At last, some good news! True, Donald Trump’s still running for president, and a massive earthquake’s going to destroy Seattle – but according to a report from the security firm Symantec, spam now accounts for less than 50% of all email, for the first time in more than a decade. Of the 704bn messages sent in June 2015, a mere 353bn were spam. Which is fantastic news for everyone, except the occasional son of a deposed dictator looking to transfer $5m out of his country, and hoping that you, as a Trusted Business Associate, might care for a piece of the action.
Except, let me guess: I bet you haven’t been seriously troubled by spam in years. Thanks to huge advances in filtering technology, plus prosecutions of botnet operators, it’s a rare week that a true piece of spam makes it into my Gmail inbox. Historically speaking, this is extraordinary: in the 1990s, experts regularly wondered whether the internet would collapse beneath the sheer weight of junk. Yet, instead, spam has slipped way down the list of daily irritations.
But we shouldn’t celebrate too hastily. As “classic” spam has declined, it’s become clear that the internet in general – indeed, life in general – has become an awful lot spammier. Partly, this is simply because spammers have found ways to spam that don’t involve email, using texts, Twitter, Gchat and so on. But there’s a deeper point here, too. When you really think hard about what spam is – as I first did in 2013, when I interviewed Finn Brunton, who researched the phenomenon in detail – it’s hard to escape the conclusion that we’re drowning in it.
Email spam thrives, to the extent it still does so, because spammers can reach millions of eyeballs at virtually no cost. The proportion of gullible fools who’ll reply to any given message is microscopic – but it only needs to be microscopic, because the cost of reaching each of them is effectively nil. For a spammer, there’s no incentive to try to limit the recipients to those who actually want to do business with fake dictators’ sons, or pay large sums of money for penis-enlargement pills. Everyone already checks their emails all the time, so all you need do is get into as many inboxes as possible. Spam, in the broad definition Brunton gave in his fascinating book Spam: A Shadow History of the Internet, is using “information technology to exploit existing gatherings of attention.”
But this raises a question. If spamming is about abusing the resource of other people’s attention, the ethos of spam is everywhere: in clickbait headlines that promise far more than they deliver; in tweets that exploit the “curiosity gap” by tantalizingly omitting key information; in the daily email I now receive – it isn’t spam, technically, because I agreed to it – from a clothing store where I once bought one shirt. Scroll to the fetid lower reaches of many a reputable site and you’ll find links (provided, most often, by Outbrain or Taboola) to the products of content farms, or, as Brunton describes them: “vast algal blooms of linked content with catchy titles, top-10 lists about trending topics, wild claims and needlessly contrarian stances.” None of these were written because a journalist thought the topic mattered; they’re created in response to what’s trending, to exploit the attention already gathered.
But for any journalist, even more alarming possibilities lurk here. What makes me not a spammer? To the best of my abilities, I’ve written this piece so as to make you want to keep reading; the headline’s intended to grab your attention, even if you’d been planning to get up and go jogging instead. My editors and I will profit, albeit modestly, as a result. For that matter, what about the Facebook updates you so lovingly construct, in an effort to stop people scrolling, read closely, then reward you with flattering ‘likes’?
What all this demonstrates, in the end, is how strange a phenomenon attention is. It’s a limited resource, just like money: if I spend it on one thing, it’s no longer available for something else. Yet I give it away far more freely than I’d ever give my money – and to pretty much whoever asks.
Except, let me guess: I bet you haven’t been seriously troubled by spam in years. Thanks to huge advances in filtering technology, plus prosecutions of botnet operators, it’s a rare week that a true piece of spam makes it into my Gmail inbox. Historically speaking, this is extraordinary: in the 1990s, experts regularly wondered whether the internet would collapse beneath the sheer weight of junk. Yet, instead, spam has slipped way down the list of daily irritations.But we shouldn’t celebrate too hastily. As “classic” spam has declined, it’s become clear that the internet in general – indeed, life in general – has become an awful lot spammier. Partly, this is simply because spammers have found ways to spam that don’t involve email, using texts, Twitter, Gchat and so on. But there’s a deeper point here, too. When you really think hard about what spam is – as I first did in 2013, when I interviewed Finn Brunton, who researched the phenomenon in detail – it’s hard to escape the conclusion that we’re drowning in it.
Email spam thrives, to the extent it still does so, because spammers can reach millions of eyeballs at virtually no cost. The proportion of gullible fools who’ll reply to any given message is microscopic – but it only needs to be microscopic, because the cost of reaching each of them is effectively nil. For a spammer, there’s no incentive to try to limit the recipients to those who actually want to do business with fake dictators’ sons, or pay large sums of money for penis-enlargement pills. Everyone already checks their emails all the time, so all you need do is get into as many inboxes as possible. Spam, in the broad definition Brunton gave in his fascinating book Spam: A Shadow History of the Internet, is using “information technology to exploit existing gatherings of attention.”
But this raises a question. If spamming is about abusing the resource of other people’s attention, the ethos of spam is everywhere: in clickbait headlines that promise far more than they deliver; in tweets that exploit the “curiosity gap” by tantalizingly omitting key information; in the daily email I now receive – it isn’t spam, technically, because I agreed to it – from a clothing store where I once bought one shirt. Scroll to the fetid lower reaches of many a reputable site and you’ll find links (provided, most often, by Outbrain or Taboola) to the products of content farms, or, as Brunton describes them: “vast algal blooms of linked content with catchy titles, top-10 lists about trending topics, wild claims and needlessly contrarian stances.” None of these were written because a journalist thought the topic mattered; they’re created in response to what’s trending, to exploit the attention already gathered.
But for any journalist, even more alarming possibilities lurk here. What makes me not a spammer? To the best of my abilities, I’ve written this piece so as to make you want to keep reading; the headline’s intended to grab your attention, even if you’d been planning to get up and go jogging instead. My editors and I will profit, albeit modestly, as a result. For that matter, what about the Facebook updates you so lovingly construct, in an effort to stop people scrolling, read closely, then reward you with flattering ‘likes’?
What all this demonstrates, in the end, is how strange a phenomenon attention is. It’s a limited resource, just like money: if I spend it on one thing, it’s no longer available for something else. Yet I give it away far more freely than I’d ever give my money – and to pretty much whoever asks.
by Oliver Burkeman, The Guardian | Read more:
Image: Ian Waldie/Getty Images
