The most interesting thing about BuzzFeed Fresh is what it doesn't have

All carrot, all the time.

Buzzfeed has launched Fre.sh, a microsite which shows "the fastest rising stories from the best sites on web". It's a neat little site, and could well make it on the home pages of a lot of people: 50 stories are listed, with just the headline and a little icon showing the source. The rank is determined by how fast the story is spreading, so the link at the top is the fastest rising story; and the size of the text reflects how much traffic it's getting.

So at a glance you can tell that Salon's story about being "a liberal mole at Fox News" is the fastest rising story, although the Mail's write-up of the Chinese baby being flushed away is getting significantly more traffic:

But that's not the most interesting thing about the site. Because rather than looking at what it has, look at what it doesn't have: a single advert. Instead, as best I can tell, the business case for Fre.sh is contained in a little line at the bottom:

Hey publishers! To add your site to Fre.sh, join the BuzzFeed Network.

That may change over time; the project is clearly marked as being from Buzzfeed Labs, so it's a release-fast-and-iterate job. But the Buzzfeed Network is the site's most under-discussed weapon, and as it stands, Fre.sh is a massive carrot being waved under the noses of any publisher which has yet to sign up.

The deal Buzzfeed offers publishers is that if they sign up as a partner, Buzzfeed will link to their stories from the front page (under "hot on the web" – though curiously, the "hot" stories aren't the same as the "fresh" ones) and in a few of the main content slots. What Buzzfeed gets in return is tracking information from the partners. It's a win-win! The partners get loads of lovely traffic, and Buzzfeed gets the thing that any web-native company craves more than anything else – data.

So much data, in fact, that they can now tell their partners which of their stories are rising fastest – something that, I'd imagine, at least some of the partners can't do themselves. Buzzfeed now knows how many of its readers also click around the Daily Mail, and how many of them get their "real" news from the Guardian.

All that data pays back back to the site's native advertising model. That's the part of Buzzfeed which all the ink has been spilled over: the sponsored posts engineered for "viral lift" and ideally indistinguishable from the site's normal content

Because sure, advertisers will pay to speak to what they think of as Buzzfeed's audience; but they'll pay a lot more when they realise that they're speaking to a significant chunk of the NYT's readers, without even having to pay the NYT's rates. And the more partners Buzzfeed has, the more they can eat other organisations' lunches without them even knowing.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

Tracey Thorn. CRedit: Getty
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“Not technically beautiful, she has an engaging laugh”: 35 years of being described by men

For women in music, being described most of the time by men is just par for the course.

I am sure you all saw the Twitter challenge that took off the other day – a request to women to “describe yourself like a male author would”, started by the writer Whitney Reynolds. There were thousands of hilarious replies, with women imagining how a bad male author would describe them. I thought about posting an example, but then realised, I didn’t have to imagine this. I’ve been being described by male journalists for more than 35 years.

Katy Waldman in the New Yorker wrote about the challenge, and how it highlighted clichés in men’s writing: “…prose that takes conspicuous notice of a female character’s physical imperfections. This is done with an aura of self-satisfaction, as if the protagonist deserves credit simply for bestowing his descriptive prowess upon a person of less than conventional loveliness.”

And oh boy, that hit home. Yes, I thought, that is precisely how I’ve been described, too many times to recall, so many times that I’ve actually sort of stopped noticing. The following aren’t direct quotes, but near enough.

“Not conventionally pretty, Thorn nevertheless somehow manages to be curiously attractive.” “Her face may not be technically beautiful but she has an engaging laugh.” “Her intelligence shines through the quirky features.” Often what’s irritating isn’t the hint of an insult, but just being wide of the mark. “She isn’t wearing any make-up” (oh my god, of course she is). “She’s wearing some kind of shapeless shift” (it’s Comme des Garçons FFS).

I’m not trying to arouse sympathy. I’m much thicker-skinned than you may imagine, hence surviving in this business for so long. But the point is, for women in music, being described most of the time by men is just par for the course.

A few weeks ago, when I was in Brussels and Paris doing interviews, I was taken aback all over again by the absence of female journalists interviewing me about my album – an album that is being described everywhere as “nine feminist bangers”. As the 14th man walked through the door, my heart slightly sank. I feel like a bore banging on about this sometimes, but it astonishes me that certain aspects of this business remain so male-dominated.

Even the journalists sometimes have the good grace to notice the anomaly. One youngish man, (though not that young) told me I was only the third woman he had ever interviewed, which took my breath away. I look at my playlists of favourite tracks over the last year or so, and they are utterly dominated by SZA, Angel Olsen, Lorde, St Vincent, Mabel, Shura, Warpaint, Savages, Solange, Kate Tempest, Tove Lo, Susanne Sundfør, Janelle Monáe, Jessie Ware and Haim, so there certainly isn’t any shortage of great women. I’ve been asked to speak at a music event, and when I was sent the possible line-up I couldn’t help noticing that over three days there were 56 men and seven women speaking. The final bill might be an improvement on that, but still. Any number of music festivals still operate with this kind of mad imbalance.

Is it down to the organisers not asking? Or, in the case of this kind of discussion event, women often feeling they don’t “know” enough? It’s a vicious circle, the way that men and their music can be so intimidating. The more you’re always in the minority, the more you feel like you don’t belong. Record shops seemed that way to me when I was a teen, places where guys hung out and looked at you like you didn’t know your Pink Floyd from your Pink Flag.

I also have to watch songs of mine being described by male writers, and sometimes misinterpreted. I’ve got one called “Guitar” on my new record. There’s a boy in the lyrics, but he’s incidental – it’s a love song to my first Les Paul copy. That fact has sailed over the heads of a couple of male reviewers who’ve seen it as a song all about a boy.

That’s the trouble, isn’t it? You miss things when you leave women out, or view female characters through the prism of their attractiveness, or when you take for granted that you’re at the centre of every story, every lyric. I bet you think this piece is about you. 

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 18 April 2018 issue of the New Statesman, Enoch Powell’s revenge