the manifesto
Social media broke.
We’re not fixing it— we’re replacing it.
The crack is on purpose. The old thing shattered the moment it decided you were the product. We swept up the glass and built something that doesn’t.
Five promises. No asterisks.
Most platforms bury their intentions in a terms-of-service nobody reads. Here’s ours, in plain language, on the front page. This is a pledge, not a pitch — read it like one.
We will never run ads.
Not a banner, not a sponsored post, not a single pixel sold to a stranger. Your attention isn't inventory. The day we run an ad is the day we've lost the plot — so we wrote it down where you can hold us to it.
Your feed is chronological, forever.
Newest first. Then the one before that. No ranking, no "for you," no invisible hand deciding which friend you're allowed to miss. Time is the only algorithm, and it already works.
We sell software, never you.
A few quid a month for nicer themes and louder bragging rights keeps the lights on. That's the whole business. You are a person we serve, not a profile we auction.
No engagement bait, no dark patterns.
No infinite scroll engineered to swallow your evening. No streaks guilt-tripping you back in. No buttons that lie about where they go. If a feature only exists to keep you here longer, it doesn't ship.
You can leave any time, with all your data.
One button. Everything you made, packaged and yours, no exit interview and no "are you sure?" maze. A place worth staying doesn't need a lock on the door.
A manifesto is just a promise you can’t take back quietly. So we’ll say it once, plainly, where everyone can see it: we’d rather be smaller and honest than huge and owned.
If this sounds like home,
bring someone with you.
Send this page to the friend who’s been threatening to quit the other place. Manifestos travel faster than ads — that’s rather the point.
wack. — built on promises we wrote down on purpose.