managing communities. If you don’t have a firm grasp on who you are, your strengths and vulnerabilities, what you love and hate, where you draw your boundaries – it’s difficult to support others and keep things upfront.
‘What’s my motivation’ is the old actor catch-cry. As a community manager and strategist you need to understand motivating behaviours, influencing drivers and desired outcomes.
What is the intrinsic and extrinsic motivation of your members? How can you help extrinsic become intrinsic (deepening connection to the community and strengthening ties)?
Actors ask explicitly what their objective is in every scene, as well as through their whole narrative. Community managers need to determine the purpose of every task, feature and mechanic within their community; they should relate directly to the ‘play’ – the needs of the community.
Want to introduce a new bell or whistle? A new marketing campaign? Make sure you’re in the same play and on the same stage as your ensemble, or you’ll be out of tune.
Systematic rejection is character building. As a performer, you learn quickly you’ll be judged and turned down on a regular basis. You’re just not right for the role, even if you’re the best actor in the room. Or the chemistry with other cast members wasn’t quite right.
Taking knocks and getting back up again is part of the game and can’t be a big deal if you want to survive and ultimately thrive. You learn the value of failure, and that you won’t succeed without it.
Bonus: you develop the kind of thick skin necessary for dueling with trolls, serial pests, sock puppets, bullies and other critters without flinching. Creation demands you don’t give a crap.
Most performers learn the principles of improvisation. They’re pretty great rules for life generally. And they’re definitely practical for community management.
The first rule: accept the ‘offer’. Always say “Yes! And?”. Don’t block. Don’t shut the situation down by saying “No”. Accept the circumstance and build from there.
“Yes! And?” drives constructive collaboration, problem solving and creativity.
Other improv rules equally golden for the art of managing community: add new information (take things forward, not backward), play in the present and use the moment.
This ingrains adaptability, a key quality of a good community manager. You need to be able to connect and communicate with anyone in any (social) language. To quickly read the power dynamics of a ‘scene’, dive in and accept the context you’re given. To be material agnostic – managing a Chekov play or a Joss Whedon script with equal awesome.
Improvisation techniques remain some of the most useful skills in my CM (and life) toolkit.
5. Humility & gratitude
Staying humble is a big part of sustaining a career in the creative industries. That fellow auditionee you’re snippy to could be sitting behind table directing the next show you’re vying for.
Be proud of your hard work. Be confident in your skills and knowledge. But be grateful and humble about every opportunity that comes your way and every amazing person you have the chance to learn from.
6. Understanding people
Performers make a study of the human animal. It’s our job to scrutinise people and figure out what makes them tick. It’s a skill we need to inhabit on a character, get under its skin and bring a story to life.
My ability to read digital body language was honed by years of theatrical ethnography – being trained to observe, interpret (and emulate) how people convey their state of being at the most nuanced level. It was an exercise in extreme close up of the best and worst of people, and basic training for community management.
7. Co-operative direction
Working as a director and a choreographer you get good at mobilising a group of people around a common goal.
Along the way you need to temper egos, keep people focused, indulge eccentricities, support quieter voices, moderate dominant ones, bring out the best in disparate types and adapt your outcomes (without compromising your vision), to suit the talent on the floor.
You need to lay down a strong framework and destination, then support your cast and team as they experiment with the best ways to get to that destination. It’s chaos within order analogous to online community.
8. Good work takes time
Ask any ‘overnight success’ and they’ll tell you they’ve been working at their craft for years; taking bit parts to keep working and learning, slugging through materials and experiences that flex and tone their abilities.
Community is a long game and ‘overnight’ strategies are smoke and mirrors.
Bearing your soul is a leap of faith. It takes guts to stand on a stage. To belt out a tune. To dance a solo. All the while fearing your voice, muscles or nerves will seize, exposing you as an impostor not worthy of the work or the attention. And the nerves never leave you, as I learnt working alongside some extremely famous folks who assured me they still got those butterflies.
Studying, working and living in the theatre world, you absorb a sometimes irrational tenacity that carries into every other aspect of your life.
If you don’t go for it, the work is inauthentic, labored and half-measured. You doubt yourself, and you can’t inspire trust or action in your fellow cast members or your audience. Pussyfoot in the business of community and you’ll have the same struggle.
In theatre, and community, you give it a shot, knowing you could fail. Because you know the really great stuff happens mid-leap (or for some of us, mid-jete).
In the last decade we’ve seen a not so subtle push toward “real name” culture by online giants like Facebook and Google.
These businesses monetise your data, so the more they can quantify and attribute, the richer their offering and profit margins.
It’s a legitimate business model, but has nothing to do with building or managing great online communities.
Anonymity is the lazy straw man for bad behaviour online. Community managers in particular are exhausted listening to the argument that outlawing someone’s ability to adopt a virtual pseudonym (if that were even possible), will be panacea to our digital ills.
Anonymity is the lazy straw man for bad behaviour online.
It’s true that in some online environments anonymity will disinhibit in a destructive way. But those environments – like comment streams – are rarely communities. An online community has an implicit and explicit regulatory framework that intermediates that disinhibition.
Recently we’ve seen another Facebook controversy over naming conventions; this time preventing drag artists from using their drag identities on the platform, after rogue users reported their profiles – then reversing that decision and creating further contradictions in their broken approach.
As people often look to social networks to draw lessons in community building (not a wise idea generally speaking) – and companies like Facebook tend to dominate the discourse around this issues – I thought I’d lay out some of the reasons anonymity or pseudonymity are important and useful for online communities.
Why anonymity is good for community
It promotes disclosure
Just as anonymity can lower barriers to participation in a negative way (creating the perception of speech or action without consequence), it consistently does the opposite – creating permission to say what might otherwise go unsaid.
The volume and quality of contributions in a community is a direct result of people feeling safe and comfortable posting. This requires permissiveness, and in many communities a real name is a barrier to self-disclosure. Comfortable self-disclosure is a critical element in community formation and cohesion.
In many communities a real name is a barrier to self-disclosure.
The kudos that attach to community contributions – like post counts or member badging – are easily awarded to a pseudonym.
A legal name identifier is not a precursor to adding to the scope of community knowledge or helping the community fulfill its mission. Decades of prolific, high value online community activity put the lie to that. Anonymity is a catalyst for authenticity.
It promotes trust
By demanding ‘real names’ as part of the hurdle to registration, you’re effectively implying trust can’t be achieved without them.
Allowing members to identify as they choose signals trust and respect, and invites reciprocity. This helps members invest in the community from the start – which in turn leads to the sense of co-ownership and belonging necessary for community defense and sustainability.
Allowing members to identify as they choose signals trust and respect.
Getting names out of the way means community manager and members can focus on best practices for promoting good behaviour and strong community – codes of conduct, moderation policies, reporting mechanisms, steering discussion, balancing interaction and personality dynamics – community management that keeps members focused on the bigger picture.
Under age children, whistleblowers, dissidents, victims of crime, people suffering illnesses, people being stalked or bullied.
Vulnerable and marginalised voices are everywhere, including the places we least expect. And they have a right to be heard and engage in online community without identification.
People explore identity throughout their lives. They might experiment with alternative lifestyles. They might adopt unpopular politics. They might have something they would prefer the Googling public, employers, friends or even family not to associate them with – something that shouldn’t be assumed criminal or suspicious.
The right to not reveal identifiable information about yourself could be a matter of life and death. If you’re a young gay man in conservative America, who has found support in an online community for people with similar life experiences, sharing your ‘real name’ online could lead to physical assault, or worse.
The right to not reveal identifiable information about yourself could be a matter of life and death.
Imagine the consequences for an online community of domestic violence victims being forced to sign up under their legal name.
(This infographic does a good job of highlighting a few of the reasons someone may want or need an alias).
Writers, painters, journalists and drag artists are just a few people who often operate under a pseudonym.
We don’t walk into every conversation, group or situation in our lives and immediately share our legal, full name in order to engage. In most cases, it’s irrelevant.
Compassionate or petty, smart or frivolous. Unless we’re dealing with transactional relationships with institutions, we’re defined by how we are, not what we’re called. Leading with a legal identifier feels awkward because it is.
Community isn’t about your name
There are virtually no online communities where using a legal name to register enhances the experience for the member, or the outcomes for the community.
Having a pseudonym doesn’t stymy the building of meaningful relationships online, or the capacity to be a productive member of a healthy online community. More often than not, it does the opposite.
They’re governed by a social rules and norms – whether publicly stated and consistently enforced, or organic and unspoken.
If you want to build a successful community, you should be aiming for the middle of those two poles:
A conduct framework that is relevant and real to your community members, and formally and consistently supported by moderation.
Context invites censorship
Codes of conduct are all about context.
Culture is contextual and the lines we draw to define our sense of order are created within that context.
An online community for cancer survivors will likely have a different threshold for acceptable language, tone and behaviour than a fantasy football forum.
It’s the job of an online community manager to work with the founding members of their community (as collaboratively as they realistically can) to unearth and formalise social consensus around acceptable and unacceptable content and behaviour.
Boundaries tell us who we are and strengthen our sense of membership in the community.
When people, content or behaviour that isn’t welcome cross those boundaries, we need censorship to remove the thing obstructing the community’s reason for being and throttling shared member objectives.
Don’t let it all hang out
As social media hit mainstream tipping point, businesses were told that this ‘new world’ meant they had to take the bad with the good, no matter what; that deleting criticism sent a clear signal you had something to hide.
That radical transparency would set you free.
In many respects, this is true. Deleting criticism for the sake of it will get you nowhere fast. You’ll look out of touch and appear as if you’ve got something to hide. You’ll struggle to build trust, support the formation of relationships, motivate people to take a desired action and fulfill the intent of the group.
The web is making business accountable in all sorts of impactful, game changing ways.
But there’s a big difference between giving critique and debate their due, and letting a fight break out in your living room.
Radical transparency doesn’t comport with online community.
Communities should be managed as openly and honestly as possible, but allowing anything and everything to remain online in the name of ‘transparency’ will break what you’re working to build.
Hopefully you will find a way to involve members in moderation – through a volunteer system, reporting functions, and for certain communities, even in policy and decision making processes.
But for a community of purpose to thrive, something has to sit outside the lines.
Community managers are constructive censors, and systematic censorship is part of a healthy community.
The Instagram end game looks to be allowing companies to pay to promote themselves to your followers, using photos you took that involved them. It’s also aimed at letting them monetise with advertising that is (to quote a smart friend of mine) on the right side of “the line between socially relevant and creepy.”
When you mix social and economic norms it can become a bit of a minefield. Despite the fact users could connect with strangers, most Instagram users I know describe the service as feeling more ‘personal’ and ‘intimate’ than Facebook, because of its photocentricity. Exchanging visual moments usually connects us in a more powerful way than words.
Oh, and the absence of ads. Instagram felt private, even when it was public. Facebook has long since felt like a shopping mall with grating elevator music.
If a company amasses social capital they need to follow through and acknowledge the social contract that comes with that capital when navigating their commercial pathways. Community managers (if they have one) are well placed to help them do it.
A community establishes a culture and array of social codes. It speaks a language and has a ‘way’. (It’s conventions are so tangible they can be parodied). Then it’s bought or taken over by another company.
The new owners may want – or need – to change the way things run. They may have a different philosophy of community or a different approach to community management. They may want to moderate more (or less) strictly. Change the way the community looks and is organised. They may want people to start using their real names. They may need to make (more) money.
They may see users, not members, and not understand the distinction.
As a mandate collides with established ways of being and interacting, it provokes a culture clash. These clashes aren’t new – ask most community managers and they’ll tell you a story of one – but we will see more of them as our social lives remain public, interconnected and somebody’s bottom line.
What if Facebook buys Reddit? Or Apple buys Trip Advisor?
There’s nothing wrong with monetising a community. It’s usually essential and there’s some innovative ways to do it.
But beware when you snap change the rules of engagement in a space you’re not seen as a part of.
You can change the culture of a community (sometimes you have to), but it takes time, and that time is usually proportional to the lifetime of the community. You also can’t do it without the help and influence of members.
Behaviour doesn’t change because of guidelines, or terms. It changes with conversations, heroing desired behaviour, and most importantly, social proofing.
Ripping the band-aid off will make things worse, and may kill your community altogether. If you don’t want to invest the time, reconsider investing in a community. Companies who buy platforms powered by people (even if they weren’t looking to buy the ‘community’ in itself), need to make a plan for change management within that community beyond an announcement saying they’ve moved in.
An update to the fine print binding a community is felt more acutely than a simple terms change on a service website.
If you’re going to change stuff – for safety, convenience, consistency or profit – figure out the cultural impact on the community and work with those best understand that culture to manage the change as smoothly as is possible.
If your users care, you’ll need to care at least as much (even if you didn’t originally).
If you steam roll your changes, you’ll alienate your best users and bait your worst; and you’ll start corroding the asset you’ve just purchased. It’s more politics than system update – and for all their digital acumen, the founders of some of our most successful social companies seem to miss this point.
If you need to merge the acquired community with another, it’s even more delicate. Be honest about how they’ll fit. Can you afford to maintain existing boundaries (visible and intangible)?
Look at the effort members have invested over time (content, ideas, achievements) and work out how you’ll recognise that in the new community structure. If you can’t, at least explain why. And don’t send the lawyers to do it.
The ‘takeover’ will be a milestone in the history of the community, even if specific operational changes don’t emerge for a while. It’ll be a target. Don’t make it an easy one.
Signal that you understand while the community isn’t (usually) a democracy, it does have a shared destiny and you take the responsibility of steering it seriously.
You can’t and won’t keep everyone happy. But why set yourself up for failure by ramrodding change through a sophisticated social space? You need to lean on change management, not legalese. And for goodness sake, don’t be cavalier.
What stood out about Instagram’s policy update was how much it felt like a Facebook maneuver. Announce. Backlash. A retraction that wasn’t, which further muddied the waters. The sneaking suspicion that nobody really took user objections too seriously. Now a part of the Facebook machine, Instagram appear to have absorbed their attitude to users, and this is incompatible with a community built around passionate sharing, under largely pseudonymous handles.
Instagram management have to overcome an almost total lack of trust around their new parent (Facebook), and demonstrate they can still be trusted to put the needs of their users first, even if the rules of engagement have to change. They knew the anticipation of this change was out there (if they were listening), and yet they still rolled it out flippantly.
I’m disappointed their community managers didn’t seem empowered to help mitigate the blowout. I didn’t hear their voices at all, as an Instagram member.
Blaming the victim
Pundits delight in dismissing the type of concerns Instagram users raised. People are ‘stupid’, ‘naive’ and ‘vain’ for presuming their content was their own, that they’re anything other than a product, or that Instagram would ever want to sell their crappy photos.
There’s a pill of truth within their snark, and that’s the social role we’ve fashioned for our pundits; trolling populism.
But we’re not talking about uncooperative software, we’re talking about people.
We’re not neat creatures, which is inconvenient to an end game of quantitative existence. “Will Instagram sell my photos?” is the wrong question.
They probably won’t. They might someday. They’ll certainly use them in ways they didn’t originally tell me they would.
‘What does it mean that a moment shared between friends is a commodity?’ is the more interesting question, now that most understand that it is. When we tether our intimacies to the profitability of a private company we will get angry and feel betrayed when terms of service change. They’re terms of existence.
Of course my photos don’t really matter to anyone but me. But they matter to me.
Your diary, scrapbook and photo albums are listed on the stock market. That’s the world we’ve allowed folks like Mark Zuckerberg to create.
Personal, private and public are fuzzy realities now. But this doesn’t mean we should shut up and suck it. Just because we choose to make something public, it doesn’t mean we’ve divested it of a personal connection. On the contrary, it may have even greater emotional weight. And it’s the personal which is often the casualty in these debates.
Let’s stop calling OTT and beating up on people who express that connection, just because we don’t feel it or buy into Zuckerberg’s new world of ruthless transparency (unless you can afford a big wall).
Don’t bully me into not having an opinion about the fact I have value as a fleshy bundle of data, if not a share in the rewards (Or I might get mad).