The Big Digg Lesson: A Social Network Is Worth Precisely as Much as Its Community
A social networking company is not a technology company like Intel is a technology company; its users are its product.
It is easy to forget how high-flying Digg once was. Digg was supposed to be the future of all media, not just social media. People were going to rule the Internet; people were going to curate the web. Down with gatekeepers! But, as many Digg users quickly discovered, new gangs of gatekeepers kept a tight grip on the site's story flow. These guys played the Digg system, often with a mix of social and monetary motives, and Digg never figured out how to incorporate their power users into their community without giving them all the power.
Here was the huge problem with the Digg system. People submitted stories that were nominally voted up or down. But those stories didn't get linearly get more traffic as the upvotes flew. No, you only got a bunch of traffic if the algorithm selected the story and sent it to the front page. This meant that trying to "pop" stories on Digg was like playing NBA Jam with hotspots turned on. The same amount of effort sometimes yielded 12 points and sometimes 2 points and most often 0 points.
The only way to consistently get stuff on the home page was to work at it like a job. And so, some people began to work at it like a job, and then it became their jobs. While some really thought of themselves as an important part of the journalistic enterprise, many others contracted out their services to entities of all kinds. Stripped of any institutional sense of editorial ethics, many Digg power users ended up promoting all kinds of crap along with good stories from legitimate writers and sites.
Meanwhile, everyday users were realizing that nothing they submitted ever even had a chance in hell of going to the front page. They weren't empowered netizens visiting from the future, but chumps who were being played by Digg and a bunch of "social-media consultants."
In short, the community broke. And the community, remember, is also the content machine. Without that, Digg was revealed to be just a bunch of computers waiting for people to add value to the thin offering of a social network. The site still gets a substantial amount of traffic, but that Myspace/Friendster smell of death hangs in the pixels.
There is one clear lesson from Digg's sale: the technology that powered a once-massive social network is worth about $500,000. All the rest of the value derives from the people that use it. Though scaling is tough, any developer in the world can build some profiles and let people connect up. It's an act of genius -- or an act of God, by which I mean luck -- to design a site constitution that makes people want to build their online lives at your URL (or in your app). Social networking companies are not technology companies as much as they are community companies.
To be honest, I don't know why anyone tries to start these things. No one has much of a competitive advantage, the space is crowded, you can't compete on price, and no one wants to join a Reddit for hermit crabs. Then I remember how social networks function: users produce the product and they *are* the product. Now that's some kind of good hustle.
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The Big Digg Lesson: A Social Network Is Worth Precisely as Much as Its Community