Archive for the ‘Internet’ Category

Why monetisation by advertising sucks

Tuesday, January 12th, 2010

One thing people seem to have been able to agree on about web services is that they ought to be free. However, even on the web no service is ever free to deliver, hence the importance of advertising.

Incorporating advertising into a web offering is often seen as a no-brainer: free money that you would be stupid to turn down, whatever your business model. However, I believe this assumption holds insidious consequences that can be bad for producer and consumer alike.

Advertising solves nothing

It always surprises me how blind people are to the cost of advertising. If I watch a movie on TV, I might sit through 15 or 20 minutes of advertising content that I wouldn’t say I wanted to watch. How much yould you pay to get 20 minutes of your life back to spend on something else?

Advertising has costs on the producer as well, in terms of trust. Seth Godin describes the problem eloquently:

The digital world, even the high end brands, has become a sleazy carnival, complete with hawkers, barkers and a bearded lady. By the time someone actually gets to your site, they’ve been conned, popped up, popped under and upsold so many times they really have no choice but to be skeptical.

Basically, it’s a race to the bottom, with so many people spamming trackbacks, planning popups and scheming to trick the surfer with this or that that we’ve bullied people into a corner of believing no one.

In addition to the hidden cost, advertising doesn’t bring more value into the economy, it merely reallocates it. Advertising-funded services aren’t really being provided for free, they are being paid for by the people who buy products that have been advertised (the sellers having passed along the cost of advertising to the consumer).

There are two possibilities as consumer of advertising-funded material: either you are one of the customers of the advertised products, or you are not. In the former case you are paying just as much for the content as you would if you paid directly. In the latter case, you appear to be getting a good deal by getting “free” content that is being subsidised by somebody else, but there’s a hidden problem.

The problem is that if you aren’t the one who pays, the content producers have no reason at all to cater to your tastes. If your favourite TV show is cancelled or your favourite blog stops being maintained, you don’t have any cause to complain: you were jus a freeloader, who was getting by on the fact that someone else was willing to pay for the content you enjoyed.

Missed opportunities from advertising

So advertising isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, but it’s still the choice of individuals. If both the producer and consumer are happy with their ad-funded arrangement, even if it’s not 100% efficient, why should I care?

I care because I think using advertising has externalities. The most obvious is that making everything free at the point of use hides pricing signals. The amount of ad money made by reading a 3-page article is roughly the same as made from a worthless advert-packed spam page. In fact, you might be less likely to click on ads while reading a worthwhile article. Certainly there’s no way to show that you value one web page 3 times as much as you do another, when it’s all free at the point of use.

Right now I’m writing an article about internet business models, but it’s to my economic advantage to include terms like ‘mesothelioma’ or ‘acai berry’. In fact, I could probably do better for myself by dropping the whole attempt to create original content and writing keyword-heavy blogspam. Would this make the world a better place?

One of the most annoying things is that we’re missing the potential afforded by dynamic pricing. The real problem with charging for content isn’t that its value is zero, but that the price is rarely right. Paying newstand price for an online newspaper is a rip-off, getting it for free is a bargain. Somewhere between those two prices is the true value of the content, if only we could find what it was. Using advertising is tantamount to abandoning this search and letting the advertiser call the shots.

“Free” may not be as important as people think

On the topic of free news content, The Economist noted the following:

A poll by Harris Interactive for paidContent:UK, a website owned the Guardian, finds that three-quarters of Britons say they would switch to an alternative free news source if their favourite website began charging.

So what? Are you telling me that if Mars bars were free, their sales wouldn’t drop by 75% when they started charging? Nobody suggests that Mars have an unsustainable business model by trying to charge money for chocolate.

Strategically, a small number of customers who care about your product enough to pay is better than a large number of uninterested consumers, all other things being equal. With advertising in its current depressed state, it’s quite likely that payment from 25% of readers would amount to more money than they could make from advertising to 100%.

Giving up surfing

Friday, January 1st, 2010

Though the phrase “surfing the web” has gone through a period of generic use and emerged afterward as insipid and clichéd, it originally had a specific meaning: allowing links on the web to guide you through a path wherever it led. While not necessarily aimless, it certainly meant that your eventual destination was unknown when you started out.

The social web has changed the action of “surfing”, in that it’s now as much about the social trends as the physical links. We still follow HTML links, but they are so numerous we must rely on the wisdom of crowds to navigate our path through them via Twitter, Digg, Reddit and so on. Even so, the activity of passively consuming content driven by immediate gratification rather than a predetermined goal is alive and well in Web 2.0.

Surfing seemed to work quite well on the old web, where there was relatively little content and only those who really had something to say bothered to speak up. It seems a whole lot less appropriate now that the web is a sea of too much opinion and too little fact.

I was away from my internet connection for most of the Christmas break, but had my new Kindle to entertain me. The combination meant that I spent most of my time reading published books, in a much more focused way than if I were reading articles on the web.

When I settled back down to my PC after the break and opened my web browser, my automatic thought was “I’ll just see what’s on the Reddit front page”. Somehow I found the prospect depressing in a way I’ve felt before but never so specifically. I came to realise that surfing the web was like living on a diet of Pringles: individually tasty, but ultimately unsatisfying.

The new year is as good a time as any to commit to changing behaviour, so here goes: I’m going to stop using the web except where I have a clear goal to achieve in doing so. I’ll continue to use it for researching specific topics, and I’ll continue to read RSS feeds of sites that have consistently good content. I’ll let you know how it works out for me.

First thoughts on the Kindle

Monday, December 28th, 2009

Being in the UK I’m obviously late to the Kindle party since they only became available here a few months ago. I got mine a few days ago (as a Christmas gift from my wonderful parents), and I’m excited enough to write about it here even if it’s all been said before.

I won’t say too much about the physical device itself, which functions very well. The e-paper screen is a pleasure to read from. The slightly reduced contrast means it’s tough in very dim light, but the trade-off of being able to read in bright sunlight is well worth it. The inclusion of a qwerty keyboard is a real marmite feature, but on balance I’m glad it’s there.

What really excites me about the devices is its potential to change the way I read. In the past I’ve left a trail of half-completed books in my wake, as I’ve never had the right one with me. Sooner or later I’d forget where I was in a book or even that I was reading it in the first place. If nothing else, the Kindle works well as a way of centralising my collection and tracking where I am with each one. Could I do the same with a few cheap bookmarks and a large sack to carry the books? Kind of, but the point is that I never did do that.

The built-in mobile phone circuitry that supports “whispernet” (global wireless delivery of books) looks on paper like massive over-engineering, since I purchase books far less frequently than I sit down at a computer. However, it changes the nature of the device from a portable book collection to a portable library, and that starts to feel like something out of a culture novel (the series of science fiction stories set in a high-technology utopia.)

Whispernet really comes into its own for newspapers and magazines, which benefit especially from arriving with you fast and effortlessly, and from old issues not taking up space. At the moment the catalogue of magazines is small and many suffer from the lack of graphics, but there are already some good titles that are very keenly priced. If I could transfer my subscription to The Economist to Kindle I might never read a paper magazine again.

One of the most overlooked things about newspaper and magazine delivery is its potential as a monetisation platform. Because it’s linked to your Amazon account, you can pay large or small amounts for content with ease. It may seem odd to say that I like having to pay for content, but he who pays the piper calls the tune. If I want something, I’d rather pay for it than hope that some advertiser values my eyeballs highly enough to pay for it on my behalf.

Using an electronic format essentially kills the second-hand market: since data doesn’t get worn out like a paper book does, resale of e-books by customers would compete unacceptably with new sales. Therefore Amazon has no choice but to prevent resale from happening. I don’t have a problem with this, provided that publishers recognise it and price their books accordingly. Second-hand sale of a book (whether for money or swapping in an informal economy) helps to defray the high cost of acquiring new books (at least part of which is in printing cost, and cross-subsidising printing of unsuccessful books).

In this sense, a Kindle book is less valuable than a brand-new hardback, since it has zero resale value. In the case of back-catalogue books it is also competing against virtually free copies of the dead-tree version from charity shops or Amazon Marketplace, which further lowers the price I’m prepared to pay. I suspect that the publishers who realise this and price accordingly will benefit.

One last thing about copyright: I don’t like the Digital Rights Management (DRM) of the Kindle. DRM is the technology that binds a copy of a book to a particular physical device, preventing you from lending the book to a friend or using it on an e-book reader not made by Amazon. It’s not unduly restrictive in everyday use, but the prospect of buying my entire collection again if Sony wins the format war is a bit of a downer.

However, I think the best way to ensure DRM goes away is to back up my voice with my wallet. DRM on music is on its way out, and this is not because of the people who forcibly broke DRM, but because the iTunes store proved that there was a market of people who were prepared to pay money and play by the rules. Adhering to the spirit of copyright when safeguards were in place gave the industry confidence in a way that arguing over the letter of the law never did.