We Know That Feeling of Floating

I can remember the exact moment I realised that blogging, in the form we had come to know it, was about to become extinct.

At the time, I was the author of a rather eclectic bicycle-themed blog. Cycling was having a ‘moment,’ and there were many blogs of this genre in circulation. Chic Cyclist preceded mine by about a year. Like me, the author at the time lived in Boston, worked in academia, gravitated toward all things vintage, and possessed various crafting skills. Unlike me, she was reserved, subtle, narrowly focused in her interests, and exquisitely detail-oriented - which was why I enjoyed her content so much.

I looked forward to reading Chic Cyclist as one of my favourite pastimes - following with interest for years, then feeling an undercurrent of sadness as I sensed her enthusiasm wane after some time. Life had moved on for the author, with a new child and a move abroad. Posts became less frequent, more brief.

But despite having sensed this trajectory, the final entry still came as a blow. Not only because it was the end of Chic Cyclist (the post did not say so, but somehow I knew), but because it heralded, I felt, a more pervasive change in the blogosphere.

We Know That Feeling of Floating.

The title referred to a photo exhibition by Zhao Huasen showing images of people cycling - with the actual bicycles airbrushed out, so that it looked as if they were coasting on air.

But I read a deeper meaning into what the title implied. Which is probably why it has stayed with me for over a decade.

We know that feeling of floating…

Had this been phrased as a question, perhaps it would have read as more colloquial and ‘normal.’ But presented as a statement of fact, it came across as foreboding.

I imagined the author, on her bicycle, disappearing into the proverbial distance of the ether…and the rest of us following suit, until there was nothing of interest to read on the subject. It did not matter that my own blog was at its height at the time; deep down I knew it was a ‘dead blog walking.’

It was 2012, and there were signs of what was coming if one knew where to look. The rising popularity of instagram due to its sheer ease of use compared to the clunky blogging platforms, was one red flag I suppose. But the bigger indicator, looking back, was the increasingly frequent audience requests for blog authors to start audio podcasts and YouTube channels, as those platforms began to gain in traction.

What the audience really wanted, was not just content to read, to be informed and inspired by. They wanted more of the author as a person. And the audio-visual platforms were designed for this very purpose.

By 2016, the paradigm shift was becoming more obvious. There were blog authors who moved toward the ‘content creator’ or ‘influencer’ model. And there were blog authors who bid farewell to their virtual audience. Either way, blogging in of itself - in its original form - no longer played the same impactful role in online culture as it once had.

My own bicycle blog ended in 2017. I too did not explicitly announce this in what became the final post. But somehow readers knew it and (mostly) accepted it. I think by that point it was easier to accept, as part of a general blogosphere demise.

So why bring the format back seven years later…

Put simply, the same gut feeling I had that told me it was the end of an era, is telling me now that we are ready for a new era to begin. It was interesting to read Karen Templer articulate similar thoughts in her launch of Collapse and Delight several months ago. And I hope to read more on the topic from like-minded authors.

Working as a full time handknits designer in the course of these last seven years, I have come to understand that not only do I enjoy writing for an audience, but that I find doing so a helpful tool in my creative process. And blogging, in its traditional format, offers the best opportunity to do this. I have always kept a maker’s blog as part of my handknits design website. And having started a newsletter last year, it too has taken on that role. But the topics I feel compelled to write about have outgrown the knitterly (or cycling) genres, and warrant their own virtual space.

Being somewhat more experienced and older now, I feel also that I have a firmer sense of boundaries. Or perhaps parameters is a better term. A better understanding of myself, a healthier awareness of how much I am willing to share, and a stronger grasp of ways in which I am (and equally importantly, am not) comfortable engaging with others.

Having given this matter some thought over the years, I believe the reason traditional written blogs became ‘extinct’ in the first place, is that we began to see them as a sub-optimal format for fostering a parasocial relationship between author and audience.

Now that as a society we have collectively experienced the dark sides of ‘influencer culture,’ we are perhaps ready to see traditional written blogs in a different way: as very much optimal for sharing independent writing and imagery, without the authors themselves becoming consumable.

Because we know that feeling of floating. And perhaps we are ready for anchorage.