An Apple iPad with Twitter's native app. Photo: Peter Macdiarmid/Getty Images
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Twitter's taking away your control over what tweets you choose to see

A subtle change in how Twitter's feed works will make some people very angry, but most people probably won't even notice.

Twitter users will this week notice a strange new thing happening to their timelines - it's not theirs any more. Tweets from people they don't follow, and who the people they follow haven't chosen to retweet, are now appearing in timelines under the guise of being "relevant and interesting".

Here's how Twitter is now describing itself, on its "what's a Twitter timeline?" about page:

When you sign in to Twitter, you'll land on your home timeline.

  • Your home timeline displays a stream of Tweets from accounts you have chosen to follow on Twitter.
  • Additionally, when we identify a Tweet, an account to follow, or other content that's popular or relevant, we may add it to your timeline. This means you will sometimes see Tweets from accounts you don't follow. We select each Tweet using a variety of signals, including how popular it is and how people in your network are interacting with it. Our goal is to make your home timeline even more relevant and interesting.

It doesn't take long to find how much users are hating this change:

It's pretty obvious why this is so annoying - favourites function in a very different way to retweets. Here's a dumb Buzzfeed list of "17 Types of Twitter Fave" - ignore some of the sillier ones like the accidental self-fave, and it's still clear there's a lot a favourite can mean. I use it for bookmarking stuff for later that I then might want to retweet if I think it's worth it, but there are plenty of other times users won't want a favourite to be automatically pumped into their followers' timelines. They might fave a job advert, for example, or a tweet critical of someone they know to remind themselves of it even if they disagree. Now, a pseudo-private clearing house for public activity is itself also public.

However, the reason for the change is simple: Twitter will make more money if it gets more people tweeting, and people are more likely to tweet if they see stuff they can tweet about.

At the moment there's a clear difference between the types of service that Twitter and Facebook offer: the former's is comprehensive, while the latter's is curatorial. Facebook's news feed did, once upon a time, list nothing more than the activity of a user's friends - that's things like wall posts, shared links, adding new friends, that sort of thing - but very quickly began using algorithmic guesses to insert extra stuff that it thought was relevant. The news feed these days is less like a place to get updates from friends, and more a streak of vomit - you know that there are probably some quite nice things that were ingested in the beginning, but the recommendations that came back up range were not particularly welcome.

A good illustration of this is Mat Honan's Wired piece where he liked everything he saw on Facebook for two days. The result was that it not only quickly become completely unusable, pumping out links to far-right political sites and clickbait listicles that crowded out any of his friends' activities, but he also ruined Facebook for everyone who was friends with him - the algorithms, after all, assume that word-of-mouth is the best recommendation engine that exists, and so treats the things your friends like as things you will likely also like. Your ability to control what Facebook shows you is negligible.

Twitter, by contrast, has kept this kind of manipulation to a minimum. Following someone on Twitter means that every tweet they make will appear in the timeline, as it happens. The people who really love Twitter tend to also dislike Facebook for this reason. Trying to follow world events in real-time is easier with a platform that treats every voice the same, and which doesn't let the actions of one user influence the timeline of another.

Except, of course, it does. The retweet function - where a user can republish a tweet for all of their followers as if they themselves follow the retweeted account - does allow some cross-contamination, and was introduced in 2009 as a more "natural" version of the manual method which had organically emerged when Twitter first launched. People hated it at first, too, for allowing "strangers in my stream". Then there are promoted tweets, too - anyone can pay to have their tweet show up in the timelines of strangers. People hated them too (they still hate them), but, since it was obvious Twitter would have to find a way to make money to support its free service, these tweets have become seen as a necessary evil.

There's a problem that every social network has to struggle with, and Twitter is no exception: how much to poke users into doing stuff they otherwise might not. Most people who use Twitter - we're talking millions of users - sign up, follow a few friends and relatives and a couple of celebrities, and then don't particularly get involved any more than that. This is the effect of respecting the user's ability to curate their own timeline. They act like bubbles, floating in isolation past each other while never mixing.

That's not good enough for a business like Twitter, which has been struggling to match the growth in users and revenues that it predicted in its IPO in November last year. The six months from December to July saw its stock fall in value by 47 per cent, when it then rebounded after an encouraging uptick in user growth and a reduction in losses. In large part this new confidence from investors is based on the idea that somehow, in the future, Twitter will crack a way of making money - just as Facebook has. That's why Twitter keeps experimenting, from making it easier to embed tweets in other websites to introducing all kinds of themed content for big events like the World Cup (remember the flags?). 

And, fundamentally, that's why it makes business sense to turn the favourite function on Twitter into a kind of "I'm Feeling Lucky" retweet, or to let users see popular tweets from the people who the people they follow follow. It needs to keep its investors happy by converting those millions of registered users into active users, defined as those who log on at least once a month. Currently growth in that number is around six per cent, which isn't fast enough. More promising, instead, is to figure out how to convince the non-active users to become more "engaged". 85 per cent of those who stop using Twitter claim it's because they had less than 30 followers, and 76 per cent of people say that they found Twitter's lack of filtering and sorting functions offputting. Those are the kinds of figures that demand changes to a platform's functionality.

Those users who use third-party apps or clients like Tweetdeck or Tweetbot to check Twitter won't see this change - and it's notable that promoted tweets don't appear in those apps either. (There's no word yet from Twitter if the new favourite/retweet hybrid will appear in every iteration of the timeline, or if power users will be able to opt out indefinitely this way.) It's tempting, then, to dismiss the most vociferous critics of the change as those who are merely annoyed by any change at all - it worked just fine before, after all - and that's not an unfair criticism. It's not a policy change that is arguably more symbolically important for taking away some user choice than it is functionally.

However, Twitter's growing pains aren't limited just to its timelines. The question of what content should be permissible in tweets has always been an issue, and it is becoming increasingly more worrisome as it becomes clear that online harrassment and bullying are depressingly suited to the medium. Twitter's introduction of auto-previewed images to timelines was roundly-criticised for making shocking and disturbing images harder to avoid, and the process for reporting abusive behaviour is notoriously long-winded and complex - much more so than for spammers. In the light of today's news that an American photojournalist, James Foley, has been murdered by Isis militants, the Twitter CEO Dick Costolo tweeted that any accounts actively sharing videos or pictures of "this graphic imagery" would be banned, yet such enthusiastic crackdowns like this are often applied inconsistently.

The overall impression is that Twitter wants to be a space where users feel they can trust the links that they see selling stuff, and know that they won't get a virus from clicking on them. Or, it's an online space where abusive and shocking behaviour is only dealt with when it affects a prominent celebrity or public figure whose public egress from Twitter might affect user trust - as with Robin Williams' daughter Zelda, who was driven from Twitter by behaviour which thousands of other women experience daily. This doesn't make it any less abhorrent, but it is disheartening that it takes an example so impossible to ignore for something to be done about the problemIn that sense, it's perhaps wise to be wary of yet more changes to Twitter which make it harder, not easier, for users to define what they experience online.

Ian Steadman is a staff science and technology writer at the New Statesman. He is on Twitter as @iansteadman.

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Why the philosophy of people-rating app Peeple is fundamentally flawed

The app claims that “character is destiny”, and that we should be constantly judged based on our past interactions with others. But do we really believe that? 

Yesterday, you were probably one of the millions around the world who recoiled from their screen in blank-eyed horror at the news: Peeple, an app to be launched in November, will let others rate you, publicly, on the internet, and there's nothing you can do about it. You can't opt out, and you don't need to join in order to be rated on a scale of one to five by colleagues, friends, and romantic partners. That boy whose girlfriend you stole? He can review you. The boss you swore at as you quit? Her, too. Those people in your life who think you're just a bit average? Expect a lukewarm three stars from them.

Of all the online rage at the app's announcement, perhaps the most was directed at the fact that you can't remove your own profile. Other users need only submit your mobile number and name to create your page, and you have no control about who posts on there. Reviews of two stars or less are invisible to the public for 48 hours, and you have the chance to review them and try to "work it out" with the rater. Once that time is up, though, the negative reviews appear for all to see. You can comment on them to defend your corner, but unless they break the app's rules, you can't delete them.

There are all kinds of problems with Peeple's premise. Despite its founders' promises that bullying and harassment won't be tolerated (helped slightly by the fact that users must be over 21 and use their full name and Facebook profile to comment), it seems impossible that they'll be able to moderate this effectively. And as we've learned from sites like TripAdvisor or Yelp, the majority of reviews are from those seeking to boost the company's reputation, rivals, or angry customers - it's rare to see one that's balanced and helpful.

Yet the biggest flaw of all is the assumption that public rating and shaming has a place, or is even acceptable, in our society. There's something fundamentally broken in the app's presmise, which is summarised in its tagline, "character is destiny".  As western society has moved on from earlier ages where people were fundamentally changed in the eyes of the law and public into "criminals" by virtue of their deeds, or a time where a woman was utterly defined by her sexual acts, we've ceased to accept this as truth. The app's whole set-up assumes that someone who has offended a co-worker is likely to do it again, or a positive review from a partner makes it likely you'll enjoy a good relationship with them. As a society, we accept that some violent criminals are likely to re-offend, but we also see the value of rehabilitation, and can accept that people make mistakes they're unlikely to repeat. 

The dark side of social media is that it moves us backwards on this front. It allows permanent imprints of our online lives to be seen by everyone, to the extent where they seem to represent us. Victims of cyberbullying terrified that naked photos of them will be released, or people who make public gaffes on social media, become reduced to and defined by single acts. The mental health deterioration (and sometimes  suicide) that follows these shamings hints at how unnatural it is for single actions to change lives in such disproportionate ways. 

Jon Ronson, author of So you've been publicly shamed, which cleverly links the current culture of internet shaming with a legal past where criminals were shamed indefinitely as criminals for a single illegal act, seems chilled by the prospect of Peeple:

As one review of Ronson's book noted:

As Ronson makes patently clear, all these people’s punishments by far outweighed the gravity of their so-called crimes. In fact, having researched the history of public shaming in America in the Massachusetts Archives, he can only conclude that Lehrer, for one, was humiliated to a degree that would have been thought excessive even in the 18th century, the Puritans of New England having seemingly worked out that to ruin a person in front of his fellows is also to refuse him a second chance in life.

As Ronson explores in his book, extreme public shaming doesn't make us better people, or encourage us not to repeat offend: it shuts us down and exiles us from society in a way that benefits no one. (This makes Peeple's URL – – seem grimly ironic). What Ronson calls "chronic shame" occurs when our regretted actions harden into something far greater, something we allow to become part of ourselves. As Gershen Kaufman, a scholar of shame, notes:  "Shame is the most disturbing experience individuals ever have about themselves; no other emotion feels more deeply disturbing because in the moment of shame the self feels wounded from within."

We also shouldn't be forever defined by a clutch of "good" actions, or people who see some benefit in leaving us gushing reviews. Those who measure their worth through social media come to rely on the endorphins sparked by small online interactions and boosts to their confidence, at the expense of the more slow-burning satisfaction of real life. A single person's thoughts about us are relatively inconsequential, whether positive or negative - but they're given far greater weight on the internet  by virtue of their permanence and publicity.

In Mary Gordon's novella The Rest of Life, a character wishes that someone had told her earlier that "the world is large and will absorb the errors you innocently make". If we're to avoid tearing each other to pieces, we need to make sure that this remains the case. 

Barbara Speed is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman and a staff writer at CityMetric.