The internet isn’t a bold new frontier—it’s a midlife crisis wearing skinny jeans and trying to skateboard. Blockchain? Web3? The metaverse? All sound like the result of a Silicon Valley happy hour gone too far. Thankfully, Paul Bannister, Chief Strategy Officer at Raptive, stopped by The ADOTAT Show to help us separate the buzz from the substance.

Over the course of a hilarious and brutally honest conversation with Pesach Lattin, Bannister tackled everything from fraud and cookies to metaverse pipe dreams.

Web3 was supposed to be the internet’s glow-up moment—decentralized, democratic, and free from Big Brother’s grasp. But instead of looking like the cool older sibling of the web, it stumbled out of Silicon Valley like your uncle at Thanksgiving, raving about blockchain and trying to make fetch happen. And Paul Bannister? He’s having none of it.

“Web3 is a weird brand,” Bannister said bluntly, cutting through the buzzword salad like a hot knife through… well, let’s call it tech bro tofu. “It has little to do with the web we all know—websites, browsing, and discovery. It’s a good marketing term, but beyond that? What’s been achieved? Nothing.”

Let that sink in. The internet’s supposed reinvention has delivered… drumroll, please… zilch. It’s like opening a beautifully wrapped gift box only to find it’s empty, except the box cost millions in venture capital funding.

And then there’s blockchain, the supposed savior of everything from advertising to avocado toast. Bannister wasn’t about to mince words here either. “The companies trying blockchain in advertising mostly flopped,” he explained, with the tone of someone who’s had to listen to one too many bad pitches. “It’s overhead solving problems that don’t exist.”

In ad tech terms, blockchain is the digital equivalent of a Rube Goldberg machine. Sure, it’s complex and mildly entertaining to watch, but at the end of the day, it takes way too much effort to perform a simple task, like connecting advertisers to publishers.

And we can’t forget the infamous Bored Apes—those overpriced, JPEG-fueled fever dreams that turned tech millionaires into art collectors overnight. Bannister summed it up perfectly: “Inflated egos and bank accounts. Web3 feels like the tech industry’s latest attempt to hype itself into irrelevance.”

It’s hard to disagree. Web3’s promise of decentralization and democratization has so far delivered little more than a handful of NFT scams, some mildly amusing memes, and enough cringe-worthy pitches to fill an entire season of Shark Tank. Instead of liberating the internet, Web3 feels like it’s trying to sell us back our own stuff—only this time, it’s stored on a blockchain and costs 300% more.

At the end of the day, Bannister’s take is refreshingly clear-eyed: Web3 is more sizzle than steak. It’s a flashy, overhyped idea that hasn’t proven its worth. And unless it starts delivering something tangible—something that actually solves a problem—it’s destined to fade into tech history as another overhyped fad that missed the mark.

Or, as Bannister might put it: “Nice branding. No substance.”

If the ad ecosystem were a dating app, it’d be one of those sketchy ones your friends warn you about—red flags everywhere, sketchy promises, and the constant feeling that someone’s trying to catfish you. Paul Bannister didn’t sugarcoat it: “It’s a glorious dumpster fire,” he said, describing an industry where hidden fees, phantom impressions, and enough fraud to make Bernie Madoff jealous are the norm.

Imagine setting $1,000 on fire and watching $950 of it vanish into thin air. That’s essentially what happened back in 2016, when Insider ran a test buying $1,000 worth of its own inventory. The results? Just $50 made it back to the publisher. The other $950? Lost to fraud, misrepresentation, or buried somewhere in the labyrinthine layers of ad tech middlemen. “Things have improved since then,” Bannister acknowledged, but transparency remains elusive. “Most people don’t know where their ad dollars go.”

This is the kind of ecosystem where curation—the hot new buzzword of the moment—is both a blessing and a curse. “Curation’s a great example,” Bannister explained. “It’s not necessarily good for publishers, but buyers hold the money, and publishers are stuck at their mercy.” It’s like a bad blind date where one person has all the power and the other is left picking up the check.

The root of the problem lies in the complex, often opaque supply chain that has grown around programmatic advertising. Buyers think they’re paying for premium inventory, but in reality, their dollars often take a scenic route through a network of intermediaries, each skimming off their share. Publishers, meanwhile, are left wondering why their pockets are empty at the end of the day.

Despite the chaos, Bannister sees potential for reform. “If we can make the open internet more transparent, buyers might actually start trusting it again,” he said. But transparency isn’t just about knowing where your money goes—it’s about rebuilding an ecosystem where publishers and advertisers can thrive without getting nickel-and-dimed by every middleman along the way.

Transparency in advertising feels a lot like a campaign promise: everyone talks about it, but no one really delivers. Paul Bannister, however, believes the open internet has at least a fighting chance of being less shady than its competitors. “Spend a dollar with Google, and you’ll never know where it went,” he said. “How much was taken in fees? How much ended up on fraud sites? No one knows.”

It’s like handing your wallet to someone at a carnival and trusting them to return with change—spoiler alert: they won’t. Walled gardens like Google and Meta are experts at keeping advertisers in the dark while pocketing a generous cut for themselves. They control the inventory, the data, and the rules, leaving buyers to cross their fingers and hope for the best.

The open internet, Bannister argued, is far from perfect but offers at least a glimmer of clarity. “If we can make the open web more transparent, buyers might trust it more, and we’d see more ad spend flow there. That’s the goal,” he said. The idea is simple: show buyers exactly where their money is going, from the SSP (supply-side platform) to the publisher, without it vanishing into a black box of hidden fees and murky intermediaries.

But getting there is an uphill battle. Transparency requires a level of collaboration that isn’t exactly ad tech’s strong suit. It means exposing inefficiencies, calling out bad actors, and—most terrifying of all—potentially reducing the profit margins of those middlemen who thrive in the shadows.

Still, Bannister is optimistic. Transparency isn’t just about building trust; it’s about shifting ad spend back to the open web, where publishers have a chance to compete without being squeezed by walled gardens. And while it won’t be easy, it’s a battle worth fighting.

Because in an industry this opaque, even “slightly less shady” is a step in the right direction.

For publishers, the digital landscape isn’t a land of opportunity—it’s a minefield. According to Paul Bannister, they’re faced with an impossible choice: go big or go niche. Anything in the middle? That’s where the real pain lives. “They’re going to struggle,” Bannister said, cutting to the chase like a seasoned coach telling a mediocre team they’ll never make playoffs.

At the top of the food chain, massive platforms with endless scale can thrive. On the other end, small, hyper-focused publishers who know their audience better than their own families can carve out a comfortable niche. But those caught in the middle—the ones trying to be everything to everyone—are running a race with no finish line.

Segmentation only complicates matters. “The more you segment inventory, the harder it is to scale,” Bannister explained, pointing out that publishers trying to divide and conquer often end up just… divided. It’s like running a restaurant where every customer gets a custom menu—great in theory, but impossible to sustain.

And then there’s the dreaded pivot to events. “Every time I hear about a publisher pivoting to events, I can’t help but think it’s a last-ditch effort to stay relevant,” Bannister said. Sure, if you’re Axios or another niche player with a rabidly loyal audience, events might work. But for most, it’s like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

The middle-tier publishers—those who aren’t big enough to dominate or niche enough to specialize—are left searching for a lifeline. Bannister’s advice? Pick a lane. Either go big and build the scale advertisers crave, or go niche and deliver the kind of hyper-targeted value that only you can provide. But sitting in the middle, hoping things will magically turn around? That’s not a strategy; it’s wishful thinking.

Because in today’s ad ecosystem, there’s no room for half-measures. Go big, go niche, or go home—and make sure you do it before the next pivot trend comes along.

AI has inspired everything from sci-fi dystopias to fevered tech bro declarations about the future. But Paul Bannister? He’s keeping it grounded. “I’m not in the ‘robots will rule the world by 2032’ camp,” he joked, already sounding far more reasonable than half the keynote speakers at CES. “But it’s transformative. In our company, people are using it in creative ways to make their jobs easier and do things they couldn’t before.”

For Bannister, the real power of AI isn’t about replacing humans—it’s about enhancing what they can do. Think less Skynet and more Swiss Army knife. He uses ChatGPT for the basics: rewriting emails so they don’t sound passive-aggressive, doing quick research, and tackling other small but time-consuming tasks. But that’s just scratching the surface.

“The breakthroughs come when teams use it to innovate and push boundaries,” Bannister explained. And that’s where AI gets interesting—not in the flashy, headline-grabbing demonstrations but in the quiet, behind-the-scenes work that makes organizations more efficient, more creative, and ultimately more competitive.

AI isn’t a magic wand that will solve every problem, nor is it the apocalyptic overlord that will doom us all. It’s a tool, and like any tool, its value depends on how you use it. Bannister’s take is refreshingly practical: AI is here to help, not to conquer, and the real magic lies in figuring out how to use it to do things you couldn’t do before.

So, no, robots won’t be running the world anytime soon. But if they can help you finally send that email without sounding like a jerk? That’s a win.

Cookies: the undead of the ad tech world. Just when you think you’ve seen the last of them, they shamble back into the conversation, arms outstretched, moaning about third-party tracking. And Paul Bannister? He’s over it. “I’m so tired of talking about cookies,” he sighed, the way you might after your fifth meeting of the day that could’ve been an email. “The industry clings to them while pretending to embrace alternatives. It’s exhausting.”

For an industry that prides itself on innovation, ad tech’s obsession with cookies feels like arguing over VHS tapes in the age of streaming. Sure, they’ve served their purpose, but it’s time to let them go. Unfortunately, not everyone is on board with this evolution—especially when the so-called alternatives are even worse.

When asked about the most absurd cookie replacement idea, Bannister didn’t miss a beat. “Blockchain. Someone actually pitched blockchain cookies, and I just… no.” Imagine taking something already convoluted and slapping blockchain on it, because apparently, nothing says progress like adding unnecessary complexity. It’s like reinventing the wheel but making it square.

And here’s the kicker: most people outside the ad tech bubble don’t even care. “Outside of ad tech, no one’s losing sleep over cookies,” Bannister pointed out. “Most people think they’re baked goods.” It’s a humbling reminder that while the industry is busy debating privacy tech and cookie-less futures, the average person is more concerned with what’s on Netflix and whether their coffee is still hot.

For Bannister, the cookie apocalypse isn’t just old news—it’s a distraction. Instead of clinging to the past or overcomplicating the future, he believes the industry needs to focus on practical, privacy-forward solutions that actually work. Because at the end of the day, no one wants to hear about cookies anymore—not publishers, not advertisers, and definitely not Bannister.

The metaverse: once hailed as the next big thing, now a buzzword so overused it feels like tech’s version of a midlife crisis. But is it dead? Paul Bannister doesn’t think so. “In a weird way, Meta might’ve been ahead of its time,” he said, pointing out that while the metaverse hasn’t delivered on its lofty promises yet, advances in AI, VR, and AR could still breathe life into the concept.

For now, though, the metaverse remains more dream than reality. Platforms like Roblox are the closest thing we have to a functioning version of this digital utopia, and even that feels like more of a playground than a fully immersive second life. “Roblox is a quasi-metaverse that actually works,” Bannister admitted. “But with AI-driven video generation and better VR tech, you can start to see the pieces coming together. It’s still years away, but it might get there.”

Here’s the thing: the metaverse isn’t dead—it’s just waiting for the right tools to catch up with the hype. Think of it as the tech industry’s unfinished symphony, or more aptly, an expensive Lego set missing half the pieces. AI, for example, has the potential to revolutionize how virtual worlds are built, allowing for faster, more realistic environments. VR and AR advancements could finally deliver experiences that feel immersive instead of like a glorified video game from 2011.

But while optimism is warranted, Bannister is careful not to oversell it. “It’s still years away,” he emphasized, implying that anyone expecting a fully functional metaverse tomorrow is probably the same person who still thinks blockchain will fix advertising.

For now, the metaverse is a tantalizing vision—part sci-fi dream, part unfinished reality. And while it’s easy to write it off as another tech industry pipe dream, Bannister’s cautious optimism reminds us that it might still surprise us… someday.

Forget the open web your parents knew—the endless browsing, the tabs upon tabs of content discovery. For Gen Z, the web is as outdated as landlines and fax machines. “Less than 20% of Gen Z uses the web,” Paul Bannister pointed out. “They’re on TikTok, Instagram, and other apps. Even when they see a webpage, it’s often through an in-app browser.” In other words, the World Wide Web is just a pit stop in the app universe they never leave.

This shift isn’t just a quirk of Gen Z’s digital habits—it’s a seismic problem for the open internet. Apps have built walled gardens so enticing and sticky that users don’t want—or need—to leave. TikTok serves as a news source, entertainment platform, and even a shopping hub. Instagram gives you recipes, memes, and curated ads so targeted it’s almost spooky. Why would anyone click out of that ecosystem to wander the vast, uncurated chaos of the web?

For publishers and advertisers, this raises an existential question: can the web stay relevant? Bannister admitted it’s an uphill climb. “We’re competing with platforms that dominate attention. The web needs to innovate to win back users,” he said. But competing with the TikToks and Instagrams of the world isn’t just about better content—it’s about rethinking how the web functions.

Right now, the web feels like an aging rock star playing the county fair while the apps are selling out stadiums. To capture Gen Z’s fleeting attention, the web needs to evolve—faster, sleeker, and more integrated into the ways they already consume media. That means seamless interfaces, instant gratification, and content delivery that feels more like TikTok’s endless scroll and less like an encyclopedia.

If the web can’t step up, it risks becoming a relic, a place Gen Z visits only when their apps force them to click on an external link. And let’s be honest: even then, they’re probably not staying long

For Raptive, growth isn’t just a goal—it’s the whole game. “How do we make the pie bigger for everyone while getting a bigger slice ourselves?” Paul Bannister asked, summing up the company’s strategy with the precision of someone who’s played this game long enough to know the stakes. It’s not just about scaling—it’s about value. “We’re focused on expanding and increasing the value of our inventory,” he said. In other words, bigger, better, and tastier slices for all.

CTV is the white whale of ad tech, and Bannister makes no secret that it’s on Raptive’s radar. “If money were no object, I’d buy Paramount,” he joked. And while the idea of Raptive snapping up a legacy entertainment giant is fun to imagine, Bannister knows better than to get distracted by pipe dreams. “For now, we’re staying focused on what we do best.”

And what Raptive does best is supporting publishers and creators—helping them thrive in an ecosystem where the odds are often stacked against them. They’re not just playing defense; they’re building tools and strategies to drive growth on their own terms. It’s about creating more value for advertisers, publishers, and audiences without losing sight of the fundamentals.

But make no mistake: Bannister isn’t afraid to think big. While CTV might not be in Raptive’s immediate plans, it’s clear that the company is keeping an eye on the horizon. The goal isn’t just to survive in the ever-changing landscape of digital media—it’s to shape it, one slice of the pie at a time.

Final Thoughts: Paul Bannister might joke about the internet being a glorious dumpster fire, but beneath the irreverence is a clear commitment to fixing what’s broken. He’s not here to toss up his hands and accept the mess—he’s here to clean it up. Whether it’s advocating for transparency, battling fraud, or finding practical ways to innovate, Bannister sees the internet as a work in progress, not a lost cause.

He’s betting on the web’s ability to reinvent itself, to evolve from the chaos and build something better. It’s not blind optimism—it’s the kind of hard-won belief that comes from decades of navigating programmatic potholes and identity politics (the cookie kind). Bannister knows the challenges, but he also knows the potential.

The internet may be stuck in its midlife crisis, fumbling through bad ideas like blockchain cookies and pivot-to-event strategies, but Bannister’s optimism is rooted in possibility. Maybe, just maybe, the internet can get it right this time.

Because for all its flaws, its messiness, and its red flags, the internet still has something no other medium offers: the power to change, grow, and surprise us when we least expect it.

And with Bannister in its corner, maybe there’s hope for the dumpster fire yet.

The end of third-party cookies is not just a technical shift; it’s an existential crisis for an industry that built its empire on invisible surveillance. For decades, cookies acted as silent shadows, following users across the web, hoarding data like a miser hoards gold. But the hoard is being emptied, its methods exposed. Privacy regulations, user awareness, and an industry forced to confront its own bad behavior have finally brought the reckoning: the so-called "cookie apocalypse."

What remains now is the scramble to rebuild—not with the old tools of secrecy and manipulation, but with methods that promise transparency, respect, and perhaps even redemption.

But promises are cheap, and solutions are complicated. The alternatives to cookies—some lauded as revolutionary, others as desperate grasps—reflect a fractured industry searching for its next act. Each one carries not only technical implications but deeper questions about ethics, power, and the very nature of the digital world.

First-Party Data
This is the purest answer, almost romantic in its simplicity. First-party data requires companies to collect information directly from their users, with consent as its cornerstone. Email sign-ups, purchase histories, loyalty programs—each interaction builds a relationship, a kind of trust that cookies could never replicate. But trust is expensive. It demands effort, clarity, and an abandonment of the lazy shortcuts that have defined digital advertising for too long. First-party data isn’t just a solution; it’s a test of whether the industry is willing to work for what it once took.

Device Fingerprints
In the shadows of innovation lurks this alternative: a way of identifying users based on their devices. It’s ingenious in its simplicity, combining hardware and software attributes to create a unique identifier. But it’s also unsettling. Device fingerprints are invasive by nature, nearly impossible for users to reset or escape. They are the stalker’s version of a tracking tool, leaving little room for consent or transparency. If first-party data feels like a courtship, fingerprints are a hidden camera—a chilling reminder of the industry’s darker instincts.

User Identity Graphs
This approach promises to stitch together fragments of a user’s identity into a cohesive whole. It blends personal identifiable information (PII) with non-PII, offering marketers the precision they crave. But at what cost? These graphs operate in a gray zone, where privacy is balanced on a razor’s edge. They raise a haunting question: How much of ourselves are we willing to give away for convenience, for personalization, for the illusion of being understood?

Data Clean Rooms
If there’s a glimmer of optimism in the alternatives, it might lie here. Clean rooms are secure environments where companies can share data without revealing individual-level information. They are the vaults of the digital age, promising collaboration without compromise. But like all vaults, they are only as strong as the trust they require. The industry, fractured by competition and greed, must decide whether it can work together—or whether even this solution will collapse under the weight of suspicion.

Universal IDs
This is the dream of a unified digital marketing ecosystem: a single identifier shared across platforms and channels. It’s a seductive vision, one that promises coherence in a fragmented world. But dreams have a way of turning sour. Who will control these IDs? Who will profit from them? And can an industry addicted to opacity truly embrace something so transparent?

Contextual Targeting
The old ways become new again. Contextual targeting harks back to a simpler time, when ads were served based on the content users were consuming, not the secrets they unknowingly revealed. It’s elegant, almost nostalgic, and in some cases, it works better than cookies ever did. But its limits are clear. Context alone cannot capture the complexity of human behavior, and in a world addicted to hyper-personalization, it may never satisfy those who demand precision above all else.

Mobile Advertising IDs
The mobile world offers its own answer: identifiers tied to specific devices, already in use but often overlooked. They are practical, effective, and yet bound by the same tensions that plague every alternative. How do you balance precision with privacy? How do you build systems that respect users while serving advertisers? These questions linger, unanswered.

Google’s Privacy Sandbox
No discussion of the post-cookie world would be complete without this, Google’s attempt to rewrite the rules of digital advertising. Privacy Sandbox promises solutions like Topics API, which categorizes users into broad interests rather than tracking them individually. But the shadow of doubt looms large. Google is no neutral party; it is both architect and beneficiary of the systems it creates. Can it truly build a solution that serves everyone, or will the sandbox become just another walled garden?

Social Media and Beyond
And then there’s the wild card: social media, the ever-present playground of modern life. Platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook offer their own ecosystems, their own ways of targeting and tracking. They are self-contained worlds, enticing and efficient—but also dangerous. They tighten the grip of walled gardens, pulling users further from the open web and deeper into controlled spaces where transparency is optional, and choice is an illusion.

The Fork in the Road
The cookie apocalypse is not just a technical problem; it is a moral crossroads. Each alternative represents a path forward, a choice about what the internet will become. Will it embrace transparency, respect, and consent? Or will it cling to the shadows, finding new ways to exploit while pretending to reform?

The best alternative depends not just on a business’s needs but on its values. Some will choose the hard road, building trust through first-party data and contextual targeting. Others will cut corners, hiding behind fingerprints and identity graphs. The industry’s future is not inevitable—it is a choice, one that will shape the digital world for years to come.

And so, as cookies crumble and the dust settles, the question remains: will we build something better from the ruins, or will we simply find new ways to repeat the mistakes of the past? The answer lies not in the technology but in the intent. Because in the end, the cookie apocalypse is not about what we lose—but what we choose to create in its place.