My frequent addiction to Bilibili only started this year. Before, I just used B站 to watch some streamers’ VODs, skim through the feed, then go to sleep. Now I often linger on the recommendation page for a long time; even when nothing interests me, I still mechanically scroll down again and again.
Video-based self‑media is undoubtedly the new hotspot. Back when written information dominated, some self‑media outlets landed a heavy blow on traditional media by sacrificing fact‑checking for speed and catering to audiences’ craving for novelty and sensational topics. Fast‑forward to today: the actual work these practitioners do and the quality of the content they provide haven’t fundamentally changed much—it’s just taken a new form. Previously, the process was: writers drafted, editors reviewed, layout was done, and then the piece met the readers. Now you also need an on‑camera presenter and post‑production editing. The whole content‑production workflow demands more from the team, takes longer, and also creates many more jobs.
Powered by continuous advances in technology, video as a format offers far more possibilities for how content can be expressed. The relationship between today’s video self‑media and the earlier text‑based content is similar to that between film/TV dramas and printed novels. On this new medium, readers become viewers; viewers receive content in a more direct and concrete way.
This also reminds me of audio programs that became popular earlier, like 罗辑思维. Thinking about its format now, it was actually a forerunner of the knowledge‑sharing shows that are popular on B站 today. When I recall those programs I listened to at night back then, I can easily imagine the exact same content, with Luo Pang sitting in the middle of the screen talking at length, wrapped in B站’s UI—it would feel perfectly natural.
I used to force myself to read a bit, but now I find I have less and less time for books. I open WeChat Reading only occasionally to glance at my bookshelf, and I barely even open the Southern Weekly app anymore. I once dodged a round of information captivity by uninstalling Weibo; looking at things now, it seems I still haven’t really escaped.