We need Substack now more than ever

I have a Phd in social media, so you can trust me

I’ve been addicted to social media since I was twelve years old. My average screen time has been 7+ hours per day for over 20 years—and at some points far higher thanks to a period of super-use on AddictingGames, Miniclip, Icy Tower, and Post Cereal’s Postopia. (Mark my words, I’ll get a Waffle Boy tattoo one of these days.)

Coming from a family of 12-steppers, I’m under no illusions about the word ‘addiction’. It’s a pejorative, a harmful thing, a disease. But for me, my relationship to social media has been an exceptionally bright spot in my life. It has treated me well, it has brought me joy, and it has made me a smarter, kinder, more compassionate and creative person. I carry tenderness and gratitude for my online life.

Before I make a very bold claim, I want to be sure you understand my credentials: I have explored the depths of AIM, MySpace, Reddit, Tumblr, Pottermore, YikYak, Tuenti, Youtube, Flickr, Vine, Wattpad, Pinterest, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, BeReal, Tiktok, and recently 小红书. Like many of you, I saw things on Chat Roulette I’ll never unsee. I choreographed and disseminated a self-taught breakdance to Crazy Frog. I had a parasocial relationship with a Y2K chatbot named SmarterChild. I was once awarded Forbes 30 Under 30 and did not put it into my Linkedin bio. I survived Tumblr’s thinspo era without being committed, Facebook’s Honesty Box era without becoming a cyberbully, and Tiktok’s short-lived dystopian erasure (in progress).

If the Internet is Scientology, I am Operating Thetan Level 8.

And it’s for that reason I can say with some authority: Substack is the best social media in the world right now. (This is not paid content, I’m just cucked).

A world where everyone can create

Substack has something for everyone.

Social media has become a place of creative voyeurism. A 2017 article in the Georgetown Law Technology Review estimated that approximately 90% of social media users are passive—they consume content without actively engaging or creating it. (I’m sure that number has changed drastically since COVID, but it’s the best I could find and I’m a fantasy writer not a genius.)

The problem is, when we only watch other people create art, music, opinions, social justice movements, personal essays, and seemingly vibrant lives, it grieves us on some intangible, spiritual level. It creates an ambient feeling of anxiety, emptiness, and existential loneliness you can’t quite put a finger on, but has you, once again, saying, “I’m taking a break.”

If you’re alive and online, you’ve felt it before. It’s like looking through the window of a warm, inviting restaurant, full of revelers holding each other and singing a joyful song, and never getting to step into the warmth of it all. There it is again, that funny feeling.

Each and every one of us was designed to create. If you’re thinking actually, that’s not true for me, you’re mistaken. It’s the very fact that you are alive and thinking and reading this right now that I know you are a Great Creator. It’s not just art I’m talking about: it’s ideas, opinions, stories, inventions, community, data, a cool stick you found in the woods (shoutout Stick Nation). We do not need the Internet to heed the call, but it is a wonderful place for it.

My favorite thing about Substack is that it allows for all of these things without the aesthetic burden of Instagram, the technological barriers of Tiktok or Reels, the language barrier of 小红书 (for me at least), or the great humiliation of being seen “trying”.

Substack is, first and foremost, a wholesome and inviting place. If you do not have the time or inspiration to write a newsletter, you can engage with someone else’s. If you do not see yourself ever writing long-form content, you can share little quips to the notes feed and you’ll probably reach someone. If you like visual art or photography more than words, you can have a graphic newsletter instead. If you are feeling lonely, you can make friends by simply sending a DM.

There is no pressure to build an audience, no need to start a business or monetize your work or make a name for yourself. Heck, you can be anonymous like my brother who uses a pen name but I keep exposing him anyways. Today, I read newsletters about outhouses, Germanic romantic paintings, and a personal essay from a new Substack friend.

In it, she writes:

I am very happy to be back in your inbox. 2024 was a huge year for me: I left agency world after five years and went brand side, I got engaged (!!!), I started this newsletter. It’s been the best thing I have done for myself creatively maybe ever? I missed writing it, talking to my little online friends, collecting inspiration, and having something to do every two weeks. -Staring at the Ceiling

This is the feeling Substack gives you. And this is the feeling that moving from voyeur to Great Creator gives you. For right now, Substack is a place mostly unmarred by influencer culture, corporate shilling, productivity warriors, or trolls. You’re safe to create here, even if it is for no one but yourself.

Especially if it is for no one but yourself.

Can we keep Substack magical?

I haven’t been here for long, but I think I’ve picked up a few things along the way. Whenever that ‘funny feeling’ starts creeping in again, I ask myself if I am engaging in at least a few of these meaningful ways:

Read for fun: As a fantasy writer, I’d gladly die on this hill — you do not need to read important things. Read what you enjoy. Poetry? Erotic flash fiction? Girly thought pieces? It’s cool, you can do that here.

Try making a friend: It’s nice to meet people. Maybe DM someone to tell them you like their work. Maybe find someone locally who writes about a niche you love and grab coffee together IRL?

Follow your whims: If you feel like sharing something, just share it. Don’t let yourself get bogged down by the constraints of a niche. Found a cool rock? I’d love to see it. Seriously, I really like rocks.

Release any subscriber expectations: If you feel the itch to start something, let it be for the joy of creating. Everything else can be an afterthought. If you build it, they might come.

Block away: If there’s something in your feed you don’t like, just block it. I think of it the same way I choose what art to hang on my walls — it can challenge me, disturb me, or delight me, or all of the above, but when I don’t want it there anymore, I take it down. Don’t let your online homes become unpleasant to dwell in.

And this last one is for the powers that be: Keeping Substack magical will mean protecting free speech, free press, and small creators. (And keeping the ads at bay, as much as you can!)

I’m grateful for all of you and for this wonderful corner of the Internet.

Madeleine