When the Gifted Log Off: Why the Digital Economy Rests on the Shoulders of the Few
From insight to consequences to reckoning
The digital economy appears as frictionless, infinite, powered by code and data. Beneath the sleek architecture of platforms and algorithms lies a truth that rarely makes it into earnings calls or tech manifestos: The digital world runs on the backs of gifted humans.
The journalists, authors, artists, writers, thinkers, musicians, and communications professionals—the 5% of all adults and all professions who don’t just generate content, but generate meaning. Their work gives form to emotion, language to feeling, texture to modern life. They are the signal in the static. The originators. The ones whose presence online makes these platforms worth visiting in the first place.
It is this specific, small group who shape meaning, craft culture, and carry the emotional weight of what it means to be alive in a time like this.
They are the gifted professionals, communicators, and idea people whose output fuels engagement, feeds algorithms, and fills screens. They are the signal in the noise. They are the irreplaceables.
Most of them have been giving their work away, with no income, for years and especially so in the past 20 years. Journalists watched as more than 2000 newspapers shut down since we got our journalism degree, but still we write, although often with little or no pay. We give while others prosper.
The Illusion of the Gift Economy
Many of the largest tech platforms were built on a subtle deception: That they were simply spaces for friends, for fun, for sharing. That they ran on goodwill and creativity. That participation was mutual.
But as Jaron Lanier wrote, The real foundation of the Internet is businesses that pretend to be gift exchanges. Behind every “friend,” “share,” and “like” is a company designed to extract attention and monetize the very things people offer freely.
The problem isn’t with gift exchange, which is a building block of all societies, and underpins our relationships of love, trust, and friendship. The evil only emerges in that gray zone where transaction-driven traders pretend they operate on those compassionate values while counting every penny back in their lavish headquarters.
The cruel truth of the internet is that the gifted contribute to the digital world (often for free) only to see their gifts quickly appropriated by others who, like the buyers and sellers in the temple, debase everything they touch. The gift gets turned into a commodity and is used by these merchants for self-serving interests and financial gain.
What we call content is often the unpaid labor of the gifted. Every story, article, poem, original joke, and photograph that started with one human and connected with another human—that’s what we’re talking about.
Platforms harvest this original, human genius and labor to train algorithms, populate feeds, and sell ads. What they don’t do is pay the people who make their platforms meaningful.
Collapse Doesn’t Begin with a Bang—It Begins with Silence
The gifted aren’t angry. We are not organizing a strike. There’s no protest trending.
We’re just... stopping.
We are publishing less.
Pulling back.
Building paywalled newsletters.
Building private member communities.
Releasing work on our terms.
Opting for live performance, private workshops, inner circle meet-ups, and slower models of engagement.
It’s not performative rebellion. It’s self-preservation.
The effect is noticeable. Scroll long enough and you’ll feel it:
The rise of recycled content, bland AI mimicry, and synthetic connection.
The cultural thinning of the digital world.
What Happens When the Gifted Go Elsewhere?
What happens when journalists no longer post their stories online for free?
When musicians stop giving away unreleased tracks just to “stay visible”?
When writers choose not to serial-publish their best ideas on threads, reels, and YouTube?
When communicators say less, or say more and better behind just for gatherings of paid subscribers?
The platforms continue, technically. But their value erodes.
Because their value was never really the tech.
It was the people you came for. And most of them were underpaid, under-credited, and overexposed.
The Unsustainable Business Model of Not Paying for Culture
The truth no one wants to admit is that the fortunes of the digital economy depend on gifts—and not just any gifts, but high-quality, irreplaceable, human ones.
These are not commodities.
They can’t be scaled infinitely.
And they certainly can’t be replicated by AI, which is trained on the very archives these same creators built.
When you base your business model on unpaid, unreciprocated labor from your most talented contributors, you are planting the seeds of collapse. Not dramatic collapse, but a slow, cultural implosion.
A loss of relevance.
A loss of trust.
A loss of signal.
A Time for Reckoning, Not Rage
We were not forced to participate in the digital age, but good luck trying to find another way to survive as a gifted or creative person.
This is not a call to boycott. It is not a manifesto of rage. It is an observation, as natural and inevitable as fatigue.
Gifted people—those who create out of compulsion, empathy, vision, and precision—are waking up. Many already have. They’re tired of creating under pretenses. Tired of feeding a system that does not know how to say thank you, let alone write a check.
What happens when the gifted stop giving? Not the end of the Internet. But the end of the Internet as we know it—a place that pretended to be a community, while acting like a factory. A place that mimicked the village square but hid a turnstile at every entrance.
The platforms will not collapse in flames. They will collapse into irrelevance, as the gifted professionals and communicators take their gifts somewhere else.
This isn’t a call to burn it all down. It’s a quiet noticing.
Gifted humans are no longer pretending that platforms are communities. They know there is hard work in building a brand community that is safe and mutually beneficial to all who become members.
We are no longer mistaking exposure for equity.
We are no longer creating for metrics we didn’t invent.
Some of us will find new ways to connect with audiences, collaborators, patrons. Others will retreat from visibility entirely. Most will make fewer things, but with greater ownership.
What we won’t do is endlessly fuel systems that never loved us back.
The Next Space Is Smaller, Wiser, and Possibly Better
If it feels like something is shifting online, it is.
You’re not imagining the emptiness.
The gifted professionals and communicators are leaving, or reimagining how they show up. The economy that ran on their gifts is beginning to lose its magic.
We’re entering the next chapter—where the gifted don’t disappear, but reclaim.
Not to save the internet. But to save themselves.
This is why we saw the need and built the private membership community for gifted professionals and communicators. We are about the transformation of humans and not exploitations and transactions that kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.
Substack on one element of our community and yes, it’s a platform we don’t own. So far, Substack is leading the way on attracting professional journalists, writers, and communicators and working with gifted adults to compensate them as well or better than the full-time position they had prior to launching their Substack publication.
So far, Substack has discouraged AI usage for writing by asking all publication owners to declare their professional practices that use AI robots. That’s all AI, all forms and no wiggling from the truth. It seems that AI can generate content, and that’s a fool’s perception. AI still mimics us. Without authentic human culture to learn from, AI becomes noise.
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I especially liked “a place that pretended to be a community…that mimicked the village square but hid a turnstile at every entrance.” Beautiful prose around a heavily pregnant thesis.