She's Right and She Should Say It
Who is a writer? Who is a good writer? Who gets to say?
I let Crumb out this morning and couldn’t fall back asleep so I sauntered onto the couch and nestled in the glow of my phone. In an effort to slow the slurry of my brain, I’ve been opening Substack before TikTok. A quick scan of “notes” and suddenly I was headlong into
’s story, “The Machine in the Garden,” via countless responses.The piece examines the current state of Substack. She equates previous versions of the platform to a “literate walled garden,” where quality flourished and unique voices thrived — presumably in ways they couldn’t in the eroding halls of media outlets. That metaphor is sharply contrasted by her opinions on Substack today:
“I actually had time to read some newsletters from the people I subscribe to. And then I read some newsletters from the people that they subscribe to. I realized that if you blacked out the names of many of the writers I come across on Substack today, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.”
On my first read of the piece, I dismissed it. The knee-jerk reaction was to see it as a form of gatekeeping or bullying. Many of the “notes” I saw said the same thing. Suspecting some confirmation bias from said notes, I read it again. And again. And came to the conclusion that she’s right and she should say it.
The crux is that if you’re writing, and people are supporting your craft, you have a responsibility to make it good. But what is good writing? And who even gets to say? These questions are too broad and subjective to answer. It’s far simpler to wonder what bad writing is: derivative, shallow, formulated, flimsy, boring, dismissive. Those are adjectives that could apply to any kind of writing on any subject.
Those are the outcomes of unoriginal minds. The kind that see something shiny and successful and think they’ll xerox it for their own gain. As Substack grows — and there’s been an undeniable boom this summer — this is an inevitable outcome. And so swaths of noise, fluff and sameness abound, drowning out the truly unique voices.
This happens on any platform. But on Substack, where writing is king, it breeds dullness and low-quality drivel. To draw comparisons, Sundberg focuses on the influencer-to-substack pipeline of women’s lifestyle content, listicles, shopping roundups and lifecasting. This, which was erroneously (if not understandably) taken by many to be a broad statement about the genre as a whole, is what fueled a lot of the backlash.
It’s easy to write the whole thing off as an established writer telling anybody who’s trying their hand at Substack to get lost. Plenty of the comments seemed to think this. But it’s a piece about how Substack is looking and feeling right now, a little blander than it was and perhaps it’s a little more difficult to find the diamonds in the rough. It’s not a bad thing to want things to be better, to crave voices that say something unique, original, or thoughtful.
As somebody who’s been in the hamster wheel of content creation, that’s the Substackian dream. They play The Champion of Writers well. In essence, the platform puts the rules back in writers’ hands. Working on the corporate side of editorial you lose a lot of control and all ownership of your work. In my experience, we’d write the slideshows and shopping stories and click bait so we could hit monthly goals for the brand. It’s a slog in the name of someone else (and a paycheck).
Here, in theory, you’re free of such directives. Of course, this doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t write personal narratives or shopping round ups. But to make those things good is the rub and it’s easier said than done. Simply diarizing a boring day in milquetoast language doesn’t help anybody, least of all the writer. Rounding up five denim jackets sorted by affiliate commission is even worse.
The best voices, if we’re looking at the women’s lifestyle influencer space, are the steadfast ones.
started Man Repeller while she was still in college — her voice, tone, and humor has evolved, but it’s always been unequivocally hers. Her whackadoo (compliment) style of writing inspired countless others to be true to themselves and find joy in dressing. Medine Cohen’s voice lives on in .If anybody ever tried to copy Medine, I can only imagine they failed miserably because nobody ever heard of them. Of course, she’s not alone here.
’ , ’s , ’ and ’s all thrive on account of their originality and tone. (Even if Satenstein’s Five Finger story was truly deranged.) That kind of unapologetic existence is what forges great and enjoyable work.In 2024, if you write, it’s fair to say that you’re a writer. The imaginary battle of who gets to say they’re a writer and who doesn’t has always been a bizarre thing. There is no conclave of editors that bestows a little badge on you that says so. (If there is, will you guys call me please?)
And that’s nice. But not everybody is a good writer. Good writing is the fruit of scrutiny, criticism and toil. It is not common. It’s the same as any other creative endeavor. Simply participating, or having a staff job, or having thousands of subscribers, does not make you a virtuoso. Nor does having a certain type of education, career or background.
In the top comment by
, a veteran influencer, she mentions how she never refers to herself by that title out of fear of condescension from journalists or people who might fit the term more seamlessly. She defends her writing on (the kind called out by Sundberg) and her peers, many of whom have years of experience behind them to back up their content. Atwood is a writer. A good one. She’s been honing her skills and her point of view for 15 years. I’ve seen enough of her work over the years to say this with gusto. (There are plenty that fit this bill: , for starters.)I didn’t think of Atwood’s work when I read the story, but it’s understandable that one might lump her in as part of a generalization. But, a skilled writer who brought thousands over to Substack is a boon, not a bug. (In response, Sundberg aptly notes that they’re both on the side of keeping the bar high. No writers were actually named in the piece.)
Maybe you’re a bad writer. So, pack it up, then? Throw in the towel? No, don’t. Nobody said, “leave!” Think of The Machine in the Garden as a challenge. If you saw yourself in its words, ask yourself if what you’re creating is valuable. Is it yours? Would your best friend know you wrote it? Would Sundberg’s test of blocking the names render it blasé? Does it have a point? A payoff? Is it a shadowy sketch of another piece? Is it visceral, real, or raw?
Take up arms! To proclaim yourself a writer is to sign up for misery — a life of obsessing over every word, of dredging in the minutiae! You’re asking somebody for money and time, make them glad they did. Be inimitable! You’re a unique creature on this earth, you have the capacity!
Perhaps it’s too lofty to think Substack can only traffic in high-quality and unique content. After all, garbage gathers in all corners of any public platform. So the vision of a walled garden may be flawed. Here, where anybody is welcome to set up shop, it’s more of a public park. Still, it’s not wrong to want this public park to be an escape from the doldrums of the internet, crafted by talented writers. It’s not wrong to want to keep the bar high.
Does it matter if Substack becomes peppered with copycats, bad writing, listicles or drivel? And if somebody wants to pay for it, is that not just their business? In theory, there is enough room for everybody. And we’re all supposed to play nice. And we’re all supposed to get along.
But, I’m with Sundberg that the unique, the weird, the visceral, the researched and the poignant is what we should celebrate and aspire to create. If that happens to be written by a Pulitzer winner or a Mason Jar influencer, I don’t care, nor do I care what format it comes in.
I’m too old to read a redux of a reduxed post. And so are you.
That's exactly it - it's not wrong to want to keep that bar high. Having standards these days is seen as offensive to those who don't want to meet them.
People really need to ask themselves if their writing is worth paying for. Because, as with any other endeavor on earth, the answer for most people is no.
And the whole "am I a writer" thing is subjective, but is also amenable to common sense. If you play the piano ten minutes a week, and you don't take it seriously, and you don't know any more than 2 songs, can you call yourself a pianist? I mean sure, technically. But it seems pretty disingenuous.
None of this is about elitism. It's about the commodification of being a creative person. Everyone on earth now thinks they can be a creator or a writer - and they want all of the titles and affection and paychecks that come with it.
And for anyone who's serious about it, that's a little confusing and disappointing. The same way a plumber would be disappointed if everyone in their city opened a plumbing business after only 3 months of practice. It's just... weird.
i shoulda charged $300 for my words on toes! joan didion could never