Hello! This is a raw-text paste of the huge amount of thoughts I provided for the recent interview with The Guardian - it was written by Simon Parkin, who is superb - so I really recommend you go and read that first. https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2018/sep/08/youtube-stars-burnout-fun-bleak-stressed (This is all copy-pasted via my phone, and I haven't edited it as I would an article - it may be full of errors and it's definitely formatted quite badly. Ta!) *** I first properly got into YouTube after taking a job to head up a channel for a video game website, after working as a print journalist for a couple of years. Now I do my own thing and run a couple of channels, which collectively have just over 150,000 subscribers. It's pretty much a full-time job for me, and has been for just over 5 years. YouTube has been incredible in terms of creating opportunities - with low budget equipment and software I was able to create work that could easily reach thousands of people. Five or six years ago it felt very freeing - a system that allowed quality to naturally find audiences without having to go through gatekeepers. The sheer scale of the numbers you're looking at are the main thing - a handful of written pieces I've worked on have been read by more than a million people, but when videos go viral it's something quite different: one of my earliest, biggest hits was watched 5 million times in just a few days. I'm admittedly wary of that level of success now, and actively try to avoid "going viral" - but the brief explosion of mild internet fame I achieved in 2013 has allowed me some unbelievable freedoms: a small handful of that audience has kindly followed everything else I've done since, and I've managed to shift my YouTube career into something that feels sustainable - both financially and mentally. The channel I worked for blew up pretty quickly - after a handful of viral hits, I kept plugging at creating new regular content. YouTube is very strange in that it's not enough to simply create great things - most audiences expect consistency and frequency. If you're a channel looking to grow, this means both playing to the gallery of the followers you've got as well as pleasing the whims of "the algorithm". As a platform funded by advertising - of which Google take a healthy cut - YouTube's algorithms promote the videos that best suit the needs of those adverts. Because of that, real success on YouTube requires creators to jump through a series of constantly changing hoops: changing the upload frequency and duration of their videos to better align with the current criteria, in the hopes of seeing their work being fed more frequently to users who haven't seen their work before - or even, grimly, having their work being seen more frequently by those who already subscribe to their channels. I find the idea of chasing algorithms a frankly miserable starting point for creative work, however, so whilst I'm acutely aware of how to achieve success on YouTube the process that leads to it seems depressingly dull. There's a bleakly cybernetic tone to it all - sci-fi has mostly presumed that transhumanism would see technology being integrated into humans, but the zeal with which people aim to please algorithms suggests we're going to save a fortune on futuristic surgeries. What we're seeing a lot of these days is people using services like Patreon to get around the requirements of YouTube's algorithms, allowing people to make a living without having to achieve huge amounts of video views. Over the past few years it became a lot tougher for a lot of people to make a living from advertising on YouTube - mainly because the automated algorithms were whacking adverts on fairly inappropriate stuff - it was a Wild West situation, and every gold rush eventually ends. A lot of people have moved over to Twitch, where it's currently much easier to make a bunch of money - but the person costs involved are not insubstantial: there's a real difference between uploading videos and putting yourself out there, live, every day. I think if you're someone who really cares about putting on a good performance, these platforms end up being vampiric - always asking you for just a bit more until you've nothing left to give. For people who really care about their work, it's absolutely an unhealthy ecosystem. The sense that you should always be working is an absolute killer. YouTube very much has its own culture: people talk a lot about the community they have on *their* channel, but in truth YouTube itself *is* the community, and the tone and expectations of that wider community are far from ideal, to say the least. Knowing that working more could earn you more money is a standard freelancer anxiety, but with YouTube it's more the fear that if you take a break you might lose it all. Riding on the wave of success requires consistency, and with a fresh supply of wannabe stars toiling to find an audience on these platforms it's incredibly easy to slip off the radar - to lose favour with the algorithms that gave you your wings. I worry a lot about the health of many young people trying to find success on these platforms today - a nasty side-effect of algorithm-led content creation is that creators themselves are largely disposable: churn until you burn out, get replaced by three people doing the exact same thing. A crucial truth about internet culture that we've yet to fully appreciate, I think, is that human brains really aren't designed to be interacting with hundreds of people every day. When you've got thousands of people giving you direct feedback on your work, you really get the sense that something in your mind somewhere just snaps - we just aren't built to handle empathy and sympathy on scales of that level. Critical feedback is essential for growth - but it also takes time to properly absorb it. When you've got new strangers every day launching into a fresh intervention, your capacity for reflection goes right in the bin. "You aren't making enough videos". "You're wrong." "You used to be funnier." "You've let me down." These comments only represent a tiny fraction of your audience - most of whom will hopefully be positive and supportive - but the human brain is rubbish at numbers: you don't see ten negative bits of feedback as a fraction, you envision ten people you've really disappointed. When this becomes a regular occurrence - and you're already ploughing ahead making the next thing - you don't have the time or capacity to work towards any legitimate sense of closure, so you either get upset or angry and dismissive. A thing I've experienced that seems to be common is the way that your brain gets so used to these negative comments that it starts to automatically invent them while you're working - I suspect it's a kind of self-defence mechanism, helping you to catch potentially contentious aspects of your work, or things that might easily be misinterpreted. I definitely think this process does help with minimising negative feedback in the actual work, but if it means you're still living through the experience of that negativity - despite it being fictional - is that actually any better? One of the great things about supporting my work through Patreon is it allows me to work at a pace that actually provides room for reflection: I currently make one Cool Ghosts video once every two or three months: it's a broadcast-quality show that's deeply strange, and we take as long as we need to create it. It's the best work I've ever done, but I still feel the constant guilt that I'm not doing enough - I'm not working hard enough. Patreon allows people to work without the worry of getting enough views to make money from adverts, but unfortunately just creates a new strain of stress: You look at how much money you're earning every month, and worry that you aren't doing enough work to justify that figure. But the harder you work, the more that figure is likely to increase - so it's an impossible carrot-on-a-stick situation. Even when you're working as hard as you can, it's so easy to feel like you should be doing more. The first time I really experienced burnout was at the end of 2013. I'd taken a YouTube channel from 1,000 subscribers to 90,000 in just under a year, and my work had caught the attention of Charlie Brooker - leading to an incredible opportunity to work on a one-off show about video games. Trying to juggle that alongside my main YouTube job had me working 18-20 hour days for about 3 weeks, after which point I felt exhausted and frazzled in a way that weirdly seemed totally impervious to rest. Looking back now, I'd clearly been burning out for months prior to that: I looked pale, gaunt - my work had become increasingly rushed, increasingly acerbic in tone. Worryingly, this didn't affect my popularity - one of the most toxic things I've discovered about making content online is that the points at which you're breaking down, being slowly consumed by frustration, are the points at which the algorithms love you the most. "Divisive" content is the king of online media in 2018, and YouTube heavily boosts all content that causes people to get riled up. Explaining why you hate stuff gets you 10 times as much traffic as explaining why you love something - but it also means that the commentary you're dealing with is consistently angry. I don't think it's possible to exist in that space without the stress from that negativity bleeding back into your work: Anger is like a virus - it's fantastic for keeping audiences engaged, but it also motivates creators to better serve the algorithm: working and uploading in a rash, rapid fashion. It's why you see YouTube politically so dominated by right-wing creators - introspection, balance, empathy and care are all values diametrically opposed the platform's core values of More and Now. I think it's possible for creators to be maintained by that anger - nourished by the stuff - for months, years, possibly indefinitely. You see that so much on YouTube these days - people who've slipped into a deeply unhealthy place, keeping it together on a weekly basis by channelling that anger into exponential success. It's like one of those coins spinning around those circular charity things - escalating in a loop as they gently slide towards the void. Burnout happens at the point at which you pause, and I think that anger effectively allows people to maintain velocity for quite a long time. Over the past few years burnout has been more frequent and more serious - my wife was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer in 2014, and since then I've been mentally wobbly in a way which is frequently incompatible with living on the internet. Still though, I think I was burning out perfectly well without that - I spent my twenties working ceaselessly, feeling invincible and boundless. And honestly, I was. Right up until the point where I wasn't. I really worry about young people devoting their lives to platforms like YouTube and Twitch - because when you're young? You absolutely can. You've got the energy and focus to work incredibly long hours, you've got very few responsibilities to take your attention away from work, and - perhaps most importantly - you've likely still got a solid social circle, friendships that aren't difficult to maintain. The reality changes sharply when you get a bit older: your energy levels start to flake out, the stress you've put yourself under has started to damage you physically - my thyroid stopped working properly in 2016, and I've developed frequent patches of anxiety and depression. What starts out as being the most fun job imaginable - getting paid to sit and play videogames all day - can slide into something that feels deeply bleak and lonely: sitting alone for hours playing games and making videos is understandably aspirational when you're a teenager, but as an adult it's a cocktail for disastrous mental health. Suddenly in your thirties everyone gets busy - commitments make friendships harder, and the perception of success & having a "dream job" can slightly poison the way that friends treat you - leaving you understandably uneasy about complaining about your situation. It's this social aspect that leads to some of the biggest issues we're seeing with YouTube: if your life becomes so defined by the platform that you don't really have the time for a life outside of it, it's easy to double down on the relationship you have with your audience. This idea of being friends with your fans is inherently unbalanced, and a phenomenal source of power that many take advantage of with incredible cynicism. Perhaps worse than this, though, is the side-effect of creators having largely grown up being socialised within a constant feedback loop: the things you say and do on your channel define the behaviours of your community, but the behaviour of your community also defines your ideas of what is and isn't OK. It's unsurprising to see people who've spent most of their adult lives working on YouTube having automatically hoovered up some awful characteristics and worldviews from the platforms they exist on - it's a factory line that predictably churns out half-baked, bigoted variations of Peter Pan. I'm still trying to learn how to switch off, even now when I've fully escaped the churn. I think once you've immersed yourself fully into the Content-Creation mindset, it becomes pretty hardwired into your head. I'm mainly thankful though that I approached it as an adult - I think that without the wider perspective of previous work, I maybe wouldn't have realised how toxic it was. I think it's definitely possible to be successful without it taking over your life, providing you know what success looks like. If you're brilliant at what you do and you do something unusual, eventually you'll find an audience. If you stay true to what you love and remain honest with the people who love what you do, it's entirely possible to make a decent living without devoting your entire life to this stuff - if you care about your long-term happiness rather than just a short-term boost of cash, I honestly think it's the only real option. I've never had any formal relationship with YouTube itself, but I've never been impressed by the advice it gives creators. Emphasis is always firmly placed on growth - how to boost the size of your audience, how to get the most out of promotion, how best to "engage" with your community. I've always felt deeply uneasy about the way these things sit side by side: spend extra time making your fans feel loved - it's very an effective way of boosting your income. Patreon in many ways has only amplified that, with one popular company going so far as to label those who pay them monthly as their "best friends". It's incredibly cynical behaviour, but even when genuine it doesn't feel healthy - for many creators it seems from afar that their community has effectively become their main support network - that's an awful lot of eggs to put in one basket. We've seen cursory mental health advice popping up on the platform over the last year or so, but it feels far from sincere: encouraging creators to "take a break!" is pretty laughable when coming from the mouth of a system that actively promotes quantity over quality. There's no sense of responsibility for the culture that they've created - no good advice for dealing with the pitfalls that most people will have to deal with. Steady growth is great, for example, but what happens when growth explodes? When something goes viral? On paper that situation is 100% great, but in reality you're suddenly dealing with a vast, new audience - perhaps an audience that differs in tone to the one you're used to. What happens if the size of this new audience actively swamps the community you had before, leaving you suddenly creating videos for an audience you don't necessarily even like? Fame is the toxic by-product of success, and these platforms allow people to achieve fame quite suddenly - the realities of that are a double-edged sword. I think it's important that young people know it's OK to be unhappy whilst also a success: YouTube stars are always loved best when endlessly thankful for how lucky they are, but the harsh truth is that working on YouTube is just another form of job - you're allowed to decide that you actually don't like it, even if everyone you know keeps telling you that you've got the greatest job in the world. If you're not having a great time doing it, there's literally no point in doing it at all - don't let the demands of the audiences of algorithms steer your life into a position where it's no longer fun. It's important to be wary of rapid growth: if 50,000 people suddenly turn up on your YouTube channel, the obvious reaction is to be thankful and thrilled. If 50,000 people turned up outside your house? You'd probably hold off on opening the champagne until you'd worked out why. Finally, recognise that if you become mildly famous - your relationships with those around you will change. Don't let your desire for internet success get in the way of real-life relationships: the impossible-sounding truth about growing older is that it's remarkably easy to go from having loads of friends to realising you've actually only got 4. Being lonely and successful is a terrible combination, and one that seems to creep up on a lot of people without much warning.










