build to enjoy

Apparently, writing more than two sentences without a trending sound is considered vintage now.

We’ve decided that if it doesn’t come with a hook, a hashtag, or a three-second dopamine hit, it’s not worth the time. So somewhere along the way, the humble blog, the personal garage of the internet, got left behind. Everyone moved to short-form content, and the written word got ghosted for the algorithm. But here’s the thing: I think blogs deserve a comeback. Because they didn’t die — we just stopped paying attention.

When the Internet Still Felt Human

There was a time when people wrote online because they actually wanted to say something. Not to optimize, not to monetize, not to “build a funnel.” Just… to connect. Or maybe just to disconnect, to drain their brain.

Blogs were weird, personal, imperfect, and honest. They were the raw version of ourselves — before filters, before metrics, before every opinion needed to fit a brand. You could click into someone’s little corner of the internet and feel them. It was messy, sure, but it was real. It was like walking into someone’s garage and finding a project halfway done, tools everywhere, and a story behind every dent. You didn’t need to follow, subscribe, or engage. You just read — and maybe you left a comment that wasn’t an emoji.

Then the Algorithms Moved In

The rise of social media was like a freeway being built through a small town. At first, everyone loved how fast it made things — the exposure, the reach, the instant gratification. But then the noise got deafening.

Instead of ideas, we started chasing impressions. Instead of connection, we started chasing engagement. The human side of the internet — curiosity, long form thought, individuality — got bulldozed by metrics. And the algorithm doesn’t care about depth; it cares about scroll speed. We traded paragraphs for captions. Stories for slideshows. Opinions for trends. The internet used to feel like a neighborhood. Now it feels like a shopping mall. And nobody even knows what shopping malls are these days either!

The Problem With the Modern Content Machine

Everything we create now exists to perform. If it’s not viral, it’s invisible. If it’s not quick, it’s forgotten. And if it’s not optimized for the almighty algorithm, it’s punished. But the cost of chasing attention is authenticity. Every creator feels the slow death of creative joy when your worth is measured in likes and retention graphs.

A blog, though? A blog doesn’t care. It doesn’t ask you to perform. It asks you to think. It’s slower, deeper, and personal. It’s not designed for infinite consumption — it’s built for connection. Writing a blog post is an act of rebellion in a world that rewards noise. It’s saying, I still believe attention can be earned with substance.

The Case for the Comeback

The internet is starving for authenticity again. You can feel it.

People are tired of being “content consumers.” They want to be participants. They want stories, perspectives, context — not captions written for SEO. Blogs are where you can still do that. They let you breathe. They let you build a thought instead of react to one. When you write a blog, you create something permanent in a digital world built on short-term memory. You build a catalog, not a feed. You’re not shouting into the void; you’re building a library for people who actually care.

The Unpopular Opinion

Blogs aren’t dead. They just evolved into the kind of art form only weirdos, writers, and over-thinkers still love. But I’ll take that over another “Top 5 Things I Learned in 2025” carousel any day. The internet doesn’t need more content. It needs more voices. More stories. More people willing to take the time to craft something instead of chasing everything. Maybe the problem isn’t that blogs died. Maybe the problem is that we stopped writing out our thoughts.

So yeah, maybe writing long-form essays in 2025 makes me the digital equivalent of driving an old car. But that’s kind of the point. Blogs aren’t dead. They’re just analog in a digital world. And some of us still enjoy the analog experience.