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SAN FRANCISCO (The Thursday Times) — In a world of towering digital giants, a quiet rebellion was stirring, seeded not in the grand halls of Silicon Valley but in the minds of a few visionaries. Bluesky, a decentralised social media platform, was born from a desire to create something that felt more intimate, less governed by algorithms and profit. Jack Dorsey, the architect of Twitter, envisioned this new digital space as a break from the corporate-heavy social media landscape, where users could dictate their own digital interactions. He called it Bluesky, a place meant to return control to the people.
At first, it began humbly. With a team of just a handful of developers, the idea took shape slowly, carefully, in the coded blueprint of what Dorsey described as an “open protocol.” Bluesky’s DNA was different from that of Facebook or X (the platform formerly known as Twitter); it was built not to contain users within walled gardens, but to allow them to move freely, to craft their own experiences. In early 2023, they quietly released it into the world, offering invitations like whispered promises.
In the early days, the platform grew in small steps. A few people joined, those curious enough to seek out alternatives, and they found a quieter space, far from the noise of traditional social media. Then, in the turbulence of recent U.S. elections and as Musk’s controversial changes to X unfolded, Bluesky’s growth ignited. Suddenly, it was no longer a small, whispering experiment. Millions were joining, drawn by the allure of a decentralised, customisable, people-driven platform. Bluesky was no longer niche; it was becoming a movement.
The migration from X to Bluesky became a headline of its own, especially after Musk’s transformations left many feeling displaced, disillusioned. And when Trump’s re-election reignited debates over media freedom and control, users poured into Bluesky, hungry for a place that felt honest, personal. In just a few days, the app, which had quietly simmered at the edges of mainstream tech, surged to the top of app store charts. Bluesky’s 20-member team watched as their modest idea became a destination for millions seeking something different.
But the path was rocky. Bluesky’s small team was suddenly managing the complexities of rapid growth. CEO Jay Graber, a former crypto engineer with a clear vision, faced the challenge head-on. Servers faltered under the weight of demand; outages and glitches became common. Each day brought a new test, and Graber’s team worked around the clock, patching, adjusting, and adapting as they navigated this unfamiliar terrain. Bluesky was growing up fast, and its foundation was being stress-tested by millions of eager users.
Bluesky, unlike its competitors, wasn’t built to lock users into its space but to offer a framework they could shape. It was crafted on the AT protocol, a set of technical standards allowing users to customise their experiences and carry their digital identity across compatible platforms. This was a stark contrast to X and Facebook, platforms that kept users in tightly controlled ecosystems, known as “walled gardens.” In Bluesky, users could choose — even create — their own algorithms, defining what they saw and how they interacted. It was a breath of fresh air in a world dominated by data-driven recommendations and ads.
But as Bluesky’s community grew, so did the complexities of that freedom. Not everyone shared the same expectations. Long-time users, who had enjoyed the platform’s quieter, earnest atmosphere, found themselves clashing with new joiners used to the frenetic pace of traditional social media. The culture clash was palpable. To Graber and her team, it was a familiar problem, known in tech circles as the “eternal September” — a term dating back to early internet days when the arrival of new users would shift online communities’ tone.
For Graber, the solution lay in flexibility. Bluesky began introducing features that would allow users to create custom feeds, each tailored to specific interests or norms. Automated content moderation tools were added, designed not to police but to maintain a respectful space. The platform was evolving, growing more versatile to serve its expanding, diverse community. Yet, even with these changes, Bluesky stayed true to its founding principle: giving power to the people, letting them decide the kind of social space they wanted.
One might think such rapid growth would bring with it a desire for profit, but Bluesky remained focused on its ethical foundations. Unlike Meta and X, Bluesky promised never to use user data for artificial intelligence training, a decision that was met with relief by privacy-conscious users wary of Big Tech’s reach. Graber and her team reiterated that Bluesky was built not just to provide an alternative to social media but to redefine it, to model a digital environment where privacy, respect, and autonomy came first.
While Bluesky’s decentralised nature drew praise, it also attracted competition. Tech giants took notice. Meta’s Threads, in a nod to Bluesky, began experimenting with custom feeds, a feature that Bluesky had pioneered. But for Bluesky’s community, the platform’s ethos — the idea that users, not algorithms, should drive the experience — kept it distinct. Bluesky’s users weren’t looking for another Facebook; they wanted something fundamentally different, and Graber’s team was determined to provide it.
Rose Wang, Bluesky’s COO, described the platform as “built by the people, for the people.” This wasn’t a marketing line but a mission statement. Bluesky offered users not just a product but a promise: the freedom to build, to create, and to share in a space they felt was theirs. Unlike the traditional social giants that curated feeds to maximise engagement, Bluesky trusted its users to decide what mattered to them. And it was this trust that made the platform so compelling, a trust rarely found in the modern social media ecosystem.
As Bluesky continued to grow, its future became a subject of intrigue and speculation. Could it truly rival the established platforms? Would its decentralised model withstand the weight of millions of users? Graber was optimistic but realistic. Bluesky’s growth was exciting, but it was also fragile. The team knew that, unlike its competitors, it couldn’t rely on profit-driven algorithms or extensive ad revenue. Bluesky’s strength lay in its community, and maintaining that trust was paramount.
The path ahead wasn’t clear-cut. For every user who embraced Bluesky’s ethos, there was another who expected it to behave like X or Facebook. The team recognised that the platform’s success would depend on its ability to balance freedom with structure, to provide a space for all without sacrificing its core values. Bluesky was a platform in evolution, shaped as much by its users as by the team that built it.
At the heart of Bluesky’s growth was a simple but powerful idea: that social media could be different. It didn’t have to be driven by ads or algorithms; it could be shaped by people, for people. It was a bold experiment in a digital world accustomed to a certain way of doing things, and as millions more joined, Bluesky found itself not just as an alternative but as a potential blueprint for the future of social media.