I'm No Gambler

Except when it comes to social media

Jan 07, 2025

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I’ve been to a casino a grand total of once. One of my extended family members was celebrating a milestone birthday, so a bunch of us traveled to a casino/hotel to mark the occasion. I remember walking through a maze of machines, people and sounds, overstimulated and uncertain. I tried a slot machine or two, but totally out of my element, I retired early from the floor and took refuge in my room.

For some, the allure of a casino is appealing, but it’s not my thing. I knew it probably wouldn’t be going in, and that suspicion was quickly and overwhelmingly verified — though I don’t regret the opportunity to celebrate a loved one! But a funny thing is, despite my aversion to casinos, I’ve found myself addicted to a different kind of slot machine: social media.

That’s right.

It turns out that the same psychology behind the urge to keep gambling at the slots — “this time just might be the one that pays off big” — is also behind social media usage. According to Max Fisher in his book The Chaos Machine: The Inside Story of How Social Media Rewired Our Minds and Our World, psychologist B.F. Skinner discovered this phenomenon. Skinner determined that if he rewarded a repeatable task every time it was completed, the person being observed would comply but would usually stop when the reward stopped. However, “if he doled out the reward only sometimes, and randomized its size, then she would complete the task far more consistently, even doggedly. And she would keep completing the task long after the rewards had stopped altogether — as if chasing even the possibility of a reward compulsively.”1

Slot machines use this “psychological weakness” very effectively.2

So does social media.

Fisher compares the two: “The unpredictability of the payout makes it harder to stop. Social media does the same. Posting on Twitter might yield a big social payoff, in the form of likes, retweets, and replies. Or it might yield no reward at all. Never knowing the outcome makes it harder to stop pulling the lever.”3

Oh boy, have I been busy gambling (mostly my sanity). And losing. A lot.

The Beginnings of Addiction

I started my Malinda D Just writing page on Facebook after attending my first writing conference during the summer of 2016. During the first couple years of having the platform, it did decently well. Follower growth was steady, blog links and newspaper column links were generally well-received (meaning, people interacted and even clicked through to read the articles) and some came back to leave occasional comments. I wasn’t a fraction of the way to the 10,000 follower mark recommended at the writing conference for seeking publication, but I was trying — full speed ahead!

In October of 2017, about 1.5 years after starting my FB writing page, I added both Instagram and Twitter to my portfolio of online platforms. Instagram has never been a great outlet for sharing writing links, but at the beginning, it was useful for short-form writing and a small platform emerged. Twitter was mediocre at getting article views — better than Insta, worse than FB — but it was fantastic for networking outside local bubbles. I connected with many other writers and creatives and found a supportive community for doing the work. Follower growth was steady, at least at the beginning. The rewards were consistent enough that I felt like I was making a difference with my writing work. Even though I was still far, far away from 10K, progress was steady enough for me to keep trying. And then things changed.

Enter the algorithm. (ominous music plays)

At the Whims of The Algorithm

At some point4 social media algorithms went from rewarding positive and uplifting content to increasingly promoting negative, extreme and divisive content.5 I noticed this change gradually, but I did notice. My post statistics took a nosedive and so did my emotional well-being. Looking back, the very things that are tender about my life story6, particularly my tendency to feel unloved and unwanted and a drive to prove my value and worth, were being exploited without my knowledge and yet, with my consent. Even a net-positive value of doing my best and working hard in my profession, when paired with the algorithmic nature of social media, made for a toxic combination.

Fisher explains this way: “Further, while posting to social media can feel like a genuine interaction between you and an audience, there is one crucial, invisible difference. Online, the platform acts as an unseen intermediary. It decides which of your comments to distribute to whom, and in what context. Your next post might get shown to people who will love it and applaud, or to people who will hate it and heckle, or to neither. You’ll never know because its decisions are invisible. All you know is that you hear cheers, boos, or crickets.”7

I’ve experienced all three. Of course, cheers are rewarding. I often write about hard things, so sometimes I expect boos (however, on more than one occasion I have been surprised by what actually elicited boos!). But the crickets. Ouch. After I pour hours into an article, often with skin attached, crickets are damaging. I’ve blamed myself and the stuff I’m creating and posting. I’ve also blamed my audience for not being supportive. But the reality is, I don’t actually know who’s seeing what and once I put something out for social media consumption, I have no control over where it lands.

But like the gambler I am, I’ve kept pulling the handle. And pulling and pulling and pulling.

A Wake Up Call

Reading The Chaos Machine was a wake-up call for me of sorts, and more than likely, answer to some of my prayers.

I used a whole stack of Sticky Notes for this book, so as you can see, I gleaned a lot of information. From the slot machine analogy that tracked with my personal reality, through learning about radicalization, emotional appeal, polarization and alienation, misinformation, and the scary reality that algorithms are largely unvetted by humans, I waffled between absolute fascination from a communications/psychology stand-point and absolute horror from a social/relational one. I kept thinking that perhaps pulling the plug is the answer. Part of me probably even wants that to be the answer because trying for the increasingly illusive reward is draining. Every day I spin my wheels continuing to play, and for what? But at the end of the day, social media isn’t actually going away, so how do I play the game without being played?

Play and Be Played?

The truth is, I don’t know. Arming myself with knowledge has been a good start, and yet, I’ve continued to use social media as a tool for sharing my work even though I know it’s broken. Links to outside sources are increasingly buried. On average, posts sharing writing links on my FB platform reach fewer than 100 people of the nearly 700 who have liked that particular page. X (formerly Twitter) is abysmal for views, with or without links. These days, Instagram is virtually worthless as a writing platform. But since I don’t have anything else to utilize — even having the ability for Substack subscriptions doesn’t do any good if I can’t find ways to spread the word to potential readers — my existing platforms8 will have to do for now. The good news is, I’m reforming my thought processes. I’m constantly reminding myself that views are actually out of my control as well as my audience’s, even when it doesn’t seem like it and disappointment threatens. I’m continuing to write and (attempting to) be content with a fraction of the views/readers I once had. I no longer hold to unrealistic expectations that I will ever reach a publisher’s golden standard of followers when my platform growth has completely stalled, not for weeks but for years.

Writing about this dreary outlook makes me again imagine the freedom that might be had from unplugging. But thinking about all the hours I’ve logged, the work I’ve done…losing everything feels scary, too. So, at this point — at this impasse — I will also remember that collectively experts aren’t advocating for shutting everything down, but they are advocating for algorithmic reform.9

Fisher writes, “When asked what would most effectively reform both the platforms and the companies overseeing them, [Frances] Haugen [a Facebook employee whistleblower] had a simple answer: turn off the algorithm. ‘I think we don’t want computers deciding what we focus on,’ she said. She also suggested that if Congress curtailed liability protections, making the companies legally responsible for the consequences of anything their systems promoted, ‘they would get rid of engagement-based ranking.’ Platforms would roll back to the 2000s, when they simply displayed your friends’ posts by newest to oldest. No A.I. to swarm you with attention-maximizing content or route you down rabbit holes.”10

And I don’t know about you, but that kind of simplicity sounds way more appealing than continuing to play the slots. It’s a net loss after all, and I’m no moneybags.

Have any of you read The Chaos Machine? I’d be interested in your thoughts! Also, if you use social media for business purposes, let me know…I’d love to brainstorm…or at the very least commiserate ;)

Max Fisher, The Chaos Machine: The Inside Story of How Social Media Rewired Our Minds and Our World (Little, Brown and Company, 2022), 26-27.

Fisher, The Chaos Machine, 26-27.

Fisher, The Chaos Machine, 26-27.

I’m almost 100% sure Fisher gave a timeline for this, but I failed to jot it down and have since returned the book.

Fisher lays out the case for this throughout The Chaos Machine.