When your work flops
I've mentioned it before on Bearly Significant: "I take genuine pleasure in building things." That's precisely why it stings so much when a project I've poured my heart and soul into simply flops.
Working in media, flops are not uncommon. In fact, they happen all too often. And so, I find myself trying to decipher patterns of failure: Was it the timing of the publication? The topic's lack of interest? An unappealing title? A technical glitch I wasn't aware of? Or is it Google penalizing me for having a beautifully designed page with engaging charts instead of plain text?
This cycle of self-doubt feels like walking on tiny, shattered pieces of glass. I wanted my work to be read—not for the sake of my ego (well, maybe a little)—but because I believed it was worthwhile. Perhaps it wasn't. Maybe all those extra hours spent perfecting a minor design detail were for naught.
It hurts.
In a world where newsrooms quantify every click, scroll, and new subscriber, it's easy to doubt yourself: perhaps what you consider quality content isn't actually what people want. Maybe readers prefer more immediate information, like tomorrow's weather forecast (those articles always perform well, making me wonder how many people would rather read a news piece than download a weather app) or the peculiar kiss between Macron and Amélie Oudéa-Castera (yes, it's a thing and currently the most-read piece on our site. No, I don't consider it newsworthy).
When my work flops, I obsess over those numbers all day, questioning why people don't care about the topics I find important.
But eventually, I move on. I find a new project, investigation, or something else to focus on and completely forget about the failure.
One day, I might just throw a rock at the TV in our newsroom that displays the live traffic rankings. I don't believe journalism should isolate itself in an ivory tower, writing only for a handful of interviewees and friends. But those numbers? They're killing journalism.
I've read countless complaints about the state of the media and the clickbait wars. I wholeheartedly agree with the criticisms. But remember this post: every time you click on a frivolous article and share it with your friends, you're sending a message to a newsroom somewhere—that the public doesn't desire in-depth, beautiful, or interactive journalism. They're more interested in tomorrow's weather or the latest celebrity gossip.
Now, if you haven't seen the images of that kiss, you'll probably Google it. Chances are, you'll end up on a newspaper's website. And in some newsroom, an editor will turn to a journalist and say, "See? I told you. This is what the public wants."
I'll save you the click:
🇫🇷📷 EN IMAGES | Emmanuel Macron et Amélie Oudéa-Castéra après la cérémonie d’ouverture des JO de #Paris2024. pic.twitter.com/MyNR6KOJmW
— Cerfia (@CerfiaFR) July 27, 2024