For those who want just the key points (ORIMD)

O (Observation): The long tail strategy realized "anyone can publish" but failed to realize "anyone can be discovered." Large corporations dominate the AI route, and only a handful succeed in the fan route.

R (Reaction): Honestly, I felt scared when I saw the three-tier structure emerging.

I (Interpretation): The market is moving toward a three-tier system: AI route winners, fan route winners, and the unnoticed majority. Economic buffer is necessary for emergence, and it's not a story of "anyone with talent."

M (Meaning): Whether something is a corpse or not isn't determined in this moment. Only when you let go does it confirm that it was meaningless.

D (Decision): I'll continue in a way that allows for ups and downs, for the long haul.

Questioning the Long Tail Strategy

There's a concept called the long tail strategy. As the internet reduces "shelf costs" to near zero, even niche products and services can survive. That's the theory.

But is it really true?

Even on Amazon, what sells are mostly bestselling products. Items in the "tail" part of the long tail are barely discovered by anyone. I've heard that on Netflix, the top 1% of content accounts for the majority of viewing.

The internet enabled "anyone to publish," but it didn't enable "anyone to be discovered."

This fact has been nagging at me lately.

AI Route and Fan Route

I recently read a book by Naoyuki Sato (Satonao) titled "AI ni Erabare, Fan ni Aisareru. Kawaru Seikatsusha to Korekara no Marketing" (Chosen by AI, Loved by Fans: Changing Consumers and Future Marketing).

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In this book, he describes two routes for future marketing.

The first is the "AI route": reaching many people by being chosen by AI.
The second is the "fan route": being supported by a small but passionate fanbase.

Sato points out that ultimately, large corporations with capital power dominate the AI route. Because AI is based on statistical processing, large corporations with massive reviews and exposure tend to have structural advantages.

And while reading, I thought: perhaps only a small fraction of people can actually get on the fan route.

To be loved by fans, you first need to be "discovered." But to be discovered, you already need some level of exposure and fans.

This is the classic "chicken and egg" problem.

The Reality of Three-Tier Stratification

As I thought about this, I began to think the world isn't bipolar but rather "three-tiered."

First tier: AI route winners (large corporations, entities with capital power)
Second tier: Fan route winners (niche but discovered, able to form communities)
Third tier: The unnoticed majority (the bulk of the long tail)

The conditions for reaching the second tier are much stricter than imagined. Early viral success by chance, pre-existing fame in another context, connections with specific communities. Most of these are factors beyond the individual's control through effort alone.

And the third tier becomes effectively non-existent.

Honestly, this scared me.

The Invisible Wall of Emergence Cost

To get on the fan route, you need to survive the "emergence period." Continue publishing information, expand awareness, gradually increase fans. During this time, income is close to zero.

In other words, only those who can secure living expenses until emergence can participate in this competition.

Stories of successful creators and startups often speak of "passion" and "power of persistence," but behind them are often unspoken prerequisites. Financial cushion from family, stable income from a spouse, decent savings from a previous job.

It's not at all a story of "anyone with talent," but rather a combination of talent + economic buffer + luck.

My Own Story

Let me share a bit about myself.

I have two services. The first is one I worked hard to put on the fan route, growing subscribers to a reasonable level. The second is newly created and hasn't been discovered by anyone yet.

The first service still has people using it. People supporting it. I haven't given up, and I haven't lost the desire to provide something better.

However, to be honest, there was a period when I became exhausted.

The True Nature of Exhaustion

The cause was simple: I ran out of money. Since I was operating on my own capital, when funds ran out, my mental capacity disappeared too.

When you run out of money, you really lose your capacity.

It became difficult even to maintain healthy relationships. Even simple communication felt challenging. Receiving messages but unable to respond. That state continued.

There are quite a few people I couldn't react to. Service follow-up also became inadequate. I'm truly sorry about that.

But I'm trying to revive again somehow.

Now I'm doing contract work while gradually recovering.

Accepting My Uneven Self

I'm the type with significant ups and downs. There's a big difference between when I can focus intensively and when I can't. It varies by season too.

So sometimes I'm fully occupied with just contract work, and when I have capacity, I focus intensively on my own service. That's the stance I'm taking.

There's an atmosphere that doing things steadily every day at a consistent pace is "right," but forcing that on people for whom it doesn't fit won't last.

At my own rhythm, as long as the money lasts, continue for the long term. Because the fan route is ultimately a game won by those who survive.

That's what I've come to think.

Here's a more personal question.

What Were Services That Became Corpses Born For?

After thinking this far, one question remains.

For services and products that disappeared in the long tail without being discovered by anyone, what were they ultimately created for?

There are common comforting words: "There was learning in the process of creation," "The challenge itself has value," "Failure also becomes experience."

But is that really true?

For those who created a service to solve a problem, if it couldn't solve anyone's problem, that's simply a failure. Even if there was learning, that's a byproduct, not the purpose.

To be honest, most services that become corpses just disappear. Unused by anyone, only the creator's time and money consumed. There's no grand meaning.

But Maybe That's Okay

While thinking that, I also thought this:

Whether it's a corpse or not isn't determined in this moment. As long as it continues to live, it's still unknown.

Something truly becomes a corpse when the creator lets go, saying "that's enough." Only then is it confirmed that it was meaningless.

But that's not a sad thing; I think it's a signal that "it's okay to move on."

Conclusion

I haven't found answers.

But I plan to continue in a way that allows for ups and downs, for the long haul.

"Whether it's a corpse or not isn't determined in this moment."

I'll make these words my talisman.

Related Books

For continuing creative work at your own rhythm, this book is also helpful.

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