Streaming, Sharing, Stealing

Streaming, Sharing, Stealing Plot Summary

Introduction

For over a century, the entertainment industry operated under predictable rules. Major studios, publishing houses, and record labels maintained tight control over content creation, distribution, and promotion, determining which artists reached audiences and how consumers enjoyed their products. This power balance seemed immutable, a natural law of the entertainment ecosystem. But starting in the late 1990s, technological advancements began eroding this control system at an unprecedented pace. This dramatic transformation has reshaped how we consume and create entertainment. Today, anyone with a smartphone can produce content, once-obscure artists can bypass traditional gatekeepers to find global audiences, and consumers expect content on-demand across multiple platforms. But the most significant shift may be happening behind the scenes, where data has become the new currency of power. Companies like Netflix, Amazon, and Spotify now know more about audience preferences than traditional entertainment companies ever did, fundamentally altering who controls the relationship with consumers and who profits from creative work. Understanding this new landscape is essential for creators, industry executives, consumers, and policymakers who care about the future of storytelling and creative expression.

Chapter 1: Traditional Gatekeepers: The Century-Long Dominance of Entertainment Majors

From the early 1900s through the end of the 20th century, the entertainment landscape was dominated by an oligopoly of major companies who controlled nearly every aspect of their respective industries. In publishing, five or six major houses determined which books reached readers. In music, a handful of record labels – Universal, Sony, Warner, EMI, and BMG – controlled roughly 80% of global music sales. Similarly, in film, the major Hollywood studios – Warner Brothers, Disney, Universal, Paramount, Sony, and 20th Century Fox – maintained a stranglehold on theatrical distribution. These "majors" derived their power from controlling scarce resources essential to entertainment: production facilities, distribution channels, and promotional capacity. Creating a professionally produced album required expensive recording studios. Publishing a book necessitated access to printing facilities and physical distribution networks. Making a movie demanded millions of dollars in equipment, talent, and post-production resources. The gatekeepers determined which creative works deserved these investments based largely on subjective assessments of commercial potential. Distribution represented another crucial bottleneck. Physical shelf space in bookstores, record shops, and movie theaters was inherently limited. With only so many screens available in multiplexes or slots on radio playlists, the majors used their scale and relationships to secure prime positioning for their products. Independent creators faced enormous barriers to reaching audiences without major backing. A filmmaker might produce an excellent independent movie, but without a distribution deal from a major studio, it might never screen beyond a few art house theaters. Equally important was promotional capacity. Entertainment products are "experience goods" – consumers don't know if they'll enjoy them until after purchase. The majors leveraged their financial resources to create awareness through advertising campaigns, press coverage, and retail placement. When Universal Records wanted to break a new artist, they could secure radio airplay, music video rotation, magazine coverage, and in-store displays – all coordinated through established channels unavailable to independent creators. This system created a reinforcing cycle of power. The majors' size allowed them to absorb financial risks across a portfolio of products, funding expensive failures through occasional blockbuster successes. William Goldman's famous observation about Hollywood – "Nobody knows anything" – acknowledged the unpredictability of audience taste. The majors' scale allowed them to weather this uncertainty, while independent producers often faced financial ruin after a single unsuccessful project. The traditional gatekeeping model persisted for decades because technological and financial barriers remained relatively stable. While new formats emerged – from vinyl to cassettes to CDs, from VHS to DVD – the fundamental business model remained intact. The majors simply adapted their control to each new medium, maintaining their position as the necessary intermediaries between creators and audiences. This stability would soon face unprecedented challenges as digital technology began dismantling the very foundations of scarcity upon which entertainment empires were built.

Chapter 2: Market Power Foundations: How Scarcity Shaped 20th Century Media Economics

Throughout the 20th century, entertainment industries operated on economic principles shaped by scarcity. Physical constraints limited how content could be produced, distributed, and consumed, establishing the power dynamics that defined these industries for generations. Between 1920 and 2000, despite numerous technological innovations, the basic economic structure remained remarkably consistent. Production scarcity formed the first pillar of market power. Creating professional-quality entertainment required substantial upfront investments. A major motion picture in the 1990s typically cost $40-60 million to produce. Recording an album necessitated expensive studio time, experienced engineers, and specialized equipment. Book publishing demanded printing facilities, warehouse space, and complex logistics networks. These high fixed costs created significant barriers to entry, ensuring that only well-capitalized companies could consistently bring content to market. Distribution channels represented an even more pronounced bottleneck. Physical media occupied space – on retail shelves, theater screens, and radio airwaves – that was inherently limited. A typical record store might stock 5,000-10,000 titles, while even the largest bookstores carried only a fraction of all published works. Movie theaters could show only a handful of films simultaneously, and broadcast television offered just a few channels during the industry's formative decades. This scarcity forced harsh choices: for every album displayed prominently in a record store, dozens were relegated to back bins or excluded entirely. Promotional resources constituted the third scarcity. Creating consumer awareness required access to mass media channels – television, radio, newspapers, magazines – with limited space for entertainment coverage. Major labels spent approximately $100,000-300,000 promoting a typical album release in the 1990s, while movie marketing budgets routinely exceeded $20 million for wide releases. These expenditures secured billboards, radio spots, press coverage, and retail positioning unavailable to most independent creators. The economics of these industries were further shaped by the "nobody knows" principle – the inherent unpredictability of which products would succeed commercially. William Goldman's famous observation about Hollywood ("Nobody knows anything") applied equally to publishing and music. This uncertainty compelled the majors to operate as portfolio businesses, where a few blockbuster successes subsidized numerous commercial disappointments. Research consistently showed that approximately 10% of entertainment products generated 90% of industry profits. Market concentration was the natural outcome of these economic forces. By developing economies of scale, the majors could spread fixed costs across multiple products, negotiate favorable terms with retailers, and absorb the inevitable failures. Over decades, this produced remarkably stable oligopolies. The "Big Five" publishers, "Big Six" movie studios, and "Big Five" record labels maintained consistent market shares despite regular technological shifts from radio to television, vinyl to cassettes, VHS to DVD, and hardcover to paperback. The stability of these arrangements bred complacency. Industry executives developed standard operating procedures, career paths, and business models oriented around controlling scarce resources rather than maximizing consumer satisfaction. This system worked well enough when consumers had few alternatives. But as the millennium approached, digital technologies would begin systematically eliminating each scarcity that had undergirded market power for a century, setting the stage for unprecedented disruption.

Chapter 3: The Digital Storm: Technological Convergence Unleashing Industry Transformation

In the late 1990s, three technological developments converged to create what could be called a "perfect storm" for the entertainment industries: the widespread adoption of digital formats, the rapid proliferation of home computers, and the explosive growth of the internet. This confluence of technologies didn't merely introduce incremental change – it fundamentally altered the foundations upon which the entire entertainment ecosystem had been built. Digital formats transformed content from physical goods into infinitely reproducible data. While a vinyl record or printed book had concrete physical properties, digital files could be copied perfectly at virtually no cost. The MP3 format, developed at Germany's Fraunhofer Institute, compressed music files to manageable sizes while maintaining acceptable quality. In 1999, the DVD format standardized digital video distribution. E-books, though slower to gain traction, similarly converted text into digital bits. Crucially, once content existed in digital form, the marginal cost of reproduction approached zero, undermining economic models built around physical scarcity. Simultaneously, personal computers became powerful enough to serve as entertainment hubs. The processing power of an average home computer in 2000 exceeded what would have required a specialized workstation just five years earlier. Hard drive capacity expanded exponentially while costs plummeted. Computer manufacturers began incorporating DVD drives, improved sound cards, and enhanced graphics capabilities specifically oriented toward entertainment consumption. The distinction between "computing devices" and "entertainment devices" blurred as home computers gained the ability to store, process, and play media content previously requiring specialized equipment. The internet provided the final critical element – a global distribution network operating outside established channels. Early internet connections were painfully slow, but broadband adoption accelerated rapidly. Between 1999 and 2005, U.S. broadband penetration jumped from under 5% to over 30% of households. Peer-to-peer file-sharing networks like Napster (launched in 1999) and BitTorrent (2001) leveraged this connectivity to create decentralized distribution systems that bypassed traditional gatekeepers entirely. While often associated with piracy, these technologies demonstrated that digital distribution could operate efficiently without the infrastructure investments previously required. This technological convergence created cascading effects throughout the entertainment industries. Most immediately, it undermined the ability to control distribution, as demonstrated by music's dramatic revenue decline after Napster's launch. Global recorded music sales plummeted from $25.2 billion in 1999 to $14.3 billion in 2008 – a 43% collapse. Traditional players responded defensively, with the Recording Industry Association of America filing thousands of lawsuits against individual file-sharers and successfully shutting down Napster, but these legal victories couldn't reverse the technological tide. More profoundly, digital transformation began eliminating the very scarcities upon which industry power had been built. Production tools became dramatically more affordable, with software like Pro Tools (music), Final Cut Pro (video editing), and desktop publishing applications giving individuals capabilities previously requiring professional studios. Distribution capacity became essentially unlimited online, where virtual shelf space costs nearly nothing. Even promotional bottlenecks loosened as social media and online communities created new paths to audience awareness outside traditional marketing channels. Legacy entertainment companies initially viewed these changes primarily as threats to existing revenue streams rather than fundamental shifts in market dynamics. Their defensive responses – lobbying for stronger copyright enforcement, implementing digital rights management technologies, delaying digital releases to protect physical sales – revealed an industry desperately trying to preserve business models built for an analog world. Meanwhile, technology companies like Apple, Amazon, and later Netflix recognized the opportunities created by these shifts and positioned themselves to capitalize on the emerging digital landscape.

Chapter 4: Content Democratization: Piracy, Self-Publishing and Creator Empowerment

The early 2000s witnessed an unprecedented democratization of content creation and distribution, forever altering the relationship between creators and traditional gatekeepers. This transformation occurred across multiple fronts, each contributing to a radical reshaping of how creative works reached audiences. Digital piracy, though legally problematic, served as an inadvertent catalyst for industry transformation. Napster's 1999 launch demonstrated consumer demand for digital access that transcended traditional distribution constraints. When the recording industry successfully shut down Napster in 2001, more resilient systems like BitTorrent quickly emerged. By 2004, BitTorrent alone accounted for over 30% of all internet traffic. While major entertainment companies viewed piracy primarily as theft, its wider significance lay in exposing fundamental disconnects between consumer expectations and industry practices. Consumers demonstrated they wanted content immediately, conveniently, and often unbundled from traditional packages – preferences the established players were initially unwilling to accommodate. Simultaneously, revolutionary changes in production technology placed professional-quality tools within reach of ordinary creators. Digital cameras capable of capturing cinema-quality footage became available for a few thousand dollars. Music production software transformed laptops into virtual recording studios. Print-on-demand technology eliminated minimum print runs for books. These developments dramatically lowered financial barriers to creation. Previously, producing a professional-quality album might cost $50,000-100,000 in studio time alone; by 2010, comparable quality could be achieved for under $5,000 with home equipment. New distribution platforms emerged to connect these newly empowered creators directly with audiences. YouTube, launched in 2005, provided video creators a global platform with no gatekeepers. Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing, introduced in 2007, allowed authors to self-publish e-books and reach readers without securing a publishing contract. CD Baby and later Bandcamp offered musicians direct-to-fan distribution. These platforms eliminated the rejection letters, development deals, and distribution hurdles that had previously filtered which creative works reached the public. The economic impact of these changes manifested in an explosion of available content. The number of new book titles published annually in the United States increased from approximately 150,000 in 2000 to over 1 million by 2010, with self-published works accounting for much of this growth. Music releases similarly multiplied, with an estimated 75,000 albums released in 2010 compared to roughly 35,000 in 2000. YouTube reported that 300 hours of video were being uploaded to its platform every minute by 2015. This proliferation created both opportunities and challenges for creators. On one hand, virtually anyone could now create and distribute content globally without corporate permission. Musicians like Lindsey Stirling built audiences of millions after being rejected by record labels. Authors like Amanda Hocking earned millions through self-published novels after collecting rejection letters from traditional publishers. On the other hand, the flood of available content created a new scarcity – audience attention – making discovery increasingly difficult without promotional support. Traditional gatekeepers responded inconsistently to these developments. Some embraced new talent discovered through digital channels; others doubled down on blockbuster investments, reasoning that proven commercial properties would retain value amid the content explosion. Most notably, the "nobody knows" principle – the industry's historical inability to predict hits – was increasingly challenged by data-driven approaches that tracked online engagement to identify promising talent without traditional development processes. The democratization of content creation and distribution fundamentally altered power dynamics within the entertainment ecosystem. Creators gained leverage through newly viable alternatives to traditional deals. The ability to build audiences independently allowed artists to negotiate better terms when they did engage with established players. Rather than replacing traditional media companies entirely, these changes forced a renegotiation of their role in the creative economy – from exclusive gatekeepers to optional partners in a much more diverse landscape.

Chapter 5: Rise of Data-Driven Giants: How Platforms Seized Control of Customer Relationships

As traditional entertainment companies grappled with content democratization and piracy, a new power structure was emerging. Between 2005 and 2015, technology platforms like Amazon, Apple, Google, and Netflix positioned themselves as critical intermediaries between content creators and consumers. Unlike their predecessors, these companies built their dominance not on controlling content itself, but on owning direct customer relationships and the valuable data those relationships generated. iTunes, launched in 2003, exemplified this shift. While record stores had traditionally been the music industry's primary retail channel, they knew very little about individual customers. A record store might track overall sales of an album but couldn't identify who purchased it or what else they bought. iTunes, conversely, maintained detailed purchase histories for every customer, knew exactly what music they sampled before buying, and could track listening patterns across devices. Apple leveraged this customer relationship to secure unprecedented concessions from music labels, including the right to sell individual songs rather than albums, standardized pricing, and removal of digital rights management restrictions. Netflix followed a similar path in video entertainment. Beginning as a DVD-by-mail service, the company meticulously tracked every rental, return, and rating from its subscribers. This data allowed Netflix to develop sophisticated recommendation algorithms that drove an estimated 75% of viewer choices on its platform. When Netflix transitioned to streaming in 2007, these customer insights became even more granular, capturing not just what people watched but when they paused, what scenes they replayed, and which episodes caused them to binge entire seasons. By 2013, this data advantage enabled Netflix to confidently invest $100 million in "House of Cards" without requiring a pilot episode, fundamentally changing how television content was greenlighted. Amazon's dominance in book retailing demonstrated similar principles. Beyond simply selling books online, Amazon built comprehensive customer profiles based on browsing patterns, purchase history, reading speed, and even which passages readers highlighted on Kindle devices. This data allowed Amazon to personalize recommendations with unprecedented accuracy while simultaneously gathering insights about genre trends, price sensitivity, and cover design effectiveness that traditional publishers couldn't match. By 2014, Amazon controlled approximately 65% of e-book sales and leveraged this position to negotiate increasingly favorable terms with publishers. The platforms' strategic advantages extended beyond data collection to infrastructure capabilities. These companies invested billions in cloud computing, content delivery networks, payment processing systems, and recommendation engines – infrastructure that traditional entertainment companies couldn't easily replicate. Google's YouTube processed 300 hours of video uploads every minute by 2015. Netflix accounted for over 35% of all internet traffic during peak hours. These technical capabilities created substantial barriers to entry for potential competitors. Most crucially, these platforms positioned themselves at the critical juncture where consumers discovered content. Rather than relying on traditional promotional channels like radio airplay or television advertising, consumers increasingly found new entertainment through platform-controlled discovery mechanisms: Amazon's recommendation engine, Netflix's personalized homepage, Apple's featured playlists. This control over discovery granted platforms tremendous leverage over content providers, who became increasingly dependent on algorithmic visibility for commercial success. Traditional entertainment companies initially viewed these platforms primarily as new distribution channels rather than existential challenges to their business models. They licensed content to Netflix, sold music through iTunes, and distributed books through Amazon, viewing these arrangements as incremental revenue streams. Only gradually did they recognize that by delegating customer relationships to technology platforms, they were ceding their most valuable asset – direct knowledge of audience preferences and behaviors. The platforms, meanwhile, used their customer relationships and data to move upstream into content creation themselves. Amazon Studios, Netflix Original productions, and YouTube's creator program all leveraged audience insights to identify promising content investments with less risk than traditional development models. By 2015, these platform-produced offerings began winning prestigious industry recognition, with Netflix's "House of Cards" securing multiple Emmy Awards and Amazon Studios' "Transparent" winning Golden Globes – symbolic validation of their emerging creative power.

Chapter 6: Value Migration: From Content Creation to Audience Understanding

Throughout the 2010s, a profound value migration occurred within the entertainment ecosystem: economic power shifted from companies that controlled content creation to those that understood audience behavior. This transformation reflected a fundamental change in which resources were scarce and valuable in the digital entertainment economy. For most of the 20th century, content itself represented the primary scarce resource. When distribution channels were limited, controlling desirable content naturally generated market power and profits. Movie studios owned film libraries that television networks needed to fill programming hours. Record labels controlled master recordings necessary for radio airplay and retail distribution. Publishers owned rights to books that could only reach readers through physical stores. This content scarcity allowed rights holders to extract significant economic value through licensing fees, royalty arrangements, and wholesale pricing power. Digital technology systematically eliminated this scarcity. The marginal cost of reproducing and distributing digital content approached zero. Piracy networks made unauthorized content widely available despite legal prohibitions. The explosion of creator tools generated an unprecedented flood of new content competing for attention. By 2015, consumers faced not content scarcity but content abundance – far more movies, music, books, and videos than anyone could possibly consume in a lifetime. As content abundance increased, audience attention emerged as the new scarce resource. The average American adult consumed approximately 11 hours of media daily by 2015, a figure that remained relatively stable despite exponentially growing content options. Entertainment companies now competed not against limited distribution channels but against every other claim on consumers' finite attention – including social media, messaging apps, games, and user-generated content. Success increasingly depended not on controlling distribution but on capturing and retaining audience attention amid overwhelming choice. In this environment, data about audience preferences became extraordinarily valuable. Traditional entertainment companies possessed very limited customer knowledge. Movie studios didn't know who watched their films in theaters. Television networks relied on small-sample Nielsen ratings that provided demographic approximations rather than individual viewing patterns. Publishers received bestseller lists but little information about individual reader preferences. These companies essentially operated blindfolded when making creative and marketing decisions. By contrast, digital platforms accumulated unprecedented insights about individual consumers. Netflix tracked not just what subscribers watched but how they watched – which scenes they rewatched, when they paused, whether they binged episodes consecutively or spaced them out. Amazon observed not only what books customers purchased but how quickly they read them, which passages they highlighted, and what they searched for before and after. These granular behavioral data allowed platforms to develop increasingly sophisticated algorithms for content recommendation, audience targeting, and even content development. The competitive advantage created by this data asymmetry became evident in the platforms' increasingly successful content investments. When Netflix commissioned "House of Cards" in 2011, it did so with unusual confidence – committing $100 million upfront for two full seasons without requiring a pilot episode. This decision wasn't based on executive instinct but on algorithmic analysis of subscriber viewing patterns, which indicated substantial audience interest in political dramas, director David Fincher's visual style, and actor Kevin Spacey's performances. Similar data-driven approaches informed Amazon Studios' development slate and content acquisition strategy. Traditional entertainment companies recognized this shift belatedly. By 2015, many had launched direct-to-consumer streaming services partly to recapture audience relationships and data. Disney+, HBO Max, and similar offerings represented attempts to establish direct connections with audiences rather than licensing content to third-party platforms. However, these efforts faced significant challenges, including technical infrastructure limitations, organizational resistance to data-driven decision-making, and competitive disadvantages in recommendation capabilities. The value migration from content to audience understanding transformed industry economics. Whereas traditional entertainment companies derived power from owning intellectual property, digital platforms generated value through network effects and data accumulation. Each new subscriber provided additional behavioral data that improved recommendations, which attracted more subscribers, creating a virtuous cycle independent of any specific content. By 2015, Netflix was worth more than CBS and Viacom combined, despite owning far less intellectual property, because investors recognized the durable competitive advantage created by its customer relationships and data capabilities.

Chapter 7: Organizational Adaptation: Embracing Data Analytics in Traditional Media

As digital disruption intensified through the 2010s, traditional entertainment companies faced a critical challenge: how to transform their organizations to compete in a data-driven landscape. This adaptation process revealed deep cultural tensions between established industry practices and the analytical approaches required for digital success. Entertainment companies had historically organized around creative intuition rather than data analysis. Important decisions – which manuscripts to publish, which scripts to greenlight, which artists to sign – were made by executives with "good taste" and "a feel for the audience." This approach produced many artistic triumphs and commercial successes over decades. However, it created organizational cultures that often dismissed quantitative analysis as irrelevant to creative decision-making. "Data can only tell you what people have liked before, not what they're going to like next," was a common refrain among industry veterans. This cultural resistance proved particularly problematic because entertainment companies typically structured themselves as collections of independent fiefdoms. Film studios separated theatrical distribution from home entertainment. Publishing houses maintained distinct print and digital divisions. Television networks operated broadcast and streaming services under different leadership. These silos prevented companies from developing integrated views of audience behavior across consumption channels, reinforcing reliance on intuition rather than comprehensive data analysis. Organizational structures further complicated adaptation. Most entertainment companies organized their analytics teams within individual business units, where they served primarily tactical functions – tracking sales, measuring marketing effectiveness, producing standardized reports. Few companies positioned analytics as a strategic function with direct influence on content development, pricing, or distribution decisions. When data contradicted executive intuition, the data was often ignored or rationalized away rather than informing a change in strategy. Despite these challenges, several traditional media companies made significant progress in organizational adaptation. Disney's creation of a dedicated direct-to-consumer division in 2018 signaled organizational commitment to building data capabilities comparable to digital natives. This reorganization placed streaming services, data analytics, and technology development under unified leadership, enabling more cohesive strategy development. The company subsequently invested heavily in data science talent and infrastructure to support Disney+, its flagship streaming service. HBO similarly transformed its approach to audience data following AT&T's acquisition of parent company Time Warner. The network, which had previously made programming decisions based almost exclusively on creative quality and critical reception, began incorporating more sophisticated viewership analysis into its development process. While maintaining its commitment to artistic excellence, HBO developed new capabilities for understanding audience behavior across linear and streaming platforms, allowing more informed decisions about content investment. Publishing houses adapted their organizational structures more gradually. Penguin Random House established a consumer insights division that applied data analytics to marketing decisions, author acquisitions, and pricing strategy. The publisher began systematically testing cover designs, monitoring social media sentiment, and analyzing e-book reading patterns to inform both creative and commercial decisions. Notably, these analytics capabilities supplemented rather than replaced traditional editorial judgment, creating a hybrid decision-making process. The most successful organizational adaptations shared several common elements. First, they elevated data analytics to a C-suite function with direct reporting lines to senior leadership. Second, they invested in both technology infrastructure and human talent, recognizing that sophisticated analytics required both computational resources and specialized expertise. Third, they focused on creating "data translation" capabilities – employing individuals who understood both analytics and creative processes and could communicate effectively between these different organizational cultures. Companies also discovered the importance of experimental approaches to organizational learning. Rather than implementing sweeping changes across entire organizations, successful adaptations often began with limited experiments in specific business areas. A publishing division might test data-driven pricing on a subset of titles, or a film studio might apply algorithmic marketing techniques to specific releases. These focused experiments generated proof points that helped overcome organizational resistance while providing valuable learning opportunities. The integration of data capabilities into traditional media organizations didn't happen overnight. Cultural change proved particularly challenging, as longstanding assumptions about "gut feel" decision-making collided with analytical approaches. Companies that navigated this transition most successfully maintained respect for creative intuition while systematically incorporating data insights into their processes. They recognized that the goal wasn't to replace human judgment with algorithms but to augment creative decisions with analytical support, creating organizations capable of competing in a landscape increasingly dominated by data-driven competitors.

Summary

The entertainment industry's transformation over the past two decades reveals a fundamental shift in how value is created and captured in the digital age. What began as technological disruption – the digitization of content, the rise of the internet, and the proliferation of connected devices – evolved into something far more profound: a complete realignment of market power. The core narrative is not simply about physical versus digital distribution, but about a transfer of control from those who create content to those who understand audience behavior. Throughout this transformation, the most valuable resource shifted from ownership of intellectual property to ownership of customer relationships and the data those relationships generate. This transformation offers important lessons that extend beyond entertainment to all industries facing digital disruption. First, when technological change eliminates traditional scarcities, new sources of competitive advantage quickly emerge – often centered around customer data and direct relationships. Second, organizational culture and structure frequently determine which companies successfully navigate disruption; the ability to overcome internal resistance to data-driven decision-making proved more important than technological sophistication. Finally, the entertainment industry's experience demonstrates that digital transformation is not merely about modernizing distribution channels but fundamentally rethinking value creation. Those companies that continue to thrive will be those that balance creative excellence with analytical rigor, preserving what made entertainment valuable while embracing the possibilities created by understanding audiences at unprecedented depth and scale.

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Michael D. Smith

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