The Musings of Jaime David
The Musings of Jaime David
@jaimedavid.blog@jaimedavid.blog

The writings of some random dude on the internet

1,175 posts
1 follower

Tag: internet trends

  • Stop Turning Private Facebook Groups Public

    Stop Turning Private Facebook Groups Public

    There is a trend on Facebook that drives me absolutely insane, and it seems to happen over and over again. A group starts out private. People join it because it is private. The privacy is literally part of the appeal. The group grows. The community develops. People become comfortable posting there. They share opinions, stories, frustrations, hobbies, interests, and sometimes personal experiences that they would never throw onto a fully public page. Then one day, out of nowhere, the admins decide to flip a switch and make the group public.

    Why?

    Seriously, why?

    I do not understand this obsession some Facebook group owners seem to have with taking something that was intentionally private and turning it into a public spectacle. If I wanted to post in a public group, I would have joined a public group. The fact that it was private was the entire point.

    What makes this especially frustrating is that private groups create a different atmosphere. People interact differently when they know their posts are being shared within a contained community. It is not that they are hiding something. It is that they understand context matters. A private group feels more like a conversation among members. A public group feels like standing in the middle of a crowded street with a megaphone.

    The difference is huge.

    When people join a private group, they often do so with the expectation that discussions are largely staying within the walls of that community. Sure, nothing on the internet is ever truly private, but there is still a meaningful distinction between a group that requires membership to view content and one where literally anyone can browse through posts without joining. That distinction matters.

    Yet somehow, some admins seem to reach a point where they decide visibility is more important than community.

    Suddenly, growth becomes the priority.

    Suddenly, engagement becomes the priority.

    Suddenly, attracting outsiders becomes the priority.

    And the people who originally joined because the group was private get completely ignored.

    It feels like a bait and switch.

    You join one thing and end up getting another.

    Imagine signing up for a small local club because you like the atmosphere, only for the organizers to eventually tear down all the walls and invite the entire city to wander through whenever they want. At that point, it is not really the same club anymore.

    The thing that annoys me the most is how often this decision gets justified as if it is automatically positive.

    “We want more visibility.”

    “We want more people to discover us.”

    “We want to grow the community.”

    Okay.

    Not every community needs to grow forever.

    Not every group needs to become massive.

    Not every corner of the internet needs to optimize itself for maximum exposure.

    Sometimes smaller is better.

    Sometimes limited access is better.

    Sometimes privacy is better.

    Why is that such a difficult concept for people to understand?

    There seems to be this modern internet mentality that everything must constantly expand. Every page must gain followers. Every channel must gain subscribers. Every group must gain members. Every community must become bigger than it was yesterday.

    But bigger does not always mean better.

    In fact, many times it means worse.

    As groups get larger, discussions become less personal. The sense of familiarity disappears. More trolls show up. More arguments happen. More spam appears. More low-effort content floods the feed. More outsiders enter who do not understand the culture that originally made the group enjoyable.

    The very thing that attracted people in the first place starts disappearing.

    I have seen this happen repeatedly.

    A niche group starts out great.

    People know each other.

    Conversations are interesting.

    There is a sense of trust.

    Then growth becomes the obsession.

    The group explodes in size.

    The atmosphere changes.

    The quality drops.

    The original members start leaving.

    And everyone acts surprised when the community is no longer what it once was.

    Well, what did you expect?

    You changed the entire structure of the environment.

    Of course things changed.

    What really gets me is that many group admins seem to underestimate how much privacy itself is a feature.

    Privacy is not merely a setting.

    Privacy is part of the product.

    Privacy is part of the experience.

    Privacy is part of what people are signing up for.

    When you remove that, you are not simply tweaking a setting. You are fundamentally altering the nature of the group.

    Some people join support groups because they are private.

    Some people join hobby groups because they are private.

    Some people join local community groups because they are private.

    Some people join discussion groups because they do not want every random stranger on Facebook reading their posts.

    These are perfectly reasonable preferences.

    Yet they often get treated as an afterthought.

    The assumption seems to be that everyone should be excited about increased visibility.

    I am not.

    A lot of people are not.

    If anything, the internet has become increasingly exhausting because everything is public.

    Every opinion becomes content.

    Every discussion becomes content.

    Every interaction becomes content.

    Every conversation becomes something that can be screenshotted, shared, reposted, and spread beyond its original context.

    Private groups offer at least some relief from that.

    Or at least they are supposed to.

    Then they get turned public.

    And suddenly the thing that made them appealing is gone.

    Another thing that bothers me is the lack of respect for existing members when these decisions are made.

    Sometimes admins will post an announcement.

    Sometimes they will not.

    Sometimes they act like it is no big deal.

    But it is a big deal.

    People joined under one set of expectations.

    Changing those expectations deserves serious consideration.

    At the very least, there should be meaningful input from the members.

    At the very least, there should be transparency.

    At the very least, there should be recognition that some people specifically chose the group because of its privacy settings.

    Instead, it often feels like a top-down decision where members are expected to simply accept it.

    Well, maybe they do not want to accept it.

    Maybe they joined for a reason.

    Maybe privacy was not some minor detail buried in the fine print.

    Maybe it was the entire selling point.

    And honestly, I am tired of seeing it happen.

    Every time I find a good group, there is this lingering concern in the back of my mind.

    Will this stay private?

    Or is it eventually going to follow the same pattern?

    Because I have watched it happen enough times that it feels predictable.

    The group gets bigger.

    Admins start talking about growth.

    More people arrive.

    The idea of going public gets floated.

    Then eventually it happens.

    And another private space disappears.

    It is frustrating because the internet already has an abundance of public spaces.

    There is no shortage of places where anybody can walk in and see everything.

    Those spaces already exist.

    They are everywhere.

    Private groups are one of the few alternatives.

    So why keep eliminating them?

    Why keep converting them into the exact thing they were supposed to be different from?

    Not every community needs to chase visibility.

    Not every community needs to chase metrics.

    Not every community needs to become an open-access attraction.

    Some communities work precisely because they are more contained.

    Some communities work precisely because members feel comfortable.

    Some communities work precisely because there is a barrier to entry.

    That barrier is not always a bad thing.

    In many cases, it is the reason the group functions well in the first place.

    And yes, I know admins technically have the right to run their groups however they want.

    That is not really the point.

    The point is that just because you can do something does not mean it is a good idea.

    The point is that if people joined because the group was private, maybe respect that.

    Maybe recognize that privacy is valuable.

    Maybe understand that not everyone wants maximum exposure.

    Maybe stop treating public visibility as the ultimate goal of every online community.

    Because for some of us, it is not.

    For some of us, the entire appeal is that the group is not public.

    For some of us, the appeal is having a space that feels at least somewhat separated from the endless performance culture that dominates social media.

    For some of us, the appeal is being able to participate without feeling like every comment is being broadcast to the entire internet.

    And when a private group suddenly goes public, that appeal disappears.

    So to the Facebook group admins who keep doing this, I have a simple request.

    Stop.

    Just stop.

    If the group started private, maybe leave it private.

    If people joined because it was private, maybe respect that.

    If the community works as a private community, maybe do not fix what is not broken.

    The internet already has more public spaces than anyone could ever reasonably use. Not everything needs to become one more public stage.

    Sometimes a private group should stay exactly what it was meant to be.

    Private.

  • This Post (Wont Delete Now or Ever)

    This Post (Wont Delete Now or Ever)

    There’s a trend going around on the internet these days, one that’s so painfully obvious and, honestly, kind of pathetic, that it’s almost laughable. You know what I’m talking about. Folks post something, maybe something serious, maybe something dumb, and then they tack on a little note at the end, something like “will delete soon” or “might delete later.” And it’s everywhere. Social media, blogs, forums, even meme pages. Everywhere you look, someone is trying to say something, but not really, and then they reassure you that this will disappear, that it won’t last, that they’re not really committing to it. And that’s the thing—it’s such a transparent move that it’s almost insulting to anyone who reads it.

    Here’s my take. If you’re going to post something, just post it. Stand by it. Don’t put a half-hearted disclaimer at the end like you’re protecting yourself from your own words or from the judgment of others. It’s cowardly. Plain and simple. This whole “will delete soon” thing? It’s not clever. It’s not edgy. It’s a flimsy attempt to shield yourself from consequences that, let’s be real, are inevitable anyway. The internet doesn’t forget. Nothing is ever truly deleted. Screenshots exist. Backups exist. Archives exist. Whatever you post, it lives on in one form or another. So when someone says “I’ll delete this soon,” they’re lying. They know it. And you know it. Everybody knows it. It’s a performance, not a statement.

    And here’s what it really says about people. It says that they’re scared. It says that they’re uncertain. It says that they don’t trust themselves or their own judgment enough to put something out into the world and stand by it. That’s the root of it. It’s not a fun, quirky trend—it’s fear wrapped in a digital post. Fear of being judged, fear of being wrong, fear of being hated, fear of simply being seen. And maybe that fear is understandable, in a general sense, because we all live in a world where every opinion can be critiqued endlessly online. But that doesn’t make it noble. It makes it weak. It makes it hesitant. It makes it dishonest. And I can’t help but roll my eyes when I see it.

    Because here’s the truth: if you don’t know what you want to say, don’t say it. There’s no shame in silence. There’s no shame in waiting until you’ve figured out your words. But if you do know, if you do have something to express, then own it. Post it. Make your statement. And then leave it there. Don’t hedge it with a promise to retract, don’t dilute it with a wink, don’t try to sneak it past the world under the guise of impermanence. It’s not a trick. It’s not clever. It’s not protection. It’s a lack of conviction.

    Think about it this way. The people who constantly add these disclaimers, the “will delete soon” crowd—they’re putting the focus on themselves rather than the content. The content doesn’t matter as much as the self-preservation. And isn’t that kind of sad? It’s as if they can’t let their words exist without simultaneously trying to control how others interact with them. They’re trying to cheat the system of social interaction online, trying to have the experience of posting without ever being vulnerable. But vulnerability, however scary, is where authenticity comes from. Without it, your posts are hollow. They’re not statements—they’re props.

    And let’s be honest: posting is a risk. Saying something, anything, puts you out there. It opens you up to agreement, disagreement, ridicule, praise, criticism. That’s unavoidable. You can’t opt out of it while still participating fully. So when people write “will delete soon,” they’re essentially trying to opt out after opting in. It’s a paradox. And the paradox is only funny if you step back far enough to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but mostly it’s just irritating. It’s irritating because it clutters conversations with half-measures, weak opinions, and shallow performances. And it trains other people to do the same, which, in the end, erodes the quality of discourse anywhere it spreads.

    I’ve seen this happen over and over. Someone posts something important, meaningful even, but then they bury it under a digital shrug, a “don’t take this seriously, I might delete it.” And what happens? People don’t take it seriously. People ignore it. The post is undermined before it even has a chance to exist. And that’s the problem with this trend in general—it’s self-sabotage disguised as humility, disguised as cleverness. It’s the worst kind of attention-seeking because it’s attention-seeking while pretending not to be. It’s manipulation without courage, and it’s everywhere.

    So, if you ask me, the opposite approach is the one worth taking. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Post it. Leave it. Let it exist. Let people engage with it, positively or negatively, but let it exist. Don’t hedge. Don’t promise deletion. Don’t protect yourself from imaginary consequences that are going to find you anyway. The internet doesn’t forget. Nothing truly goes away. So the real bravery is in saying something knowing it will stay, knowing it will be judged, knowing it will be seen, and still posting it anyway. That’s integrity. That’s authenticity. And yes, it’s scarier than tacking on a little “will delete soon” note, but it’s worth it.

    The “wont delete now or ever” approach, which is exactly what I’m doing here, is not just a joke about a trend—it’s a statement about how to exist online with your words intact. It’s about taking responsibility for what you put out. It’s about rejecting the cowardice of hedging, of preemptive retraction, of lying to yourself and others about your intentions. It’s about standing tall with your thoughts, your opinions, your statements, your jokes, your complaints, your praise, your art, whatever it is that you have to offer. Don’t dilute it. Don’t hide it. Don’t apologize for it before it even has a chance to breathe.

    I think a lot of people don’t realize that there’s a freedom in this. There’s a liberation that comes from knowing that your words, your posts, your thoughts, exist, and that they exist unafraid. There’s a satisfaction in speaking without the chains of pretense. And when you combine that with the inevitable permanence of the internet, it’s almost poetic. You’re acknowledging reality as it is: nothing truly disappears, nothing is ever entirely private, nothing is ever entirely under your control. And rather than fear that, you embrace it. You work with it. You live honestly within it.

    So, to those who feel compelled to write “will delete soon,” I have a simple suggestion: stop. Take a breath. Ask yourself why you feel the need to hedge. Ask yourself why you’re afraid of being fully seen. And then, if your message matters, post it without reservation. Let it live. And if it doesn’t matter, if you’re unsure, then maybe don’t post it at all. Silence is better than cowardice. Thoughtfulness is better than performative vulnerability. Authenticity is better than trend-following, every time.

    And finally, for anyone who reads this and thinks, “Well, maybe I will delete it later,” understand this: the true courage is in knowing that deletion is irrelevant. The courage is in posting, in saying, in committing. Not in hiding. Not in apologizing before it’s necessary. Not in pretending impermanence makes your words any safer or more acceptable. It doesn’t. Words exist once spoken or written, and the internet is the ultimate testament to that. Accept it, embrace it, and for once, post something without shame, without hedging, without disclaimers, and without thinking that deletion is your safety net.

    So yeah, this post won’t delete now or ever. That’s the point. I’m not hedging. I’m not scared. I’m not pretending. And that’s how it should be for everyone. Say what you mean, mean what you say, and let the world deal with it.