Digital half-life: How long will your content last before it is forgotten?
Digital half-life: How long will your content last before it is forgotten?
The relationship between platforms and the life of your publications
🏷️ Categories: Mathematics, Writing
A long time ago, Mental Garden had a Twitter account.
A long, long time ago.
I hadn't used Twitter before, but when I started writing, I thought that maybe Twitter would be the right place to give my words a wider reach. It didn't take long for me to realise that a well-thought-out idea didn't fit into 280 characters; that to convey something with the depth I wanted to give my texts on Substack, I would have to resort to endless threads. And that's where I launched myself, with very long threads of ideas strung together. But soon an even bigger problem appeared that I didn't expect.
The fleeting nature of that platform.
I noticed a pattern: the texts that went viral tended to be the shortest and most recently written. Even so, their visibility was fleeting; the next day, another content replaced what was trending. I realised that even if I spent hours constructing a well-thought-out thread, no one would have the time or patience to read it calmly. Most frustratingly, even in the unlikely event that it was read and shared, interest would vanish in less than a day. It was a very fast network of users interested in short, shallow content.
It was not a space for the leisurely or the lasting.
Its very essence went against my principles.
I aspire to write and consume content without an expiry date.
Twitter was not my place.
Digital half-life: How long will your writings live?
My Twitter experience is related to nuclear physics, yes, you read that right, let me explain.
There is a concept in nuclear physics called ‘half-life’, which is the time it takes for a radioactive chemical element to lose 50% of its radioactivity. I have created a concept with this idea: ‘digital half-life’, i.e. the time it takes for a publication to achieve 50% of its popularity.
One study calculated what I have called ‘digital half-life’ (Graffius, 2024).
I am impressed.
Look at the numbers...
On Snapchat, content fizzles out in 1 day; on Twitter, a post reaches its climax in about 43 minutes; on Instagram and Facebook, a few hours and no more. By contrast, a YouTube video or an image on Pinterest manages to stay afloat for days or weeks. And then there are blogs, those old friends, where an article can continue to resonate for years, like those dusty books on the shelves that someone suddenly discovers and revives with a fresh look.
These lifespans are the Lindy effect applied to social media.
It's bound to make you think.
Beyond the cold figures of digital half-life, one begins to see how the modern lifestyle has also seeped into writing, into the very way we express ourselves. Writing is being dragged towards superficiality with texts that have shorter and shorter expiry dates.
The shorter the half-life of a platform, the greater the need to keep publishing so as not to disappear from the radar of the recommendation algorithm.
But this pace demands sacrifices of quality for quantity.
It is what the fashion world has already baptised as fast fashion: pieces created to last a short time, to be discarded and then consumed again by others in trend. Here we see it replicated in something we could call fast content. Content becomes a fuel that is burned and replaced with the sole objective of seeking a quick reaction from the public, even if that means moving away from slow creation, which invites us to stop, think, question and debate.
That is exactly the kind of writing I pursue.
The content map
Everything we write and consume has its place on this content map.
The map has 2 coordinates:
Specific — Universal
Temporary — Timeless
Think about the content you create and consume. Where is it usually located?
In your world there is what you pay attention to, thinking about the place you want to occupy on this map is a vital decision. That was the reason that made me stop watching the news and leave almost all social networks: they didn't nourish me at all. Now I prioritise my time to read timeless works of literature, which do fill me.
The same goes for your writing: what is your strategy and what platform will you use?
I seek timelessness, and I do it because in it I found the possibility of creating something that would bring value to those who read me now and in the future.
Specific: How to adjust a telescope to see planets. It's ideal for a small, passionate audience looking for that information. You'll be the point person.
Universal: The first time I travelled alone (in fear). An experience that many people can identify with, but also many people can be located in this space on the map writing the same as you.
Temporary: How Artificial Intelligence will change jobs in 2025 would capture attention now, but will lose relevance in a few years.
Timeless: Reflections on the fear of failure is a profound text that endures through the ages and to which we will always return to reread.
Choose with intention what you create, what you consume and where you do it.
Remember digital half-lives and ask yourself: How valuable will the content I make and consume be in 1 hour?
What about in 1 day?
What about in 1 month?
What about in a year?
This is why I left Twitter.
✍️ Your turn: What do you think is the digital half-life of Substack?
💭 Quote of the day: «—What do I have to do to become what I want to be? You must ruthlessly eliminate the rush in your life’ John Mark Comer, The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry.
See you later! Take care 👋
References 📚
Graffius, Scott M. (2024). Lifespan (Half-Life) of Social Media
This article is definitely one to reread and spread around to friends and colleagues. Thank you, Alvaro. You're right about the society these media are developing. We think in sprints rather than marathons. Our conversations trip over the surface of ideas, especially here in the U.S. because we're all so scared of triggering someone's beliefs. (It's the 'karma running over someone's dogma' syndrome.)
As for my own writings, I feel lucky if someone reads them at all, and even luckier when someone comments on it. That's why I save my posts to a word document to print-and-bind for my descendants. Maybe they'd get a kick out of reading it ... maybe. And maybe it would last a few years as long as someone doesn't burn down the house or lose the "Mom's stuff" box.
Beautiful and love your advice