I endeavour to avoid checking the likes or statistics of my published work. This is neither a solemn rule nor an act of penance; it is a habit I impose upon myself, as the temptation to check arises several times daily. For a time, I told myself that I do this to avoid writing what is popular rather than what I intend.

Refraining from viewing figures does not isolate me from others. Signals continue to reach me from all directions: the comment and the eloquent silence, who writes to me and who does not, what is proposed to me. There is already a learned understanding of what functions and what does not, an intuition formed by years of observing reactions. Even if I were to conceal every counter in the world, that voice would continue to whisper which topics are of interest. Not looking does not render me deaf; it merely spares me from its most immediate and repetitive form: the number that rises or falls in real time.

It is also easy to turn the act of not checking likes into a badge of honour, a vain demonstration that one is more authentic, more free, and more principled than those who do check them. This is false. Indeed, there exists an entire industry of authenticity, individuals who have made the stance of 'I am one of those who do not sell out' their brand, their most marketable product. Independence can be staged, commercialised, and cultivated as the pose of one who stands above the market precisely to gain more market share. Thus, no, not looking does not make me authentic. At best, it protects me from a specific risk.

The well-known Goodhart’s law, in its popular iteration, states that when a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure. The classic example lies outside of culture: if a central bank monitors an economic indicator and subsequently decides to use that same indicator as a target to be achieved, the indicator becomes distorted because everyone begins to optimise for it rather than pursuing what it was intended to measure. The figure ceases to reflect reality and begins to replace it.

I do not believe that metrics 'corrupt' art. Figures do not automatically corrupt; they introduce an incentive that operates slowly beneath the level of consciousness. It is not that one decides to sell out one day. It is that, without realising it, one begins to feel a slightly greater inclination to write, paint, photograph, or expose oneself regarding what functioned previously, and slightly less regarding what was met with silence. No one forces you; you simply incline yourself. And after a time, your work has shifted towards where the reward lay, without betrayal, merely a long succession of small concessions that, in isolation, meant nothing.

There is prudent research on this subject, not apocalyptic. Studies have examined how creators on platforms develop theories regarding what the algorithm rewards, adapting their topics, frequency, and formats to what they believe generates visibility, sometimes without even knowing if their assumptions about how the system functions are correct. However, these same studies caution two things. First, that the algorithm structures behaviour but does not determine it: people negotiate with it, circumvent it, and utilise it. Second, that adapting is not always selling out. Sometimes it is craftsmanship, learning to communicate, and earning a living with dignity. An artist who adjusts part of their work to their audience may simply be performing their job, not betraying it. Therefore, maintaining that those who monitor the numbers are lost while I am saving myself would be both false and arrogant.

What remains, then, once stripped of the alibi of authenticity and the disdain for those who watch? The figure possesses a poisonous quality; it is immediate, comparable, and arrives before I have finished considering whether what I have done was worthwhile. Setting it aside does not purify me; it merely grants me a little time, a margin in which the judgement of my own work is not dictated by the scoreboard. It is hygiene, not virtue. I guard my attention as one who does not leave a mobile phone on the table while speaking with someone: not because I am a better person, but because I am aware of my own weakness.

A metric may be useful as long as it remains a metric, a signal among others, viewed askance and with suspicion. It becomes dangerous the day it transforms into the end itself, the very reason for undertaking an action. I have not found a way for numbers not to exist, nor do I wish to. It matters to me that I am seen; I merely attempt to ensure those numbers do not arrive so soon or weigh so heavily that they answer, before I do, the only question that interests me: whether this was worth releasing, regardless of who sees it.

On the open conversation

This text originates from a personal habit—not viewing the metrics of what I publish—to consider a matter that exceeds it: what occurs when a measure becomes an objective. I draw upon Goodhart's Law and research into platforms and creative labour, compelling myself to dismantle two comfortable self-deceptions: that not looking frees one from external influence (it does not) and that it proves authenticity (it does not). I do not argue that metrics corrupt, nor that those who monitor them are mistaken; only that, when converted into an end, they decide too prematurely. If anyone wishes to intervene from the perspective of the attention economy, the sociology of platforms, or creative practice, this notebook remains open.

Sources

Goodhart's Law: Charles A. E. Goodhart, 'Problems of Monetary Management: The U.K. Experience' (1975). The popular formulation 'when a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure' derives from subsequent dissemination, associated with Marilyn Strathern, '“Improving ratings”: audit in the British University system', European Review (1997), rather than Goodhart's literal phrasing.

Campbell's Law: Donald T. Campbell, Assessing the Impact of Planned Social Change (1976).

Platformisation of cultural production: David B. Nieborg and Thomas Poell, 'The platformization of cultural production', New Media & Society (2018).

Visibility labour and algorithmic adaptation: Sophie Bishop, 'Managing visibility on YouTube through algorithmic gossip', New Media & Society (2019); Kelley Cotter, 'Playing the visibility game', New Media & Society (2019).

Precarity of creative labour on platforms: Brooke Erin Duffy et al., 'The Nested Precarities of Creative Labor on Social Media', Social Media + Society (2021).

As an analogy, not as a direct foundation: Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann, 'The Spiral of Silence: A Theory of Public Opinion', Journal of Communication (1974); book in English, University of Chicago Press (1984).