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After an author produces enough of the above species of hate-read, they sublimate into the assumptive hate-read. Everyone hates their work, sight-unseen. We can hate-read these authors and their opinions without reading at all. Pick a columnist at random from one of the two or three newspapers that still exist. They could publish wingdings under a hieroglyphic headline and still amass 30 comments reading "omfg I can't believe they did it again."But, despite its neat taxonomy, hate-reading is more of a social art than a mindless routine. Hate-reading is about the experience of the hate-read, not just the content of the critique. Hate-reading is a ritual, almost religious, unfolding from a simple intuition and a blog post into a blessed union of angry, social souls.A hate-read starts with inevitability. You know that you are going to hate-read a piece before you finish the lede. The initial sour notes—oh, God, that byline, that title—anticipate your bile. The here-it-comes is acidic, drowning out charitable reading and, eventually, the words themselves. From the first sentence, you know that you will skip and skim, strip-mining the piece for rant material. Careful comprehension would delay your pissed-off commentary. The social circle jerk demands a tight feedback loop.Hate-reading is a ritual, almost religious, unfolding from a simple intuition and a blog post into a blessed union of angry, social souls.
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But a hate-read doesn't culminate in the mob violence that it courts. The conclusion of a hate-read is the analytics bump, inflated numbers and torqued virtual meters, the back-slaps around the stats screen. The curdled cream spoils to the top and the tortured piece lands at number one on the most-emailed, lifted and buzz-forward lists. He's on fire! Our readers can't get enough. The writer is sent back to the bottom of his long-empty barrel and begged to scrape out a thousand more words on millennials and Los Angeles, Brooklyn and Mad Men.The curdled cream spoils to the top and the tortured piece lands at number one on the most-emailed, lifted and buzz-forward lists.
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Hate-reading works through the magic of strong emotion mashed-up with personal detachment, bonding with clever friends in the budget fellowship of safe, shared disdain. Hate-reads balance the intensity of angry emotions with the depersonalized luxury of not committing too much. In order to hate, you don't have to show what you are, you just have to show what you aren't. Internet anger is easily relatable, linking its devotees in the fuzzy borders of its imprecision. In the via negativa of net disgust, hate-readers are united in contempt without risking the risable spotlight on their positive beliefs. There's joy in resigning the particulars of your worldview, in becoming another chirping voice in the chorus of internet indignation. Hate-reads stop being writing at all and become elements of sacrament as we chant and wail in the liturgy of shared, digital emotion. This is my dadbod, broken for you. This is my Benghazi, spilt for you.Related on Motherboard: A Clippy-Like Assistant Makes Your Life Hell in This Game
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