Reconsidering Bearblog; or, On the Value of Words

26 Jul, 2026

Last Sunday, I wrote a post calling out Robert Birming's repetitive writing. The post gained traction, receiving around 85 toasts before it got shadow-banned—removed from trending.

I'll admit it: I got salty over this.

Was it because the post was controversial? That it continued to receive toasts even after being hidden—and that I received a few supportive emails and guestbook entries—suggests that it wasn't a touchy or taboo subject.

Was it because the post was low in effort? Sure, it took about 15 minutes to make, and there's an element of hypocrisy in calling out low-effort posting through a low-effort post, but I've written short posts that are more trivial and less consequential (e.g., responding to a quote when the quote is longer than my response or jotting down unicode inputs).

Was it because it was too harsh? I didn't go as far as to suggest Birming's writing was lame or the equivalent of AI slop (but see Absurd Pirate's effort), and my remarks were directed at Birming's writing, not his character. Often in criticism, discussions attempt to separate the artist from their art (or else discuss the pros and cons of doing so); the common reason is to focus on the quality of the art as a standalone experience (see Barthes' famous essay). In contemporary culture, this separation is typically made so that problematic authors don't tarnish really good works of art (e.g., J.K. Rowling and Harry Potter). I posit that the art–artist separation serves the opposite function, too: we can critique subpar art without making it about the artist—which is what my recent post aimed to do.

As I mulled over these thoughts (and pondered where my saltiness stemmed from), the realizations seeped in: the platform thrives on meta-blogging posts; it is incentivized to maintain this production; and it will hide suggestions for alternatives. It doesn't really care for what we write, but that we write. That's the theme conveyed across no fewer than 14 posts by Birming alone since February 2026. Just write—even when you have nothing to say or don't feel like it.¹ It calls to my mind the image of a factory taskmaster. Produce, produce, produce...

What I am here for?

Consequently, I've been reconsidering my use of Bear. You see, I have that writer's vanity that all bloggers have at some level: I want my words to matter. Now when it is easier than ever to write and share words, I want mine to have value. This desire underscored the key message of my post last week:

Sometimes it's good to step away from the page or keyboard so that you can think and come up with ideas—preferably new and fresh ones.

In an ever-increasingly noisy world, I regard slowing down to ensure the validity, reliability, and quality of my thoughts as a good skill to develop. It’s an exercise in building confidence in my own ideas, while resisting the pressures to move fast and break things. If I have to say the same thing 14 different times to make a point, that’s not improving my writing, but cementing a particular template. I wouldn’t be blogging anymore; I’d just be adding to the noise.

I restarted blogging last December because I wanted to make sense of my life. I had the romantic idea that writing would be the key to saving my soul. I believed then (as I still do) that writing is a reflective process that enables and empowers me to have dialogue with myself, which in turn uncovers uncomfortable truths and difficult aspects that can be addressed to improve my life. I believed Bear was congruent with these beliefs: according to the Bear Manifesto, this platform gives me “a reliable, simple, and independent place to share [my] thoughts online.”

Through blogging, I’ve reached a few milestones and epiphanies. I let go of my attachment to physical books as a measure of my self-worth. I named the shortcomings of my father and what I need to do to make up for that in terms of my personal development. I decided to quit Reddit (and remain committed to that choice). And I found joy in having a space to talk about the music I was getting into for a while, when I was particularly susceptible to seasonal affective disorder.

Moreover, I’ve been inspired by the stories of others and how they make sense of their lives. In particular, I want to acknowledge:

• Absurd Pirate’s hot and humourous takes
• Chloe’s unpolished, vulnerable, unapologetic reflections on being her parents’ caregiver (see also her other blog)
• Folkmoss for the visual aesthetic of her blog and her thoughtful writings on how we consume media
• Laura Michet’s slice of life adventures and commentary on video games (their design and in general)
• Toska for writing about relationships and finding a sense of home (which have prompted me to think of my own journey)

I’ve also enjoyed correspondence with others via email. One highlight was getting interviewed about my music tastes.

In short, Bearblog has offered me more good than not during my time on this platform. This is why I challenge David Meissner’s characterization of my last post, as akin to “booing amateur musicians at an open mike night.” To work with the analogy, instead of booing, I was just looking around me, noticing that some musicians at this establishment seem to play similar songs and repeat their acts whenever they’re onstage. I was getting bored, and wondered if my fellow audience members felt the same way, and if/how we might have a more robust community setlist.

Next steps

It sucks that I wrote this post with the assumption that it, too, will get shadow-banned. As a precaution I’ve started a new site on Neocities. It’s a viable alternative: free, open source, no ads, supporter-funded, and free accounts can upload files and embed images. It’s also a bit more traditional with HTML and CSS setup, which allowed me to create a minimalist-gothic-manuscript aesthetic in an afternoon. I envision using this new site to continue working on myself, with pages that are edited over time (e.g., like Wikipedia articles) instead of blog posts (to minimize repeating myself).

Yet I retain a need for blogging to express ideas, musings, and discoveries. What remains to be seen is whether this will be done through Bear, or integrated in my new site. The Bear Manifesto made a promise:

If you're tired of platforms that treat you like a product, welcome home. Bear is here to stay.

If Bear’s ability to stay relevant is based on faux enthusiasm for blogging, to the extent that remarks that draw attention to its artificial aspects gets hidden, then I have to conclude that I am, in fact, treated like a product.

I would like to be proven wrong on this front.