Wikipedia: Quantity Over Quality

“Wait… I’m one of these people too?”

Such was my thought when I found myself researching contemporary rock bands on Wikipedia just a few days ago. I’d spent the last half hour looking for information on a relatively obscure band, and was combing Wikipedia for references of its various members, related musical styles, and related artists. I’d found a lot of the information I was looking for, but I noticed a few key details were missing. “Who on earth is writing these articles, anyway?” And then I realized: I’d been happily using Wikipedia, not only for this search, but for the majority of my recent fact-finding. As a student in an esteemed educational institution, I was somewhat horrified at the thought of retrieving my information from such a volatile and factually inaccurate source.

While of great personal relevance, such an incident has great relevance in contemporary life and culture. Wikipedia seemingly offers a one-stop shop for information – its pages ooze with hyperlinks, photos, and seemingly obscure knowledge and references. It’s also become a tightly-knit community, with pages from multiple articles linking to one-another to form dense networks of related categories and wikis. It’s a great one-stop-shop, so to speak, and answers many of the questions I have on a daily basis. “When were the Beatles first signed to a record label?” “What’s the difference between a lossless and lossy music format?” “What on earth is Web 2.0?”

Sure, Wikipedia looks all too enticing from afar, but a more pertinent examination of this social phenomenon is in order. New users are surely awed by the vastness of Wikipedia’s catalog, but this great summation of knowledge begs another question: is any of the information on Wikipedia actually factual? Its catalog of information has grown to a surprising degree in the past few years, and some of it seemingly without check.

As Nicholas Carr writes, even entries for well-known public figures, whose lives have been under the public eye for much of recent history, possess horrific Wikipedia entries. Bill Gates’s, for example, is nothing but a jumble of confusing factoids:

Gates married Melinda French on January 1, 1994. They have three children, Jennifer Katharine Gates (born April 26, 1996), Rory John Gates (born May 23, 1999) and Phoebe Adele Gates (born September 14, 2002).

In 1994, Gates acquired the Codex Leicester, a collection of writings by Leonardo da Vinci; as of 2003 it was on display at the Seattle Art Museum.

In 1997, Gates was the victim of a bizarre extortion plot by Chicago resident Adam Quinn Pletcher. Gates testified at the subsequent trial. Pletcher was convicted and sentenced in July 1998 to six years in prison. In February 1998 Gates was attacked by Noël Godin with a cream pie. In July 2005, he solicited the services of famed lawyer Hesham Foda.

According to Forbes, Gates contributed money to the 2004 presidential campaign of George W. Bush. According to the Center for Responsive Politics, Gates is cited as having contributed at least $33,335 to over 50 political campaigns during the 2004 election cycle.

Clearly, something is wrong in the bowels of the machine that is Wikipedia. Bill Gates, the subject of countless biographies, news articles, and media coverage still possesses a Wikipedia article that is nothing but a jumble of news snippets. While Wikipedia embraces the inherently social technology of Web 2.0, it’s pertinent to ask whether this new method of content creation actually functions effectively. Sure, many hands make light work, but those misguided hands also have a habit of writing with the effectiveness of a fourth-grader.

This said, Wikipedia isn’t all bad. It’s often got lots of obscure factual information – consider the absurdly in-depth writeup on The Beatles I mentioned earlier. It’s also an extremely underrated resource for finding other online references which are cited in almost every Wikipedia article. Even if the writing isn’t stellar, it most often at least points you in the right direction, serving as a grand switchbox of research and inquiry. It’s also got a fantastic – although sometimes bizarrely informal – collection of photos, most of which are free of strict copyright holds.

Perhaps what this represents is the changing priorities of the internet generation. No longer are carefully considered prose and credible resources considered paramount: web users of today want information, and they want it now. If they don’t like what they see, they want to be able to edit it, modify it, or look at twenty other articles closely related to it. Indeed, in an increasingly me- and now-based world, Wikipedia represents the encyclopedia and, more broadly, the future of information. Even if it isn’t perfect, users are evidently willing to sacrifice perfection – and even sometimes readability – for the relevant, the free, and the immediate.

Facebook: The Fusion Of Real And Virtual

When I first logged onto Facebook in December 2005, I was honestly a little perplexed as to why all of my friends were raving about it. With its largely monochrome interface, Facebook stared at me like a blank canvas. I understood the basics of what was before me – a page of my own, other profile pages for each of my friends, and a few pictures and the ability to upload photos. As far as I could tell, the site looked rather placid. Yet within three years of this largely underwhelming greeting, Facebook exploded in a whirlwind of new users and media hype. However, beneath its placid status updates lies a machine which stands to change what its users consider important in their daily lives.

What’s perhaps most intriguing about the development of Facebook is that it seems to offer none of what’s traditionally associated with a “benefit” of the on-line experience. Pre-Facebook, the internet was seen as an escape from the toils of real life – a user could log onto Second Life, create a virtual identity completely separate from their own in reality, and delve into a digital fantasy of their own. It’s easy to see the relation between this newfound anonymity (and freedom) and a surge in popularity, however Facebook succeeded in doing exactly the opposite – dragging real life into the realm of the digital.

Indeed, Facebook reinforces its connection to reality with every aspect of its experience.  Uploaded photos beg to be tagged with the name of those who you’ve clearly spent time with in the real world. Friend requests ask politely to confirm that you’ve actually met the person in question. Networks are centered around relatively banal categories – schools, colleges, employers, and geographic locations.

Yet it appears to be this connection with reality that’s made Facebook so successful. It’s not uncommon that I spend hours painstakingly tagging hundreds of photos with the names of my closest friends, or take the time to meticulously update my personal information to accurately reflect my most recent relationship status, musical preferences, and favorite quotations. And most of all, I – and the millions of other users who log into Facebook every day – find these activities enjoyable.

Clearly, these aspects of our lives already exist without Facebook. For many of those who use this prominent social media site, however, the enjoyment comes from the glorification and augmentation of the everyday. Fifty new photos of my dog might not seem so exciting when they’re trapped on my digital camera, but if I can upload them for my friends to see and comment on, they gain a whole new level of perceived importance. The ordinary is now made to seem exciting, fresh, and unnaturally important.

However, this increased self-exposure has another consequence which seems a rather accidental side-effect of the public nature of Facebook – digital voyeurism. Now known to many as the art of “creeping”, Facebook provides the perfect tools to peer into the minute details of others’ lives. No longer am I forced to communicate directly with others in order to gain access to the mundane details of their lives; a plethora of photos, notes, and conversations await me if I should have even the slightest inkling to examine someone else’s life.

And perhaps that’s part of the fun of Facebook. While these voyeuristic implications sound sinister on paper, every user of Facebook’s vast network is surely aware of the inherent publicity their own profile may receive. Users join Facebook to see and be seen.


No longer does the internet attempt to distract us from our everyday lives; it plunges us into their detail with newfound intensity and vigor. While this concept may seem stale, the provocative results – such as the art of creeping – seek to give our personal lives a much different focus in the age of digital social media.