These were legitimately emotional moments for all involved and admirable contributions on Twitch’s part. However, they were marred by gaffes and pervasive platform-wide issues that remain under-addressed. For example, when MiladyConfetti was told, live on stream, that she’d been granted partner status, her incredulously joyful tears were undercut by a torrent of “Trihard” emotes in chat. This is a common racist joke on Twitch. Viewers see a Black person—any Black person at all—and spam the emote, which is a picture of veteran streamer Mychal “Trihex” Jefferson’s face.

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On top of that, there’s the simple fact that becoming a Twitch partner barely means anything anymore. Back in the day, it was a perk-ensconced gateway into a full-time streaming career. Now it’s just a sign that you’ve jumped through the requisite metrics-based hoops (an average of 75 viewers, etc), but it’s not a guarantee of anything aside from a few additional perks that the more easily obtained “affiliate” status doesn’t already grant you. In an official FAQ, Twitch says that “out of over 2 million active broadcasters, around 27,000 are Partners.” However, unofficial stats now put the number of streamers at closer to 4 million million, meaning that the partner stat is likely outdated, and there are even more now. Ultimately, what Twitch got—free publicity from somebody who acted like their life had just been changed—was far more than it actually gave.

In fairness, Twitch did give quite a bit to AbleGamers. But even that moment was marred by the dumbfounding decision to deploy a giant golden “kappa” emote on the screen during AbleGamers’ COO Steve Spohn’s reaction. The kappa emote was a big part of GlitchCon’s promotion, but it’s also most commonly used in chat to express sarcasm. Viewers, then, were not sure if Twitch actually gave AbleGamers $1 million, or if it was a cruel joke.

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These segments, charitable as they ultimately were, also shone a spotlight on a conspicuous absence from the convention. In addition to various other events like esports tournaments and meet and greets, TwitchCon hosts panels in which streamers discuss topics near and dear to them. During the past few years, these have included discussions of difficult, often unflattering (if you’re Twitch) subjects like racism, sexuality, and disability. At GlitchCon, however, there were no panels—just moments when Twitch got to briefly look like a knight in shining armor to marginalized groups that it routinely underserves. Over the summer, Black streamers spoke about how it was all at once validating and heartbreaking that Twitch—as both a company and culture—barely reached out until their communities had been ravaged by police violence. And yet, months later at GlitchCon, the Trihard emotes rained, an unmistakable reminder that very little has materially changed.

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The convention itself was basically a highlight reel of Twitch, but with edges shaved off and ample ads in their place. Segments included a cosplay competition, a guessing game in which chat tried to figure out the identity of a “glitched gamer,” Dark Souls speedrunning, esports, a talent show, and a music-based “afterparty” hosted by musician and streamer T-Pain. Sprinkled throughout, there were some legitimately fun moments; the Dark Souls speedrun competition included a portion where streamers played the game using Dance Dance Revolution pads, which was handily won by Luality, a previously lesser-known streamer whose channel description is literally “Plays Dark Souls 3 on a dance pad.”

The winner of the talent show, meanwhile, was a musician named Juliaaaeasttt who opened the show with an embarrassing gaffe (her sound did not play, but she was not aware and rocked out while the judges yelled to try and get her attention) only to come back later and take home gold with a dynamite performance of Kimbra-like looping pop. It was one of those moments that perfectly illustrates why live content—even when rigorously planned—is so enrapturing: You never know when something might go awry, but that doesn’t mean it’s all over. Great streamers have mastered the art of thriving when other people would be melting down.

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It was clear that the team at Twitch responsible for putting GlitchCon together poured a lot of effort into emphasizing what makes the platform unique. GlitchCon, despite covid-imposed constraints, was legitimately enjoyable viewing. It’s even more of a feat when you consider that the boiling tensions between streamers and Twitch are clearly beginning to wear on Twitch employees, many of whom have no choice but to roll with the punches prompted by their employer’s decisions.

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All throughout the event, however, things felt off. There were guest spots from numerous popular streamers, none of whom seemed quite in their element stopping themselves from cursing and regularly shouting out Verizon 5G. “Keep your eye out for a couple massive Verizon giveaways in the show,” Twitch streamer and YouTuber Tucker “Jericho” Boner said while hosting the glitched gamer guessing game. “See, we really are all winners.” Then he trailed off for a moment, clearly uncomfortable, before adding: “It’s in the script, I have to say it.”

Multiple streamers renowned for regularly busting out edgy jokes and memes—or, in the case of Tyler “Tyler1” Steinkamp, sometimes straight up berating viewers—made tamped-down, brand-friendly appearances. The talent show, for example, was hosted by Austin, a talk show host who formerly went by the moniker Rajj Patel. The risqué chaos of his popular streaming spins on shows like The Bachelor, however, was nowhere to be found. Other streamers who’ve previously dipped their toes in edgier waters like Andy Milonakis and Chance “Sodapoppin” Morris were also on their best behavior.

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Morris, at least, seemed to be having fun borderline-parodying the event he was a part of. When asked to explain the glitched gamer segment he was helping host, he replied in a sarcastic tone: “We’re doing some stuff. It’s gonna be super cool and poggers. We’re gonna crunch some numbers. We’re gonna find a winner. We’re gonna find a loser. It’s gonna be really, really pogchamp.” Then he proceeded to keep score by writing in sharpie on a broken-down cardboard Amazon box. It’s hard to say if that’s exactly what Twitch wanted, but it was definitely funny.

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Bringing everything full circle, the night’s afterparty called back to the strangeness of the morning’s keynote. T-Pain proved an able host, but after spotlighting a few other musicians, he introduced a DJ named AC Slater who proceeded to spin licensed music. After a handful of minutes, the stream abruptly cut away to a GlitchCon screen, so that Twitch would not have to take down its own event. When it returned to T-Pain, he was holding a Twitch rulebook. Pretending to read, he said, “In order to not get DMCA-ed, you...OK, use the Pizzle Pack whenever you can,” referencing his own pack of royalty-free beats. Not a bad save on his part, but an embarrassing moment for Twitch nonetheless.

That was GlitchCon in a nutshell: A series of close shaves and awkward saves surrounded on all sides by a solid though sanitized attempt at salvaging an unsalvageable year. Like so many TwitchCons before it, it functioned as a demonstration of how Twitch wants the world to see it, as well as a glimpse of the future. The company clearly hopes to maintain the spontaneity and community that have come to define its platform, but it wants them in an uncomplicated diet form—one that doesn’t require it to do inconvenient things like spend money on licensing or figure out a business model that isn’t rooted in antiquated forms of advertising. If streamers wind up caught between the crushing clamps of these competing priorities, so be it. One way or another, the show will go on.

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