Today, I’m writing about writing, which I don’t do often but it felt necessary. If that’s not your thing, stay tuned for tomorrow when I will cover the “epidemic” of women demanding men call Ubers for them on first dates.
In a semi-recent Note, I told the true story of my six-year-old son asking me to stop doing my work so I could play with him. (Before you call me a monster, we don’t have any childcare in the summers, so sometimes I have to finish up some work while my kids entertain themselves. The horror, I know.) Anyway, I informed him that I was working but I’d be done in five minutes. He glanced over at my screen and said, “You’re not working, you’re writing. Nobody would pay someone for that.”
He’s six, so it’s cute. But he embodies a mindset held by many adults—many of whom are writers themselves.
A recent, extremely viral, short article asserts that Substack is collapsing, and the reason being, of course, is subscription fatigue. Substack has gotten too crowded, people are paying for too many subscriptions (“it’s impossible to support hundreds of writers!” the comments complain) sponsored content may be the future of this place, and so on and so forth. I’m not going to spend a long time debating this particular article, because the article was fine even if I don’t agree with all of it. Yes, Substack can be winner-take-all, but Substack is less winner-take-all than the literary industry, where even most bestselling authors will never be able to make a living off their books alone and any aspiring writers are beholden to nonsensical gatekeeping. But no, the article didn’t piss me off. What did piss me off were some of the top comments, which declared that independent writers, or any writers at all, should never charge a fixed price for their work:
From one of the top comments:
Most people around the world and throughout history have been perfectly happy with taking up collections, voluntary contributions, or busking as a means to patronize creative work they enjoy. These methods offer the consumer an opportunity to sample the product in some way, and decide to contribute, or not.
Similar comments complained about any sort of pricing or paywalls for any written content, whether on Substack or The New York Times, because writers should simply take joy in reaching an audience, any audience, and money should be a fun little afterthought. The argument wasn’t just that it wasn’t feasible for them to pay for a subscription, but that it was morally wrong for anyone to charge for one. As they put it, customers should be able to “sample” the work for free (and you can, it’s called the seven day free trial, Bucko!) but also, this sampling should be able to go on indefinitely. Writers (unlike anyone else in any other job) should simply beg for tips if they need the money so badly—and only the bare minimum to survive. Anything more is too greedy.
While I don’t read my own unsubscribes anymore (the last one I read, as I recall, just said, “fuck you,” and honestly, no notes) I recall an unsub I received a while back, which stated that they had initially wanted to “support” me, but had unsubscribed because I had recently gone on a family vacation and therefore I “clearly didn’t need it.”
There’s just one problem (well, many problems, but we’ll get to that.) My paywalls—and those of other people who do this full-time—are a fair price for a product. They are not charity. I am not asking anyone to support me because I “need the money,” any more than any person in any job needs the money. Pity is not a business model. I’m providing a service, and I hope that people pay for that service if they enjoy it. In my case, that service is 4-5 weekly articles on a variety of topics, and over 600 completed articles in archive, usually related to social dynamics but occasionally gorillas who can’t get laid (I guess that’s still social dynamics—and that one is free, by the way.) And while I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, I’m clearly right for some people.
I put this into practice myself as a reader too. I pay for several Substacks—not hundreds (who, aside from Chris Best himself, is a paid subscriber to hundreds? This is only something that happens if you feel morally obligated to subscribe to everyone who’s ever interacted with you) but about ten—not because I want to provide some sort of creative mutual aid, but because I like their work and find that paying for it is good value for what I am getting. If I’m going to subscribe to a Substack, it’s not because they have secret information I can’t find anywhere else, but because they have consistently interesting, frequent articles that I can enjoy while waiting in line for something as opposed to scrolling various brain-rotting feeds. It’s not about these writers needing me to survive. I am under no delusion that Matt Yglesias would be an unhoused body if not for my $80 annual donation.
(Of course, it’s fine to remain a free subscriber! I am a free subscriber to many publications. I write free stuff too, and sometimes un-paywall articles for free subscribers. But even then, it’s not about whether I need to be “supported,” it’s about whether you want to pay for the full, high volume of my work or not.)
Why is writing considered the one profession where making money is questionable or “asking too much,” where you’re expected to make only enough money to survive, if anything at all? Or in the case of the noble buskers of yore, perhaps writers are meant to live on the street, occasionally going into Times Square to recite their latest essay on the commodification of girlhood.
Why is “being financially successful if you’re at the top of your field” an accepted outcome for every career except writers?
Imagine if this standard was applied to other professions. The average major league athlete makes millions of dollars a year, sometimes tens of millions of dollars. Even rookies make about as much as the most successful Substackers, on par with Noah Smith or Matt Yglesias, perhaps even as much as Heather Cox Richardson depending on the sport. And yet, you don’t hear many people saying that they will no longer pay for NBA League Pass because Donovan Mitchell’s new contract is nearing $70 million and he “doesn’t need the money.” You don’t hear anyone saying he’s grifting or greedy for making so much money off something—playing sports—that other people do for free. You don’t hear anyone saying, “People throughout history have been happy to play sports for mere fulfillment without all this money-grubbing! Why don’t NBA players just play basketball for fun and let us watch? Why must people pay for the supposed privilege to watch people play sports? I play sports for free on the weekends and I love it, and I’d be thrilled if people watched! Why won’t Donovan Mitchell do that?”
(Okay, yes, my husband helped me with this bit but I maintain I did know who Donovan Mitchell was before asking him about his salary or the pricing structure for NBA League Pass.)
Far be it from me to compare myself to Donovan Mitchell. Far be it from me, quite frankly, to even compare Heather Cox Richardson to Donovan Mitchell. But if people think it’s crazy, greedy or just plain unnecessary for Heather Cox Richardson to make a salary in the low seven figures, why is a high eight-figure salary completely reasonable for Donovan Mitchell? Neither of them are scamming—whether you like what they do or not, you are getting exactly the type of content you paid for. So why is a paywall a problem, but NBA League Pass isn’t? Like her or not, Heather Cox Richardson is providing a service that other writers are simply not providing at the same consistency and quality, and that is why people pay for her but will not pay for other writers. There is a reason people will pay to watch their favorite NBA team but will not pay to watch a bunch of neighborhood dads play basketball at the park. This doesn’t mean that writing or basketball games should always be free, or that HCR or Donovan Mitchell are getting away with a scam. Only that, when most people do write or play basketball, it’s a hobby, not a profession. It’s still a profession for some, and those people get paid.
I’m aware NBA League Pass is not the exact same pricing model as a subscription to a Substack, but also, Donovan Mitchell makes significantly more money than even the most successful Substackers. Surely, there is a (bad) argument to be made that NBA League Pass is money-grubbing because “they don’t need more money.” They may not, but you want to watch NBA, so you pay for it!
That’s the only way you can look at Substack—paying for something you enjoy reading which provides some degree of entertainment or informational value, full stop. If you look at Substack subscriptions like a variety of “help me get out of my toxic roommate situation” GoFundMe’s, then of course you’ll be subscribed to too many, not find them worth it, and eventually feel that paywalls are a scam if it turns out the writer is not eating cat food for lunch every day. That should never be your motivation to pay for a subscription in the first place!
You might be tempted to assume that people who take issue with paywalls are anti-creative, anti-intellectual jerks who couldn’t possibly understand the value of the written word. And yet! I’ve noticed that people who find paywalls absurd or corrupt are often people who are writers themselves or people who fancy themselves particularly literary and refined. This may sound surprising, but it isn’t. These are people who enjoy writing, but whose full-time job is something else. Maybe they work in academia, maybe they work in tech, maybe they have a wealthier spouse or family who is supporting their writing for which they aren’t paid, but they do not rely on a salary for their writing (at least not on Substack) because being a salaried writer is just not very common.
Another comment says:
I don’t even try and charge for a sub. Support me by buying my books.
Okay, well, your business model is writing books and having people pay for them. Of course you’re not trying to charge people for subscriptions—you’re making money off your books! A feat, by the way, which most successful Substack writers can’t hack. Although if I ever do get published, I’m tempted to say, “Just take my book for free and subscribe to my Substack! I would never even try to charge someone for my book!”
Many of the most anti-paid-writer voices in the comments section were hobby writers whom nobody was paying. Well, okay. Again, I get it, I’ve not only been there but I was Mayor of There for fifteen years of writing comedic memoirs that I could barely convince my own family members to read. The problem is that because writing is a thankless hobby for most people who do it, it’s very easy to insist that it should be a thankless hobby for everyone. I love sewing, and nobody pays me to sew (in fact, my husband can attest to the fact that I spend quite a bit of money sewing.) This does not mean, however, that professional fashion designers should simply offer their work for free. After all, I design children’s clothes constantly and nobody pays me!
Another reason why you shouldn’t take the “tip jar” approach to your writing: unlike a regular paywall strategy, this only makes sense if you actually need the money! I think it’s far more duplicitous to beg for donations while not really needing the money, than to be upfront about the fact that your paywall represents your full-time job, no matter your person level of financial need. Personally, if I felt I had “donated” to a struggling writer and then I found out she was married to a corporate lawyer, I’d be a bit miffed, but I have no problem paying for a subscription for a talented and consistent writer, even if I already know they’re rich.
Obviously, I am biased here. Substack has worked out well for me (although I am no longer experiencing the growth that I saw earlier in my career—I expected I’d plateau at some point) but in general, I think their pricing model is fine. I’ve written before (yes, for free) about how “I just want to pay $1 per article” is a ridiculous idea that will turn Substack into a slop trough, perhaps in a best case scenario temporarily benefiting talented but less prolific writers, and ultimately driving full-time writers off the platform entirely. Often, the pipe dreams about how Substack should change are driven by people who A.) believe in a form of “anti-capitalism” wherein everyone gets really high-quality things for free or cheap all the time with no consideration to who is making the things (“Why can’t you find a high-quality natural fiber dress for $20? Capitalism strikes again!) or B.) are actively rooting against the platform because they thought it was a get rich quick scheme and it actually required a lot of hard work and more frustratingly, dumb luck.
I want to be charitable toward the people in the second group, no matter how annoying they are, because they may have actually been misled. Substack, at times, has been presented as a get rich quick scheme. Throughout my time on this platform, I have seen countless posts from people of whom I’d never heard before, who supposedly earned untold riches from writing on Substack, but the only thing they write about is writing on Substack. It’s a classic MLM type scheme where the only thing they’re actually writing about is the making money, and the only thing they’re selling are instructions for making money, and they’re presenting such a moneymaking endeavor as much more accessible than it actually is. I assume that one of their “tips” for making money on Substack is to write about making money on Substack and sell those tips to other people who want to make money on Substack. I actually caught one of these grifters in a lie when she claimed she was raking in $100K annually on Substack but still only had the transparent orange checkmark next to her name—which means she had fewer than 1,000 paid subscribers. There are a bunch of people like this, and I put the blame partially at their feet for making it sound like anyone, no matter their degree of talent and consistency, can get rich on Substack. Of course, the platform will look like it’s failing if your initial assumption was that “anyone” could make six figures here doing nothing that actually stood out or required real work. Second, if this was your initial assumption, it must be a pretty big bummer when it doesn’t come to pass, especially if you’ve paid someone to help you learn these surefire “skills” to make it big.
Consider this, for a moment: Substack has been called “Onlyfans for intellectuals.” Onlyfans is still going strong. It’s just that the vast majority of performers on Onlyfans don’t make much money. I don’t want to debate sex work itself, but the problem isn’t how Onlyfans is structured, it’s the fact that many people believed that because some people make a lot of money on Onlyfans, anyone could.
I know Substack is not perfect. There are some great writers here, some not-so-great writers, and everything in between. Because there is so much diversity of writers, with people writing on basically every topic imaginable, you can easily curate just a few (3? 5? 9?) who suit your needs and provide a much more stimulating alternative to scrolling social media—a cost I think is worth it when you consider what you’d be doing with your time instead of reading thoughtful, funny or interesting articles. But you will never find yourself on a platform full of hi…
