Goodreads has no reason being as terrible as it is. Bought in 2013 by Amazon, readers who used the website to log, review, and discuss novels lamented at the acquisition, fearing drastic and apocalyptic alterations to their beloved reader’s haven. Ultimately, their worries were misguided. Over the past 11 years, Amazon has barely changed anything about the website’s interface, remaining perfectly content with leaving it be. What has changed are the opinions of the readers.   

The Goodreads website launched in 2007, and the mobile app was created in 2010. Consequently, the website (yes, the desktop site) is still much preferred by readers even today. Users are able to find new books, leave reviews, and interact with others through commenting. They can even see what their favourite author is reading. The boundary between Goodreads as a cataloguing site and a social media site have become incredibly blurred.

In recent years, readers have begun pushing back against their initial worries—the once beloved platform is now accused of being stagnant, outright broken, and part of a bygone era. This outcry has reached news outlets, with The Walrus commenting on ‘the awfulness of its user experience’ and The New York Times calling it a ‘hellscape’ in an ‘awkward limbo.’ The beauty of using Goodreads, however, is that this is all expected. In fact, its biggest criticism is actually the reason why it’s so great.

I joined Goodreads in 2012, alongside Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, and other now defunct online spaces. Through the years, these apps have blossomed into algorithm-focussed monsters with users constantly chasing this alien concept. Does my title have to be all in lowercase when uploading a YouTube video? How many hashtags is too many on an Instagram post? This is paired with the frequent updates, usually background logistics, but sometimes enough to make you take a step back. Instagram updated to resemble Snapchat, Twitter updated to resemble one man’s Freudian nightmare, and all attempted to copy the success of TikTok. TikTok itself is ripe with change—every time I log on, there is a new way of editing and uploading a video. Each app is focused on ‘growing,’ and each business model equates this with change. All except for Goodreads.

In this era of unnecessary expansions, an unchanged digital space like Goodreads is incredibly unique. In fact, there’s a certain novelty in a site that has remained unchanged since its conception, yet still boasts over 140 million users. There’s a nostalgic element to its design—the navigation buttons outlined in a thin black line for three-dimensionality, the home page reminiscent of the default Tumblr theme, and analog navigation rules for its various pages. As part of an individual’s personal profile, Goodreads allows for a reading goal to be set, as befits a site aimed at readers. It also provides recommendations for novels, akin to a ‘For You’ page. Interestingly, it distinguishes between ‘Following’ and ‘Friends,’ perhaps the original version of the distinction that Instagram would later roll out as ‘Close Friends.’ But don’t let these modernistic elements fool you—it’s still intrinsically old-school, evoking the time of the early aughts Google logo that had harsh shading and a floating shadow behind it. The site has a vintage charm.

So, why this emerging disconnect with the social space? Well, mostly it has to do with the way we interact with the site. Increasingly, readers have begun interacting with the site as if it’s a modern webpage, bolstered by the evolution of other platforms. The push to change it has led to dissatisfaction with the site which is born from a misunderstanding of Goodreads itself. Of course it’s old and horrible, but that’s the point. Treating it like a modern social media site takes away from its status as a pathetically simple ode to keeping the bar as low as possible and still making it work.

We shouldn’t measure its success as we do with other apps or sites, instead celebrate its idiosyncratic state. Where once, readers were afraid Amazon would change it beyond recognition, for now I’m happy for it to remain the forgotten, neglected child of the internet.