This is a summary of a book titled “Trust Agents: Using the Web to Build Influence, Improve Reputation, and Earn Trust” written by Chris Brogan and Julien Smith and published by Wiley in 2009. People become less trusting, and the public’s skepticism toward institutions runs high as time passes. In this environment, traditional marketing and polished corporate messaging don’t build confidence; they often deepen suspicion. The authors argue that the web—because it is connective, searchable, and radically transparent—offers companies a different path. Instead of trying to control the message or hide imperfections, organizations can earn credibility by showing up as real participants in online communities. The people who make this work are what Brogan and Smith call “trust agents”: individuals who represent a business without acting like salespeople, who trade pressure for presence, and who build influence by being useful and genuine. For implementors of OAuth protocol, this relates to bringing audience from third party websites.
A trust agent’s influence comes from understanding a core shift: online, people don’t want to be “managed” by brands; they want to be cared for by humans. The authors stress that effective participants are not infiltrators who join groups to extract value, and they are not loud promoters trying to “convert” every interaction into a transaction. They are power users of modern web tools—blogs, feeds, social networks, audio and video platforms—but the tools matter less than the approach. The web is described as a gigantic lever: once you publish something helpful publicly, it can continue to reach new people long after you press “post,” and one thoughtful answer can save you from repeating the same response in countless private emails. Over time, that visible generosity becomes reputation, and reputation becomes trust.
To act with credibility, the book says, you first have to listen. Brogan and Smith recommend building a “listening station” so you can understand what online communities already believe about your company and your competitors—what they praise, what they distrust, and what questions keep resurfacing. Their 2009 instructions are anchored in the tools of that moment (Google services, feed readers, and blog search engines like Technorati), but the underlying practice is timeless: set up a system that continuously surfaces mentions of your organization, your products, and the themes your customers care about. The goal is not surveillance for its own sake; it is awareness. Only by paying attention can you participate in ways that feel responsive rather than performative.
Once you can “see the map” of what people are saying, you can begin to contribute. The authors emphasize that the content you create online—whether posts, videos, podcasts, or simple comments—has durability. Because it remains discoverable, it can keep answering questions and demonstrating your expertise long after the moment has passed. This is where social capital forms: when you repeatedly help people solve problems, clarify confusing topics, or point them toward useful resources, the community starts to recognize you as someone worth listening to. That recognition is not merely popularity; it is a kind of stored goodwill you can draw on later when you need to introduce an idea, request feedback, or rally people around a project.
From there, Brogan and Smith organize the trust agent’s mindset into six interlocking principles. Each principle is less a rigid rule than a way of behaving that makes trust more likely to form in public spaces where anyone can evaluate you. Together they encourage experimentation, belonging, leverage, relationship-building, empathy, and collective action—skills that turn the web from a broadcasting channel into a place where influence is earned.
The first principle, “Make Your Own Game,” argues that the internet rewards those willing to challenge industry habits. Online you can set new terms, reach audiences directly, and bypass gatekeepers who once controlled distribution. The book highlights musicians who rewrote the rules: the Arctic Monkeys built momentum through MySpace, and Radiohead experimented with a pay-what-you-want release that still generated massive sales. These examples illustrate the broader point: trust agents don’t wait for permission. They watch what the community values, take smart risks, and create approaches that feel fresh rather than formulaic.
To support that spirit of experimentation, the authors borrow a framework from Douglas Rushkoff: treating culture—and the web—as a kind of game you can learn, hack, and even redesign. At first you “play,” learning the norms and feedback signals of your space: links, comments, followers, revenue, and the general sentiment people express in public. Then you begin to “cheat,” not by being dishonest but by thinking laterally—finding unusual, effective ways to use familiar tools or sell familiar offerings. Finally, you may move into “programming,” building something new entirely and discovering its rules through trial, error, and persistence. In the trust agent’s world, that willingness to learn and iterate becomes a visible marker of competence and confidence.
The second principle, “One of Us,” focuses on belonging. Trust online is rarely granted to outsiders who sound like advertisements, and it is quickly withdrawn from anyone who appears self-serving. The book points to an early and influential example: Microsoft employee Robert Scoble, who blogged candidly about his company—even criticizing products. That openness helped him gain standing in technical communities, not because he was perfect, but because he was plainly real. Brogan and Smith connect this to the “trust equation” described in The Trusted Advisor: credibility, reliability, and intimacy raise trust, while self-orientation lowers it. Online, these factors still apply, but they are shaped by what other people publicly say about you, by the consistency of your visible actions over time, and by the surprising power of “verbal intimacy” in a world with fewer nonverbal cues.
The third principle, the “Archimedes Effect,” explains how the web turns small efforts into outsized outcomes. Like a lever, online platforms amplify reputation, relationships, and time: a single introduction can connect networks, and a single well-placed resource can help thousands. Yet the authors warn that leverage collapses the moment you treat your audience as targets. Trust agents serve as helpful gatekeepers for their communities, curating information, connecting people, and staying focused on long-term value rather than short-term selling.
Using that leverage well requires what the authors call “multicapitalism”: the ability to recognize different forms of value—money, attention, credibility, access, goodwill—and to exchange them intelligently. They offer Donald Trump as an example of turning one kind of capital into another: wealth into visibility, visibility into new ventures. For a trust agent, the more ethical version of this is building a presence online, meeting people in person when possible, and then sustaining the relationship with ongoing online touches. Over time, those repeated, generous interactions become the compounding force behind influence.
The fourth principle, “Agent Zero,” describes a particular kind of network position. Trust agents often sit at the hub of conversations, not because they demand attention, but because they continuously connect people and ideas. They comment, respond, congratulate, and share—quickly and sincerely. They use their network to solve problems, introduce collaborators, and spotlight other people’s work. Ironically, by staying out of the spotlight and acting with a service mindset, they become highly visible in the way that matters: as dependable human links within a community.
The fifth principle, “Human Artist,” is about interpersonal skill—especially empathy, observation, and respect for social norms. Brogan and Smith argue that trust agents succeed because they are good at reading the room, even when “the room” is a comment thread, a forum, or a fast-moving social feed. They take time to learn which communities matter to them, what those people value, and what behavior is considered acceptable. They listen before they speak, match the tone of the space, and follow a web-friendly version of the Golden Rule: treat online contacts the way you would want to be treated. Most importantly, they resist the temptation to market to new online friends. In community settings, aggressive selling is often treated as a violation, and it can damage reputation faster than any single mistake.
The sixth principle, “Build an Army,” highlights the web’s ability to coordinate people at scale. With platforms such as wikis, review sites, and social networks, trust agents can gather large groups around a shared purpose, helping them collaborate in ways that were once impractical. Wikipedia is an obvious example of crowdsourcing’s potential, but the authors also point to corporate efforts that succeed when they prioritize participation over persuasion. General Motors’ GMNext.com, for instance, gave customers wiki-style tools and space to share stories about vehicles they loved. The initiative worked precisely because GM didn’t treat the community like a pipeline for hard sales; it treated it as a place where customers could express identity and enthusiasm in their own words—marketing that feels credible because it isn’t forced.
In the final pages, the advice becomes practical and immediate: show up where your communities already gather, and communicate more than you think you need to. Join relevant networks, build a base of contacts, and don’t be overly cautious about connecting with people you haven’t met yet—online, relationships often begin as lightweight interactions that deepen over time. Use tools like Twitter (and today’s equivalents) to learn what people care about in real time. Comment thoughtfully on blogs and forums, answer questions, and “check in” regularly so your presence is steady rather than sporadic. The authors’ challenge is simple: aim to become the best communicator the web has ever seen, not by talking the most, but by listening well, contributing generously, and earning trust one visible interaction at a time.
