The 'enshittification' of social media

How Substack succeeds, and fails, to set itself apart

Ten months ago I took a break from short-form social media. I intended on a six-month break, but this turned into ten months, and I still don’t feel like reassessing the possibility of going back (if at all). So time continues, and I remain unengaged. That is, apart from the social media platform that facilitates this newsletter: Substack.

When I first embarked on this experiment it seemed obvious to me that Substack would not be scrapped. The truth is, it could not be scrapped - I needed one platform to be able to communicate with you, and Substack felt the most appropriate. But as time goes on, Substack is changing. This isn’t something that started in the last ten months, but it certainly feels as though it’s picking up speed.

When I first joined in 2021, I wouldn’t have considered Substack a social media platform. Now, I do - so how do I avoid slipping back into social media addiction? And does Substack still align with my values as a writer? What sets Substack apart from other social media platforms, if anything?

It’s not just me who is reflecting on this. There are writers from either side of the fence contributing to the discussion. From ‘Substack isn’t a social network. It’s better.’ to ‘I quit social media and spend 14 hours a day on notes [on Substack] instead’ some hail Substack as something entirely new and better, and some warn of its insidious likeness to Twitter. I’m wondering, is there a world in which both are true?

Now I know this seems like a niche topic given most of you read from your email inbox, not the Substack app. But the story of Substack is one that has played out over and over again in the digital economy. Social media apps that we all used at one point or another, like Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok, went through a cycle similar to Substack. They start out by selling us on the idea that they are made to connect us, and eventually show by their actions that they have other priorities. 

Before we get into the details of this cycle, let’s take a look at why Substack is actually a social media platform. Wix defines a social media platform as “tools that allow people to create, share, and exchange information and content with others”. They say the hallmarks of social media are as follows: 

• User-generated content means that users can create and post content, either text, image or video.

• Sharing and commenting features including engagement metrics, such as likes and shares and the ability to engage in online conversation with others on the platform.

• Real-time communication and engagement.

• Data analytics and insights which show how well marketing campaigns and efforts are performing, and how they can be optimised to improve.

• Mobile accessibility because users engage with social media platforms from their phones.

Substack meets all of these criteria, so if we agree with Wix’s definition (which seems reasonable to me) then Substack is a social media platform. But the interesting part is over time Substack has met more and more of these criteria - it transitioned from a niche newsletter platform (similar to but not the same as Mailchimp) to an increasingly generalised social media platform (integrating functionality seen on Instagram and TikTok). 

I’ve been using Substack since 2021 and it is clear to me that since then it has changed a great deal. Founded back in 2017, Substack was initially launched as a newsletter platform targeting independent writers looking to create a direct relationship with their readers. It had a simple newsletter publishing platform and subscription model.

In 2020 Substack started to gain traction as creators who were not solely independent writers migrated to the app. Around this time Substack introduced commenting features and paid subscriptions.

Subsequently, Substack have expanded from its focus on writing, introducing an audio hosting function in December 2020 (for podcasting), a video hosting function in January 2022, a “Recommendations” function (to cross-promote existing writers on the Substack network) in April 2022, a private group chat function in November 2022, a Notes function in April 2023 (akin to a social media feed), a video function in the Substack chat function two months ago, and countless upgrades to the Substack app to improve usability. I’m sure there are others I’ve missed.

Substack has always been clear about its mission and its intended path of expansion. In one of their first publications after launching in 2017, they said: “Over time, we will introduce an ever-evolving suite of features and services to better serve independent publishers, helping them do the best work they can and build strong, enduring businesses. Publishers will be able to use our tools and resources to communicate with subscribers, grow their audiences, and find the help they need to get to the next level. They’ll also be able to participate in a meta community that encourages the growth of the whole ecosystem.”.

Inevitably such growth means the user experience, both as a writer and a reader, has changed. Writers are now able to grow their audience more quickly through the Substack recommendations and Notes network, connect with their audience through various mediums other than writing alone, and choose how to convert free subscribers to paid subscribers through paywalling parts of or all of their newsletters and Substack private group chats. The analytics dashboard is increasingly detailed, showing snapshots of audience growth, demographics, and conversion rates at any point in time. As a reader, you can find new small independent writers through the Substack recommendations and Notes Network, communicate directly with writers whose words you value, and correspond with other readers who like the same writers you do.

These are all, on the face of it, exciting changes - ones that allow a greater breadth and depth of contact between independent writers aiming to take charge of their careers and their readers. It’s certainly changed the game for writers such as

Emma Gannon

who now earns a six figure salary on Substack and is an investor in Substack.

And, as time goes on, I am starting to understand how Substack is setting itself apart from other social media companies. Substack say “Substack is a subscription network. We think subscription networks will play a major role in the internet’s next chapter. They represent a step forward from social networks. While social networks are associated with advertising and attention, subscription networks are about direct payments and trust. While social networks facilitate shallow connections, subscription networks foster deep relationships. While social networks are about lock-in and platform ownership, subscription networks are about freedom to move and creator ownership.”

These are valuable distinctions. As a reader, it is delightful not to be bombarded by algorithmically driven advertisements and sponsorships. As a writer, it’s novel to have control over your own audience, be paid directly for your work, and communicate with your readers without relying upon an algorithm to show your words to them.

But, as Substack grows it feels inevitable that advertisers will start to swarm. There have been reports that Substack is helping writers to sell ads and it remains the case that Substack do not prohibit writers from incorporating advertising into their work. Substack’s content guidelines state that:

“Substack is intended for high quality editorial content, not conventional email marketing. We don’t permit publications whose primary purpose is to advertise external products or services, drive traffic to third party sites, distribute offers and promotions, enhance search engine optimization, or similar activities.”

I don’t know how widely they interpret ‘primary purpose’ but I suspect this means the majority of writers on Substack can, if they want, advertise to readers via their newsletters. This may include things like affiliate links, gifted items, or sponsored segments. I’m increasingly noticing this when I stumble across new writers, especially content creators who are not here to write for the sake of expressing themselves, but to create more content to sell products. Arguably there is no difference between me as a writer and an artist promoting my writing and art, and content creators promoting products - but, I hope you understand the distinction I am getting at. I appreciate

Austin Kleon

who doesn’t take sponsorships or advertisements (other than for his own work) and regularly includes the following disclaimer at the bottom of his newsletters: “This is a hand-rolled, ad-free, anti-algorithm, completely reader-supported publication.”

I hope Substack doesn’t give in to the lure of promoting advertising on the platform. I think that would fast-track Substack on the enshittification pathway previously trodden by Facebook, Instagram and TikTok. According to this essay in Wired ‘enshittification’ is the process by which ‘platforms die’. Enshittification is where “surpluses are first directed to users [i.e. readers on Substack]; then, once they're locked in, surpluses go to suppliers [i.e. writers on Substack]; then once they're locked in, the surplus is handed to shareholders and the platform becomes a useless pile of shit.”

As Cat Valente wrote about an early platform ‘Prodigy’ in this rageful essay, they shift from a place where you went for social connection to a place where you were expected to “stop talking to each other and start buying things.” She expanded:

“I’m so tired of just harmlessly getting together with other weird geeks and going to what amounts to a digital pub after work and waking up one day to find every pint poisoned. Over and over again. Like the poison wants us specifically. Like it knows we will always make its favorite food: vulnerability, connection, difference. I’m so tired of lunch photos and fanfic and stupid jokes and keeping in touch with family across time zones and making friends and starting cottage industries and pursuing hobbies and meeting soulmates and expressing thoughts and creating identities and loving TV shows and reading books and getting to know a few of your heroes and raising kids and making bookshelves and knitting and painting and fixing sinks and first dates and homemade jam and, yes, figuring out what Buffy characters we are, listening and learning and hoping and just fucking talking to each other weaponized against us. Having our enthusiasm over the smallest joys of everyday life invaded by people who long ago forgot their value and turned into fodder for the death of thought, the burial of love. These were our spaces, little people who just wanted to connect. And one by one, they get turned into battlefields where we have to fight just as hard to exist as we do in the real world.”

This sums up my fear of platforms like Substack changing beyond recognition. That the golden egg that attracted us - the idea that things might be different over here - starts to hatch into a chicken that looks remarkably similar to the thing we were trying to escape: Instagram.

I’m not bashing Substack so much as I am pointing out a trend in the digital media economy. And I raise it not to shame anyone who likes to use Substack (I am one of such people!), but to raise the question ‘why deny it is one?’. As I mentioned earlier in this essay, there are conceptual differences at a market-level - and undeniably Substack is better in respect of ownership of audience than more traditional social media platforms - but does that make it not a social media platform when it comes to the effects on users? Do those differences and benefits mean we do not feel distracted by Substack in the way we do other social media platforms? Do we want to believe that Substack is less addictive, when actually it’s distracting us in its own way from the reason we’re here in the first place?

I can only speak from my personal experience. In my opinion denying the reality that Substack is just as much social media as Instagram, or trying to persuade myself that Substack ‘isn’t as addictive’ as other platforms is futile. There is no denying that I am more distracted from the reason I’m here (to write and read newsletters) by the introduction of Notes, recommendations, comments, and group chats than I was before these add-ons existed. These features may come with benefits but they also come with costs to us as independent writers and individual consumers. These features aim to keep us trapped. It’s a well-trodden business model that makes a lot of money. And whilst Substack don’t use algorithms to shove advertisements in our faces we, the users, continue to absorb the cost of other features with our distracted attention.

I make money on Substack. I have fascinating conversations with you through Substack. I get access to opportunities via Substack. The list goes on. I’m not going anywhere, because I believe in the upsides - but I refuse to become addicted. I don’t scroll on Notes. I don’t read from the app. I don’t analyse my stats.

Maybe this is my loss. In fact, in some ways I’m certain it is. If I were to opt in to utilising these add-ons I would probably grow my audience more quickly, make more money, get more opportunities, and develop a network of writers who share and support my work. And - someday - I might shift my use of Substack if those things become my priority. But, for now, my goal is to use this platform in a sustainable way to share, create, and connect - without spending a disproportionate amount of my time and attention striving to game the system into bringing me more, more, more.

I don’t want Substack to lose. I believe in their ethos, and I’ve outlined many of the things I love about it in this essay. But when I lose track and find myself getting sucked into the vortex of the Substack app, I remind myself of Cat’s words:

“Stop buying things and start talking to each other. They’ve always known that was how they lose.”

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Thank you for reading! xx

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