Is Substack doomed?

The lifecycle of social media platforms

“Everything in all of reality is temporary. On the Net, everything is temporary faster.” — This is how one of my readers responded when I asked how they felt about Substack’s future.

For weeks before I posed the question, I’d read countless notes about how Substack has changed. Writers lamented that the platform wasn’t what it used to be. Notes were turning it into Twitter, and toxic comments were rising post-election. The new video features would drive out the long-form content most users are here for. Substack’s plan to lure influencers from other sites would surely spell disaster.

On social media, the sky is always falling somewhere. I wondered how much of this was normal hand-wringing and how much was real, so I asked my readers what they thought.

Their comments were overwhelmingly pessimistic. They all loved Substack, but most agreed its decline was inevitable.

“I fear that as this platform grows in numbers, the quality of people and content will plummet,” one person said. “The demise is almost inevitable because these companies usually have to pay back VC investors,” another said. “So must enshittify to the max sooner or later.” A third said, “I think it is inevitable as you need money to run, and without it, scaling is very tough.”

These comments shared a common narrative: As the platform grows, the quality of content will decrease. Substack will prioritize shareholder revenue, introducing ads and other features that worsen the user experience. Eventually, we’ll all need to pack up our subscribers and move on.

It’s easy to understand why people are worried. Over the past few years, most major social media platforms have deteriorated, with users fleeing to other sites, hiding in the cozy web, or logging off altogether. Substack still feels new and shiny, but how long before it goes the way of Twitter?

In other words, do social media platforms go through lifecycles? And if they do, where’s Substack in the cycle?

What happened to social media?

Back in college, I used social media all the time. I checked Facebook multiple times a day to check in with high school friends, chat with new college ones, and follow the latest news on topics I cared about (I read a lot of archaeology blogs in those days). Social media was useful and enjoyable, adding genuine meaning to my life.

I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. In the early days of Web 2.0, everyone seemed to believe the hype. Facebook was going to connect us in meaningful ways, and Twitter was going to revolutionize journalism.

Now, Facebook’s (sorry, Meta’s) name is mud, associated with misinformation, conspiracy theories, and your crazy uncle’s political ranting. Twitter (sorry again, X) is even worse. Ever since Elon Musk took over, reasonable people have fled the platform, leaving behind bots and fascists.

And then there are the ads. Every platform older than five years is inundated with them. I logged into Facebook for the first time in years and found my feed clogged with sponsored content. I used to scroll Pinterest for aesthetic inspiration, but not anymore. The sheer number of ads makes the platform unusable. When I click on a photo, an overlay of affiliated links makes it almost impossible to see the picture beneath.

Is it too much to want to see a photo of a friend’s puppy? To find a cupcake recipe without anyone trying to sell me something? Sadly, the answer is often “yes.”

The social media lifecycle

If only one platform devolved into political memes, we could ignore it. If the bots and ads stayed on Facebook, we could say it was a Facebook problem. But when we look at the major platforms of the last decade, a pattern emerges. These platforms grew and collapsed in familiar ways — what I’m calling the social media lifecycle.

Let’s take a closer look at the phases of this lifecycle.

Phase 1 - Birth

A baby platform is born in a Silicon Valley garage and swaddled in venture capital. The new company must quickly find its footing in a competitive online landscape. It does this by doing two things:

First, it makes bold promises to change the way we live and work. Take Facebook for example. Its key narrative was about connection, staying in touch with loved ones, and creating communities. Connect the world — that was the grand vision it sold.

Second, the company gets specific. A platform needs an angle to stand out from its competitors. That’s why you have Instagram for photos and YouTube for videos. Pinterest for art and LinkedIn for work. Each started with something unique and special to prove it wasn’t like other girls — sorry, platforms!

Newer platforms follow the same strategies. Just look at Substack’s tagline: “A new economic engine for culture.” That’s its bold promise. Substack also gets specific, focusing on long-form content that rarely gains traction elsewhere.

Phase 2 - Growth

If the young platform can convince people of its value, it will focus on growth. Network effects are crucial now. The more users sign up, the more valuable the platform is. If a platform wants to succeed, it needs to grow FAST.

Users find the platform, adopt it, and tell their friends. It’s a great user experience, unlike anything else. FOMO kicks in — No one wants to miss the fun! Momentum builds, stars rise, and soon, users are deeply invested in their new online community.

This is the best time in a platform’s life. Its valuation skyrockets, and the media hails the founder as a genius. The company has no trouble raising money and wowing investors. The sky is the limit… and there’s a long way to fall.

Phase 3 - Converging

After a while, growth stalls. Everyone who wanted to join has already signed up. The platform tries to reach other audiences but with little luck. It has already captured the entire market for its product.

Meanwhile, investors get testy, and shareholders clear their throats at board meetings. The platform promised them profits and needs to deliver.

Faced with this pressure, platforms tend to fall back on what they know works. They study their competitors to see how they keep audiences engaged. If they can undercut another company at the same time, even better! This is why every platform boasts short videos right now. YouTube shorts and Instagram Reels are attempts to mimic TikTok, the next up-and-coming app.

This copycat behavior causes platforms to converge on the same features. Whatever made a platform unique and special in the beginning disappears. Soon, you can’t tell the difference between one platform and another. They all offer a similar experience.

Phase 4 - Squeezing

Converging might win new users, but not nearly enough. If you haven’t joined Instagram by now, introducing short videos probably won’t convince you. The board members keep demanding more growth and higher profits. What’s a platform to do?

Companies can start squeezing their current users for all their worth. Instead of trying to expand their reach, they focus on generating more revenue from the users they already have.

This is when ads start spreading like kudzu through the digital ecosystem. Sponsored content is a tried-and-true way to make money. Now, advertisers are the only customers the company cares about.

The algorithm adjusts to keep these new customers happy. Clickbait, rage, and political memes keep users scrolling, and the longer they’re online, the more ads they’ll see. With every action, users leave behind a data trail like digital breadcrumbs that the platform can turn around and sell.

To be fair, the algorithm always wanted to engage you, and the platform was tracking you all along. The difference is that you, the user, were a higher priority in the beginning. Now, it’s obvious the company couldn’t care less about you.

Phase 5 - Decline

You can sense a platform in decline the moment you log in. Most of your friends stopped posting long ago, not that you can tell. The algorithm wouldn’t show you any of their content anyway, just ads, clickbait, and influencers. Your direct messages are filled with suspicious offers and spam.

The company has betrayed its grand vision and broken its promises. There’s no reason to be here anymore. You close the tab, delete the app, and retreat to the cozy web. You’re rebuilding community with your IRL friends on Discord. Who needs social media?

Which stage is Substack in?

We’ve seen this pattern enough to recognize it on a subconscious level. I almost didn’t write this article because I felt like I was stating the obvious, but there’s power in speaking the unspoken. Even though my readers didn’t mention a cycle, they’ve seen enough platforms go through these phases to assume Substack will, too.

I hope they’re wrong, but the signs are troubling. Substack seems to be somewhere between stages two and three. The platform is still growing, and users celebrate its grand vision. I’ve read countless post-election think pieces about Substack as the future of journalism.

At the same time, Substack’s new features are converging with other platforms. Substack's emphasis on long-form content — essays, in-depth reporting, and newsletters — makes it unique. There’s nothing special about notes, video, or audio. You can find that kind of content anywhere. Like many people here, I’m worried that these generic features will eventually overshadow the essays we came here to read.

Zen and the art of content creation

I’m not going to despair yet. Substack turned down an offer from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, staying true to its vision. The new features are troubling, but most people are still here to read and write.

Eventually, the company will move in other directions, leadership will change, and the platform will evolve. That could happen in six months or six years. When that happens, my subscriber list and I will pack up for greener pastures that don’t exist yet. Until then, I’ll stay and enjoy the vibe.

The longer I think about this, the more I think my reader was right — everything online is temporary. Don’t fight it. Just enjoy Substack for as long as you can.

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