The Substack Show

A mark, a yen, a buck or a pound, money makes the world go around

Why are we on Substack?
We’re here to make things. To share them. To figure out what we sound like when we say what we really mean. Some of us write, some sketch, some mostly just read. A lot of us are looking for a place where people feel more like people and less like whatever an algorithm decides they should be. A spot to set down things that don’t quite fit anywhere else: reflections, stories, experiments, doubts. It’s a good home for independent journalism, for science writers, for anyone trying to explain the world without having to shout just to be heard over a feed. It’s a place where folks can disagree a little, compare notes, and learn from one another.
A place to escape invisibility.

Everyone has their own reason for being here, which is fine. It fits. Substack has fewer videos and more words these days, almost rebellious in a world where it seems like half of everyone is walking around with their phones tilted in front of them, endlessly scrolling. But a lot is changing, and we might have to make some compromises.

Money, money, money

Money does make the world go round, no point pretending otherwise. Writing a piece takes hours, sometimes days, and that time comes from somewhere: family, kids, the job that actually pays for groceries, rent, and health insurance. I choose to spend that time here because I’m an avid reader, because I meet people, because it keeps alive a part of me that everyday life tends to flatten. But the truth is simple: rent, bread, medicine… none of that gets covered by a beautifully written story on Substack.
And the thing is, what we have here today might not be around tomorrow. Platforms change fast, even the ones that seem frozen in place. Goodreads, for example, just announced it is removing DMs and keeping them only for groups. Users reacted immediately with petitions and long threads full of frustration. I wasn’t thrilled either. I use DMs on Goodreads to talk with friends, other writers, and readers who reach out with questions. It is a small space, but losing it feels like losing a doorway. There is not much we can do about it, because when we use a platform we go by the host’s rules, not ours. Goodreads belongs to Amazon now, and Amazon’s logic is to go where the money is.

Re-shaping

We’ve all seen what happens when platforms reshape. Instagram went from a simple square-photo app to a video-first machine built around whatever it thinks our “interests” are. It shifted away from sharing and toward performing. And yes, you don’t like Instagram, I don’t like Instagram either, yet every time a platform shifts, we end up adjusting. We always do. We adjust because we do not want to lose visibility or momentum or readers.
Substack is shifting too. And I do not just mean technical updates. I mean the whole direction of the place, its center of gravity, what it values, what it chooses to reward.

There is something else I have noticed. Lately, this platform seems to be putting more weight on its rankings while quietly making the recap of the publications we actually follow a little harder to find. On my end, the list of writers I subscribe to keeps popping in and out, sometimes there and sometimes gone, like a glitch with a plan. I mentioned this in Notes the other day, but it’s worth saying again: I want to stay updated on the writers I chose to follow, not the ones Substack wants to highlight, and not whatever happens to be trending that week.

Temptations

Sometimes I can almost hear Substack’s voice in my head, a little whisper saying, “I’ll give you space, but I want a piece of what you make. Follow me and you’ll grow.” That thought sparks something, like a small fire chewing at my time. I want to climb. I want to be visible. I want to be up there. But climbing usually comes with compromise. No, guys. No way. I don’t want to fall into that temptation anymore. What really matters to me is my community, even if it is small. A handful of readers is enough for me, as long as they’re real.
So what do we do? What happens if Substack shuts down chat? What if paid subscriptions stop being optional and start being required? What if our visibility comes down to how much we’re willing to film the dog walk or dinner prep?

Let’s talk. Now.

I don’t know where this will end, but I know where it starts: with us. With the people who create, who read, who keep this place alive. That’s why we should talk about it. History shows that the biggest shifts came from people who refused to adapt blindly, people who questioned things first. We can’t lock ourselves in a room and figure it out alone, but we can talk here, and we should, before it gets out of hand. One thing to keep in mind: platforms make money from our data, not from our work. Profiling, segmentation, the circulation of information. That’s the real treasure.

If you’ve read this far, you probably care enough to speak up. So go ahead. Tell me what Substack looks like from your side of the fence. I’m pretty sure that if we let the platform do all the talking, we won’t like the story it writes for us.

Thanks for reading, everyone,
Michael

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