At the time, the mainstream narrative surrounding the internet boom was overwhelmingly celebratory. Yet, Borsook saw through the faux-rebel mythos. She observed that the culture of high tech was fiercely anti-government, even as it owed its foundational growth and infrastructure to heavy government subsidization. She noted how the industry prioritized an unbridled ideology of progress and profits while systematically ignoring all human and societal costs. Furthermore, she pointed out how tech culture co-opted the language of evolution to make human decisions and power structures seem inevitable, described an ecosystem that was hyper-male and inclined toward hyper-misogyny, and highlighted that the industry’s wealthiest figureheads possessed an abysmal track record when it came to meaningful philanthropy.
Cyberselfish was published directly into the dot-com collapse—a moment when the public briefly turned its attention away from tech fools who had taken investors for a ride. Consequently, the book vanished almost instantly. It was not because Borsook’s observations were incorrect, but rather because she was too right, too early, and too unwilling to flatter what she termed the cathedral of code. While the world subsequently rewarded those who critiqued tech later, softer, or with institutional credentials—granting them book deals, fellowships, think tank gigs, tenured chairs, and keynote slots—Paulina Borsook was largely ignored.
For decades, the book remained out of print, a forgotten artifact of a bygone era. Social scientists and historians likely have a specific term for what happens when a minority subculture gradually becomes a majority one, but the reality for Silicon Valley was stark: the libertarian, anti-social-contract ideologies Borsook documented in the 1990s eventually became the dominant worldview of tech leaders. The ensuing trends and ideas had effects far worse than Borsook could have ever imagined while writing the book.
Now, a quarter-century after its initial publication, a strange and remarkable resurgence has brought Cyberselfish back from the literary graveyard. Thanks to a sudden surge of public interest and the unpredictable nature of internet algorithms, the book is being reissued this fall by Tin House, arriving in a world that finally appears ready to listen.
When Cyberselfish first debuted, it received widespread critical reviews across the globe, but it failed to commercially sustain itself. The dot-com crash and the tragic events of September 11 shifted global attention elsewhere, sending the book out of print just a few years after its release. For a long time, physical copies languished on used-book platforms at humiliating low prices of around five dollars—where postage and handling frequently cost more than the book itself.
Eventually, the few remaining physical copies disappeared entirely from circulation, pushing asking prices on rare-book markets past two hundred dollars. Graduate students from around the world began reaching out to Borsook, expressing frustration that they could not afford skyrocketing collectible prices for their research. At the time, there was nothing the author could do for this new generation of readers.
Around 2025, however, the tides began to turn. European academics and media figures suddenly began reaching out to Borsook for interviews and commentary, driven largely by mounting geopolitical and cultural anxieties surrounding figures like Elon Musk and the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE).
The true catalyst for the book’s miraculous revival arrived in May 2025 via LinkedIn. Jonathan Sandhu, a stranger to Borsook who had been inspired by a mentor named Steven Hertzberg, published a detailed, impassioned appreciation of Cyberselfish. Sandhu’s post praised Borsook for mapping out the libertarian ego trip years before anyone else thought to buy a hoodie and launch a surveillance startup. He highlighted how the author had called out the industry’s faux-rebel mythos and its pathological allergy to the social contract, only for the world to ignore her because she was too early.
Sandhu’s post went viral, crossing paths with thousands of readers who had never heard of the book or its author. Among them were individuals whose specialized skills would prove critical in resurrecting the lost text.
David Sierra, a professional with deep expertise in computer vision, had managed to purchase a paperback and two hardcovers of Cyberselfish while they were still available in early 2025. When Borsook frantically asked if anyone could create a clean PDF of the book—a vital requirement for making the case for a republication to potential publishers—Sierra completed the task in a matter of minutes. All official electronic versions had long since vanished after being vaporized by Public Affairs, the Hachette-owned imprint that had previously held the rights.
Simultaneously, the algorithm led Borsook to Giovanni Lostumbo. Lostumbo actively monitored Substack and discovered a rapidly growing wave of mentions regarding Cyberselfish starting in March 2025, providing undeniable proof of a burgeoning reputational renaissance. Lostumbo soon connected Borsook with Gil Duran, a writer who was concurrently working on a forthcoming book titled The Nerd Reich. Borsook and Duran arranged a lunch meeting, quickly realizing they were natural ideological allies.
Shortly after their meeting, Wired published a feature article exploring how modern tech leaders had evolved into sociopathic figures. Although Duran had been interviewed for the piece, he was ultimately unquoted, and Cyberselfish was omitted entirely. Displeased by the oversight, Duran published an expansive post on Bluesky arguing that Borsook’s work represented the gold standard of tech criticism and urging the public to help bring it back into print.
Duran’s Bluesky post outperformed anything else he had ever shared on the platform, eventually catching the attention of New York Times reporter David Streitfeld. Streitfeld became deeply intrigued by the peculiar death and subsequent rebirth of Cyberselfish, initiating months of interviews and email correspondence with Borsook.
Around the same time, Duran invited Borsook to appear on his podcast, with production and research assistance from Riley Robbins. The episode immediately gained algorithmic favor, driving a massive wave of traffic that completely sold out all remaining global copies of the book within days. At that point, the text was only accessible via unauthorized editions or an abridged audiobook from decades prior—an abridgment that Borsook had never even been consulted on.
The months of dialogue between Borsook and Streitfeld culminated in a prominent feature article in the New York Times on Thanksgiving Day in 2025. Upon its publication, Borsook’s literary agent, Stuart Krichevsky, emailed her a validating message: "We always knew you were right."
Major publishers quickly took notice of the renewed cultural spotlight, setting the stage for the official reissue of Cyberselfish. The resurrection of the text was a collective effort driven by a dedicated network of individuals who kept the beat alive, including David Temkin, Maria Bustillos, Kurt Taylor Gaubatz, Jeff Ubois, John Rieger, and Jason Kehe, each of whom contributed in their own distinct way.
Reflecting on the journey of what she long nicknamed "TDB" (That Damned Book)—a project that traversed three publishers and left her deeply in debt—Borsook notes the irony of its enduring relevance. A friend who originally purchased the book upon its debut observed that its pages rang even truer in 2025 than they did at the turn of the millennium.
Borsook also reflects on the broader sociopolitical climate, noting with sorrow that Cyberselfish was originally composed during a safer era when freedom of expression was not nearly as imperiled as it is today. With online and real-world harassment directed at those who maintain heterodox viewpoints having intensified dramatically, she admits uncertainty over whether she would possess the courage to write Cyberselfish if starting from scratch today. Instead, she expresses profound gratitude that this twenty-fifth-anniversary edition has finally escaped the graveyard of lost works to find an audience ready to heed its warnings.
