When I tell people I am "back on Tumblr," I laugh. That laughter is saturated with self-mockery— I’m doing this totally uncool thing, can you believe it??
"Tumblr is still alive???" Is the usual response.
Tumblr, as the rumors go, is dead. Especially after the 2018 ban on NSFW content that saw a decrease in 20% unique monthly users. I thought it would have been phased out like Xanga and other platforms. Instead, I found a community that is not just alive, but thriving.
In “The Ever-Mutating Life of Tumblr Dot Com,” Allegra Rodenberg writes,
Tumblr isn’t quite following the template of slow-burn decline that characterized the steady evaporation of platforms like MySpace and LiveJournal, in which an exodus of users over time left behind so many dormant blogs and broken links— abandoned ruins of formerly populous and active communities. Contrary to expectations, Tumblr users have stuck around en masse, making the kind of sardonic posts the platform’s long been known for, all the while feeling like survivors in a post-apocalyptic landscape.
It had been over ten years since I last logged in. I found three accounts, two of which I had completely forgotten about, each dedicated to something different. I started a new account, this time for fun and giggles. In private, I called it “where my internet self goes to die.” My Tumblr dashboard now is a hodgepodge of things I like— moody oil paintings of ladies in parasols, blackout poetry, monochrome Harry Potter fanart, fragments from Anaïs Nin’s journals, micro-stories from aspiring writers, unhinged Jane Austen shitposts, high-res photos of mysterious fungi, Neil Gaiman answering asks from fans, writing advice, and writing prompts (Writeblr! It's a thing. )
Tumblr is known as the space where fans gather and share, well, fan stuff. However, to say that it consists of mostly fan accounts for franchises is an over-simplification. The site is a space for liking stuff— anything from gardening, to League of Legends, 19th-century fine art, or LGBTQ fiction— and finding communities that share that interest.
The accounts I follow tend to resonate with the strange, weird, and unexplained. Have you seen vintage Halloween costumes? Oh, what if it were the house haunting the ghost instead? Did you know about whale penis museums? I looked up definitions of "cryptid" and "eldritch" because they appear so frequently on my dash. The Tumblr I’ve curated is witchy and literary and fannish. @tockthewatchdog insists, with the deadpan sincerity of millennial humor, "I am participating in the premiere literary salon of strange women. We are inventing the culture."
In a morning’s scroll, usually over breakfast, my eyes consume Mary Karr poetry, LOTR fanart but “make it Studio Ghibli,” and photos of freshly baked flatbread set upon a rustic table arrangement. I laugh for the millionth time over the stupefying sublimity that is “the Delaware post," and close the app, content— the guilt-free effect of curating subjects that make me happy.
Yet I began to notice something. A certain language that creeps up, startling in its sameness.
Tumblrites seem to love hating the site. There is a dripping disdain being wielded, like Legolas beholding the repulsiveness of an orc that is also somehow his pet. In the social currency of this little digital hothouse, there is cachet in complaining about its deficiencies, in language that straddles affection and abuse.
Beneath the verbal insults is a general consensus that Tumblr is a terrible website. The search function does not search. Pages don’t load. User bios are inexplicably eaten up. Despite (or because of?) the porn ban, there seems to be a stubborn and perplexing incursion of pornbots. Posts that you've liked incomprehensibly lose their red-hearted symbols. Notifications inform you you have 38 new followers when you only have 6.
When the Tumblr logo one day turned into a pink snowglobe, users were baffled. Was this a new thing or was the site broken again? It looked like a new feature— but why?? It was so meaningless. What about all the other problems this website has?
It seems a rite of passage to slam the site. Casual insults about “this hellhole” or "shithole" sprinkle my Tumblr-blue dashboard like dandelion fuzz. Users refer to Tumblr as a “hellsite” so much the company has, in a move that has inspired both disgust and awe, used it to brand themselves on Apple’s App Store.
Reactions to this were a mix of “lol #truth” and "whoa Tumblr is getting meta" but also "you mean hellsite (derogatory) right?"
I became interested in this scorn— the derisive name-calling that channeled so much Mean Girls energy. There was an intriguing incongruity. The disdain for the general bugginess of the website seemed to come hand-in-hand with something else— some kind of gruff, reluctant affection.
I spent way too much time in the rabbithole that is the tag #hellsite, and perversely adored posts complaining about the site’s problems— Sigh the features are broken again, Tumblr. Why are texts overlapping?? Why are private posts not private?? Hey wtf group chats are suddenly gone?? @staff please explain why notes are double-offset. Wow the uncanny feeling seeing that “@adhd-unicorn liked your post” when you are @adhd-unicorn and have no recollection doing so. Hold up we're talking to the void 'cause duh, Tumblr has no staff. The site was made by three raccoons in a basement, remember?
Not only is Tumblr not dead, it seems like it can’t die. When Facebook, Instagram, and Whatsapp was down for six whole hours, most of the world freaked out. Meanwhile, Tumblrites celebrated the deadweight, non-biodegradable entity that is their site. @grocerystoredean said, "our hubris is unimaginable. watching the other sites topple like dominos and feeling like icarus but if icarus' wings were made of oopsie sowwy this page isn't working messages."
Like the undead, Tumblr lurches inexorably on.
There was something behind the accusations and complaints, some kind of weird pride and stubborn joy. I wondered if they were related— the scorn and pride— different sides of the same coin.
Beng read an early draft of this piece. “I didn’t know Tumblr had so many problems.”
“Yeah, it’s great!” I automatically replied.
There are upsides, it seems, to having a sucky site. And those upsides are community without the pressures that make social media terrible. Which begs the question— must social media sites and apps be crappy to be healthy? For many Tumblr users, the answer seems to be a resounding👏🏻yes👏🏻.
One doesn't have to divulge much personal information to be active on Tumblr. I don't know what countries the people behind the accounts I follow are based in. Nor can I place a face to their posts—Tumblr is mostly sarcastic usernames with Google Images as profile pictures. I don't see close-up videos of the bubbling mala hot pot dinner I wasn't invited to, or the streamlined, nude-toned baby accessories that adorn a peer's newly renovated nursery.
@biblioprincessdalian doesn't actually like Tumblr. But he/she/they is a "twenty-something young professional in a really formal and prestigious field," who woke up one morning and "wrote a draft of 400 words of meta about a cartoon character, and like where the fuck else am I suppose to post that? Facebook? Twitter? You can't post about anime on Facebook. People use their actual photos there. I need somewhere to be weird in peace where there aren't any employers."
All this anonymity makes Tumblr a terrible place to try and gain social capital. There are zero celebrities here. Except, as Tumblrinas like to point out, Neil Gaiman, a reassuring Big-Name presence. Day after relentless day, he replies asks about Good Omens and Sandman, and graciously receives praise for Coraline. If he's having a "bad writing day," he lets the Writeblr community know that arid creative days happen, and advises writers to normalize them. @cryoverkiltmilk quips reverentially, "@neil-gaiman is our only link to the real world."
What Tumblr loses in celebrities, it makes up with amateur academics. Paleontologists and astrophysicists who hate Twitter and have retreated to the safer virtual pastures of Tumblr to graze. They gift mutuals with geeky did you know that the moon is moving away from Earth? facts or people think Tiffany is a modern name but it’s actually pretty old, and wouldn’t be out of place in a story set in 12th-century Europe. No one’s trying to advance a career here. For them, Tumblr is an unserious, low-stakes way to nerd out about the subjects they love.
Each time I log on, I find myself strangely comforted by the anonymity. It’s not like anonymity doesn't have toxic tendencies— cyberbullying and targeted harassment are legitimate, very worrying issues that cause emotional hurt, loss of confidence, and social alienation. Charges of being a TERF, verified or not, get someone immediately chased off the site. Emotionally-charged fan wars still mar the climate.
But facelessness on Tumblr also allows me to inhabit a particular version of myself free to actively love uncool things; things that would automatically lose me cultural capital anywhere else. No one can see the posts I like! In an age of ubiquitous social media, where people increasingly ‘brand’ themselves into a static stamp of identity, it’s hard to accept that someone who loves the intellectual complexities of Jacques Derrida’s deconstructive work can also love the unhinged strangeness of Over the Garden Wall, and have a particular delight for Naruto coffeeshop fanfics.
In this digital neighborhood, identities have space to shapeshift. There is little pressure to gain as many followers as possible, or curate a life on perpetual display. @replicated says gratefully, "tumblr is social media for people who don't exist."
It was stunning to realize that Tumblr's general incompetence as a social media site makes its users feel safe. Its bewildering inability to monetize itself is both charming and bizarre. There are whole accounts dedicated to mocking the strange, irrelevant ads that users see. There isn't the helplessness of knowing that data about you and your personal life is feeding an algorithmic infrastructure larger than most people are able to comprehend. Instead, I get ads for senior rebates. Or a grammatically confounding, "This Simple Trick Empties Almost Immediately Your Bowels Every Morning." Or Halloween costumes for the pet goat I don’t have— the low-quality clickbait ad featured a beleaguered goat in a brown felt eight-legged spider suit. No, I don't know why.
Tumblr needs to earn a profit somehow. But when it beta-tested Post+, a subscription tool that allows creators to make some of their posts exclusive to paid subscribers, with the company taking a cut of the price, the backlash was tremendous. I watched, slack-jawed, as what seemed the entirety of Tumblr, generally a peaceful little aquarium, rose in protest, united in its hate.
For many users, the site is one of the last bastions of the Internet where people can connect without paywalls or engage in unhealthy popularity contests. So all they want is to be left alone, thank you very much. @selaphiel-live cheers, "tumblr is dead and that's great." No Russian hackers here! Or important people! Or corporate spies! Or wannabe-influencers!
Post+ has been implemented, much to the disgruntlement of many. Yet recently I have noticed more accounts on Tumblr sending careful feelers to followers— "i hate it, but would anyone be interested if I did Post+?" The difficulty of monetizing art on Tumblr is a big problem. Content creators link to Ko-Fis and Patreons for income. @ambrosial-sunshine writes, "Trying to be popular on tumblr is like running for mayor of Whoville."
On some level, users know the company needs to earn money in order to survive in the long run. But the possibility of Tumblr getting slicker, better, and more profitable fills them with anxiety, because it means sacrificing the carefully constructed cultural greenhouse that currently exists. Where the humidity is just right and the love for Jean-Luc Nancy’s highbrow language or Reylo fanart gets enough sun and isn't vulnerable to environmental pests like nosy colleagues or clairvoyant ads.
And so when the app functions well, people get concerned.
There is, I realized, a vague, inchoate fear that, like the far-off anxiety of climate change, an impending disaster is already well underway—in the form of frictionless algorithmic feeds no one asked for, as well as too many farseeing eyeballs. And that users are helpless to effect any kind of change because it is already too late.
This anxiety is oddly moving. It reveals a childlike struggle to name something that’s hard to put into words, and comes hand-in-hand with a fierce protectiveness over the sanctity of this online space with the buggy interface and app updates that make the app worse. Where nothing really matters— except the things you like.
Mocking Tumblr as a “hellsite" is a talisman for warding off the fear of capitalist encroachment— the hypervigilance of a demographic that feels an amorphous sense that something is terribly wrong with how predatory the online act of seeking community has become, and is holding on nervously to a ramshackle space miraculously free from those problems. It feels like, in this tiny slice of cyberspace, where things don't work, connections can be made without the sinking feeling of being appropriated by a capitalist value system.
The scorn is a performance of self-awareness about the transient nature of the digital world. The derision— shithole, dumpsterfire— is a dark humor reflex, channeling some internalized collective judgment that tells me I’d be a fool to love this site. That it is only a matter of time before Corporations and Silicon Valley or something else Big and Important monetize it, and connection online will once again be characterized by a vague uneasiness that life doesn't seem to belong to me anymore.
There is, it seems to say, nowhere else for me to go on this vast ocean of Internet, where I can be myself and engage with others, without the dangers of being perceived, judged, or surveillanced. Here, I am free from insidious promoted posts, or automatically-playing videos of barely-dressed teens dancing. No one has to see my face, and I don't have to see theirs. I can be connected without feeling the existential trepedition that comes with giving too much of myself away.
Rodenberg observes that Tumblr now is “a self-sustaining ecosystem. It’s a semi-sealed and increasingly fertile terrarium, a nigh-impossible perpetual-motion machine of a platform going productively psychotic in its isolation.”
So yes, Tumblr is dead, and users couldn't be happier. In fact, they would like it to stay dead, please. In this aesthetic echo chamber of #cottagecore and dark academia, in between the nonchalent site-shaming and hunkering down in a precarious digital bomb shelter, something about the cringe feels countercultural and—dare I say it?—a little bit like resistance.