Over the past several days, an unexpectedly peculiar theme has dominated my Bluesky feed: an ever-growing flood of posts about waffles. What at first appeared to be a niche, humorous trend has evolved into a kind of running social commentary, reflecting the way humor and controversy intertwine on that particular platform. The origin of the so-called “waffle discourse” seems to trace back to a single witty and intentionally exaggerated post by Jerry Chen, who used satire to mock a specific brand of self-righteous online behavior that has become all too familiar to long-time Bluesky users. Chen’s message, phrased as a dramatic outburst — “(bluesky user bursts into Waffle House) OH SO YOU HATE PANCAKES??” — cleverly captured the performative zeal often found in digital exchanges.
Almost immediately, Bluesky’s CEO, Jay Graber, amplified this moment by quoting the post with evident approval, adding a remark that resonated on multiple levels: “Too real. We’re going to try to fix this. Social media doesn’t have to be this way.” Her comment implied not only recognition of the parody but also a genuine intent to address the broader issue of unconstructive discourse online. Yet, the conversation quickly took a more chaotic turn when another participant questioned whether the company had banned journalist Jesse Singal, prompting Graber to dismissively but humorously reply with a single word: “WAFFLES!” That one-word response soon became emblematic of a swirling mixture of irony, deflection, and community frustration.
The mention of Singal instantly reignited old tensions. His presence on the platform had been contentious since the previous year, given that Bluesky’s early reputation had been one of inclusivity for marginalized communities—particularly trans users—while Singal’s writing on trans-related issues had made him a divisive figure. A petition on Change.org, accusing Singal of violating community guidelines and demanding his removal, amassed over 28,000 signatures. For a time, he was statistically the most-blocked figure on Bluesky, a record later surpassed only when U.S. politician JD Vance took that dubious distinction.
In an effort to quell the growing unrest, Graber later issued a follow-up post asserting that pressuring moderators into banning individuals was not an effective or ethical course of action. She emphasized that online harassment, whether aimed at moderators or other users, rarely leads to productive outcomes or genuine change of opinion. Using her characteristically dry humor, she echoed the ongoing theme by posting a teasing image of waffles — a knowing nod to the controversy — and, surprisingly, Singal joined in with a similar post. Despite these attempts at levity, critics were not appeased. When one user likened the backlash against Bluesky to a disgruntled customer threatening to cancel a subscription, Graber retorted sharply: “Are you paying us? Where?” And when another commenter urged her to issue an apology, she countered with mock detachment, suggesting, “You could try a poster’s strike. I hear that works.” Such exchanges underscored both Graber’s sardonic communication style and the growing disconnect between the platform’s leadership and portions of its user community.
From an outside perspective, it might be tempting to brush off this bewildering episode as yet another trivial instance of ideological squabbles within progressive digital spaces—what cynics might label as mere leftist infighting. Indeed, by the time discussions had devolved into debates about whether the term “clanker” constitutes a slur, the attention of Bluesky’s user base seemed already to have migrated to the next controversy. One parody account even offered a biting explanation, joking that perhaps there had simply been “a week-long gas leak at Bluesky HQ.” Yet beneath the humor and memes lies something more telling: the incident brings into focus a sustained friction between Bluesky’s management and some of its most passionate, outspoken members.
These tensions have not emerged in isolation. They echo prior discontent, such as the skepticism surrounding the company’s recent update to its community guidelines, as well as repeated accusations that Bluesky has been disproportionately quick to suspend or ban Palestinian and trans users, while simultaneously tolerating larger or more politically controversial accounts like Singal’s. While it would be an oversimplification to attribute all these strains to a single cause, a major contributing factor appears to be conflicting visions of what Bluesky is supposed to represent. Those who view the platform’s defining feature as its tightly knit, early-found community—particularly users from marginalized backgrounds—understandably feel a sense of betrayal when the company’s leadership seems hesitant to defend those same groups with conviction.
One user, posting under the provocative name Katie Tightpussy, offered a sharp critique suggesting that Bluesky’s leadership has grown resentful of “owning a large social media app they never actually wanted.” In her view, the company might be better served spinning the platform off altogether and retreating “to Protocol Land,” where the founders could focus on the underlying technology without confronting the endless churn of user opinion. This sentiment highlights the broader philosophical divide at the heart of Bluesky: Is it a tech protocol meant to decentralize online communication, or a community with distinct cultural and ideological values that demand stewardship?
When Graber is not engaging the public with tongue-in-cheek “waffle” memes, she has often clarified that Bluesky is not meant to represent any single political identity, subculture, or collective ethos. Instead, she consistently emphasizes the deeper technological foundation — a decentralized protocol designed to empower users to construct their own parallel networks and moderation systems. In fact, amid the latest controversy, she reiterated this position by extolling what she termed “decentralization acceleration.” In an accompanying explanation, Graber described herself and the company’s engineers as “system architects at core,” stating that their creation was intended to enable users to implement their own systems of moderation on top of the existing network. She further promised that Bluesky’s forthcoming “healthy discourse project” would directly experiment with improving the interaction models that often give rise to the toxic cycles of engagement now visible on the platform.
In retrospect, Graber’s current predicament may have been one she anticipated from the very beginning. Early in Bluesky’s formation, she articulated a clear awareness that any company mediating online speech would inevitably become an adversary to some of its own users. In the project’s founding documents, she went so far as to write, with striking prescience, that “the company is a future adversary.” That single line now reads not just as a cautionary prophecy, but as an acknowledgment of the paradox inherent in building systems meant to eliminate dependence on central authority — and then being criticized for exercising precisely that authority. In the end, the great ‘waffle war’ of Bluesky might be less about breakfast foods and more about the enduring struggle of digital communities to balance openness, governance, and collective identity in an age when every joke, no matter how lighthearted, can reveal the fractures beneath.
Sourse: https://techcrunch.com/2025/10/05/waffles-eat-bluesky/
