#59. Various stages of capitalist desperation

An exploration of what's going on with internet media right now

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how to make a living online. I’ve worked in marketing for the past 13 years, mostly helping small businesses sell physical products to people via an online store, so in a way I guess I’ve been tangentially connected to this quandary for a very long time.

More recently, though, I’ve been directing my mental energies towards understanding how regular people, in general, can actually make a living using the internet in some kind of way without succumbing to the more insidious and disgusting sides of capitalism or sticking a camera in their face every day, whether as an online retailer of physical goods, a content creator, influencer, podcaster, writer, artist, journalist, etc. Lately it seems to consume my every thought, at worst, and linger somewhere in the back of my mind, waiting to spring forth once I’ve finished another unrelated thought or conversation, at best.

Media (especially the social variety) feels messy right now. Twitter is dead. TikTok is now a shopping app. Last year we lost Jezebel, Buzzfeed News, and Gawker. Mary Lawless Lee is closing Happily Grey. Pitchfork is being rolled into GQ. Substack is dealing with freedom of speech issues (a.k.a Nazis) and many high-profile writers have left the platform, or are considering it. Cup of Jo is now a Substack newsletter and a blog, and Girls’ Night In became Downtime, which is now more founder-focused and mostly paywalled. Kate Arends let go of the entire team at Wit & Delight and now has a personal newsletter called House Call. The cupcakes and cashmere blog is no longer being updated regularly, which still feels a little shocking considering the very first essay that I (a nobody) ever wrote for it five years ago received 120,000 pageviews–the highest number I’ve reached for anything I’ve ever published online; the Everest I can’t seem to summit again no matter how hard I try.

(And although this happened a few years ago, there is still a Leandra Medine-sized hole in the fashion media space that has been lingering in my very soul since Man Repeller re-branded and then shut down entirely in 2020. I subscribe to Leandra, Haley, Harling, and Amelia’s newsletters, but it isn’t the same).

Two things are also happening to me, specifically, at the moment:

One, I have some upcoming changes at work that I’m still sifting through, trying to determine the “what comes next” of it all while still being in the weird and slightly uncomfortable space that occurs when you haven’t jumped off the diving board yet, but know the splash of cold water is coming, and then you have to remember where the hell you put your towel. I am strongly considering rebranding this newsletter and starting a totally different newsletter/community/website about friendship, but I simply do not have the brain space at the moment to think either thing through.

Two, I have been witness to a lot of change in the “online” space recently, and I’m trying to form some kind of informed understanding about trends, monetization, and platforms based on what I’m seeing (and feeling about it all). Asking myself questions like: What’s happening with social media right now? Why does it feel like almost all of the good content has moved behind individual paywalls? How much longer is Substack going to be “the thing” for writers and people who do not specialize in video content? Why are well-known platforms disappearing at a somewhat alarming rate? How much am I actually spending on creators whose work I want to support every month and can I afford to continue to do so?

I know I’ve mentioned a few times that something is going on with my work life right now. Being vague about it is not at all meant to be cryptic, it’s really only a reflection of my compulsion for transparency (for better or worse, lol) and wanting to write an issue about it that feels like it hits the right tone, and I’ve needed some time to feel that out. This essay is not it, but it will probably grace your inbox in a few weeks.

In a way, nothing has really changed at all–I’m still feeling so many of the same things I was feeling a year ago about my relationship with work; wanting to do something that feels meaningful and connection-based, but not totally clear on what that actually means in practice without throwing my entire career away or fully understanding what’s even going on with the internet media/retail landscape right now, much less my place in it. I genuinely just want to get to a place where, when someone asks me what I do for work, I can say something other than, “I work in marketing!” while internally cringing and hoping/wishing/praying they won’t respond with, “oh, so you’re the devil” in a way where you know they’re kidding, but also not. Which is a real story that actually happened to me.

I’m really trying to approach all of this from a place of curiosity (heh) and opportunity rather than panic or full blown existential crisis, even though that can be difficult at times depending on my mood. I know that change isn’t something to fear, and can often be the catalyst for really really good things to come. I’ve lived through it enough times to know that it’s true.

So really–what’s going on with the internet right now?

kate lindsay

said it best:

“But as so many have lamented recently, there are no fun, weird places on the internet anymore. We’re all confined to the same handful of social media apps, each in various stages of rot or capitalist desperation.”

I agree with this take wholeheartedly. Instagram, in particular, feels especially wan. There’s also a big difference between the capitalist desperation of our current social media apps (and other online platforms) and the genuine need and/or desire for writers and creators to make a living via these same platforms. These apps are, at this point, nothing without creators and their audiences, who have to constantly walk a fine line between entertaining, educating, inspiring, selling, and feeding the algorithm every day, with every new piece of content they publish, or risk losing the people who give a shit about any of it at all.

We’ve gone through so many iterations of online content monetization that it sometimes feels hard to remember that the current way of doing things isn’t necessarily the “right” or only way; it’s just the way we’re doing things right now. Whether it’s banner ads, affiliate links, product collaborations, sponsored content, in-feed video ads, subscriptions, or paywalls, one thing remains true: Content you read/watch/listen to on the internet can’t be “free” unless it’s generated by A.I. (Spotify’s use of artificial intelligence instead of humans to make playlists and suggestions based on your listening history is likely part of what put the final nail in the coffin for Pitchfork.)

Most content you consume on the internet right now is created by a human, which means their labor in making it was “free” unless you paid for it by one, or more likely, a combination of different ways, with varying degrees of consumer awareness and forms of “currency” (cash, your eyeballs, clicks, etc.). Sticking to only one revenue stream is very scary for internet creators, and generally a very bad idea. If an app or platform suddenly folds, and it makes up 100% of someone’s revenue stream, they are out of a job literally overnight. Remember Vine? That could easily happen again.

Because we have been trained to think that internet content, specifically, should be free, every type of online content monetization is inevitably doomed for some level of backlash. Banner ads take up too much real estate on websites and are, frankly, ugly. “Sponsors” often feel forced or disingenuous. Product collaborations with creators are often really expensive or bad quality because more people have to be paid behind the scenes, driving up the overall cost of goods. Almost every person alive hates constantly being interrupted by ads, whether you’re watching YouTube or listening to a podcast, but ads have also been around since before the internet, and we all generally understand that ads are a necessary evil because they pay for things, or we can pay to have them removed.

I’ve been thinking a lot about affiliate links lately and specifically looking for them in content that I consume. A few years ago, when the general public started to understand what affiliate links are and how they work, there was a huge backlash that has, in some internet circles, stuck around like old gum on the bottom of a shoe. People felt like they had been tricked or taken advantage of, being “secretly” sold to, and they really didn’t like it. I had a front row seat to the backlash, working for a really successful blog that had primarily been using affiliate links, sponsored content, and banner ads to make money while keeping its content “free” for years.

Since then, I have personally done a full 360 degree turn on affiliate links, and I think many others have as well. I thought they were genius when I first learned about them (back before the term “influencer” was commonplace, due to the field I work in). I definitely participated in the backlash in 2019-22ish, and now I’m somehow back to being a genuine supporter. In my opinion, affiliate links are one of the least annoying monetization strategies out there. Affiliate links ultimately act as a “finder’s fee,” which I think creators are entitled to if they’re connecting you with a product you’re interested in trying. And if you’re not interested, they do no harm to you (unlike, I would argue, ads you’re forced to watch over and over and over again until your brain explodes, regardless of if you ever buy that specific brand of cat litter–you might not even have a cat!) If you don’t trust a creator’s recommendations to be genuine, then maybe you’re following the wrong creators.

I am biased because I work in this space, but I actually go out of my way now to try to purchase things through affiliate links when someone directly influences me to buy something. It’s fully within my control whether I want to buy that thing or not–I really don’t think there’s a lot of subterfuge going on, at least not with the people I follow–and then I exchange my money for a product, and a third party (usually the brand or the affiliate platform) makes sure the person who hooked me up with the product gets paid a small fee, instead of me paying them directly. It’s nowhere near enough to support most creators by itself, but I actually like the model. I think it works. 

I also love the direct payment / subscription model and I really believe in it, but I’m beginning to  wonder how sustainable it is, at least for writers/creators with small-medium sized audiences. At the beginning of this year, I realized I was spending well over $100/month just on subscriptions to my favorite newsletters and publications. I haven’t done the exact math because I’m honestly too afraid to, but I think I spent around $1,500 in 2023 between subscriptions to The New York Times, The Atlantic, The Star Tribune, The New Yorker, New York Magazine, my favorite podcast, and several Substack newsletters, which just feels like… too much?? And yet, direct payments of $5-10/month are not enough for a majority of writers/creators to live on. Many of us are just doing this on the side.

I signed up for all these subscriptions because I believe in paying people directly for their work and I had the money for this kind of investment in 2023, and as a writer who uses this model myself to create things for your (hopeful) enjoyment, I have a much more vested interest in making the direct subscription model work than the average consumer. But if most content eventually ends up behind a paywall, I just don’t think that’s a good thing in the long run. Doesn’t it automatically mean we’re saying that people who make more money and can afford more subscriptions are more “entitled” to consume more content online? Direct payment models were absolutely game-changing for creators, but what about readers?

I don’t know what the actual numbers are, but I would guess that most people can’t afford more than a few content subscriptions every year (and we haven’t even talked about streaming subscriptions, which is another burning hole in my pocket once you factor in the cost of Hulu+, Spotify, Max, Prime, Apple TV+, Paramount+, etc.). Even doing some research for this issue I was hit with a paywall to a publication I should probably subscribe to, but don’t because it just feels like one too many. I literally just said around New Year’s that I was putting a moratorium on new subscriptions until summer, yet I upgraded to a paid subscription of a newsletter I’ve been reading for a while just last week. Where does it end?

I’m friendly with content creators and writers at virtually every level of “success” monetizing content online, including some who have decided to throw in the towel on making money from internet content, for various reasons. Sometimes it can be hard to predict and understand who “makes it,” and who doesn’t. Sometimes even successful creators will quit because of burnout. You know who doesn’t get burnt out? A.I.

I’ll be honest and tell you that I’m nowhere near being able to fully “make a living” via Substack yet, as much as I would genuinely, truthfully love to. I’ve only been writing for a year, so that’s what I expected, to be clear. As a side gig–or a “jobby,” as my friend Devon likes to say–my first year on Substack was really successful for me. I made just under $20,000 after fees, but before taxes, working roughly one day per week. I feel really proud of that number and deflated by it at the same time. It all depends on who or what I compare myself to. 

To more directly address one of the monetization channels available to me that I’m currently not using due to moral gray area, I lost out on a not insignificant amount of money last year by not using affiliate links in this newsletter or on Instagram, and I’ve been thinking about attempting to use them in a way that hopefully doesn’t feel at all gratuitous. I’d love to illustrate what it actually looks like in practice, for anyone who is less familiar with affiliate revenue.

A few weeks ago, I very enthusiastically posted a link to my favorite Alex Mill fleece jacket that was 50% off on my Instagram stories, with just a regular link, which got 1,200 clicks. At least 15 people reached out to say thank you and tell me they bought it or to ask my opinion on sizing, which often precedes a purchase. This happens almost every time I post an outfit in my stories, to varying degrees. The next day I looked it up, and I could have made about $15 per fleece with an affiliate link, which means I probably missed out on making a few hundred dollars from just that one link due entirely to the fact that I don’t want people to feel like I’m selling them things. I want you to trust that when I recommend something, it’s not to make money, which I’ve been proving for years by posting links anyway, even when I make nothing from them.

Assuming my intentions are pure and that I’m not about to go full fashion blogger (I’m not, lol)–does it make sense for me to keep choosing to miss out on that extra money, especially during a period of my life where I have chosen a more unstable kind of employment, I have no paid time off, and I’m paying $4,000/year for my own health insurance? My gut tells me no.

When I activated paid subscriptions a year ago, I was gainfully employed full-time, and I used the paywall as a way to protect my privacy more than to make money. But as the year went on and I kept pouring more of myself into my writer persona while trying not to drop the ball at work or in my personal life, and then eventually “quit” my job and became an independent contractor, I realized I had to make actual money from this newsletter to keep writing it, and also that I could. I wrote two essays last year (#29 and #34) about a month apart that made me believe maybe this whole newsletter writer thing could actually happen for me, someday. I also wonder what would have happened to my overall subscriber number if I had made them both free.

As I think about what’s next for me and for this newsletter in my post-wedding era, what’s the right thing to do here? Use affiliate links to make more of my content free and accessible? Or lock more of it down in an effort to get more people to pay per month so I can spend more of my time on it? More and more of my peers and writers I look up to on Substack are locking more of their content down, but I think I feel compelled to do the opposite.

How do I find the right balance between what’s good for me, and what’s good for everyone in this incredible little corner of the internet? Can I actually be successful as a person who puts things on the internet without sticking a camera in my face and posting to one of just a few dying platforms where an algorithm will largely determine my success or failure, unless I somehow become a behind-the-scenes person who actually gets a large enough paid audience just with the direct payment subscription model to skip all of that?

I guess I’m asking. Would you be okay with more recommendations and affiliate links (specifically in fashion and maybe beauty) in the evolved version of this newsletter that currently exists only in my brain, which is slightly less essay heavy, and a little more fun? If you’re not down with affiliate links, would you be okay knowing they are there, and just not clicking on them?

I’m sorry this essay turned more into me thinking out loud than anything (cue Ed Sheeran) but I think all of this is really important and feels very topical, not just for me. Whether you’re a consumer or creator of online media, or both, the changes happening right now affect all of us.

What’s the trickle-down effect in society when most long form online content (i.e. essays, newsletters, articles, etc.) moves behind a paywall, pushing out readers who are less privileged, experiencing financial instability, or just on a budget? What happens when A.I. takes a majority of the creator jobs that humans should have but can’t make a living doing them anymore, because A.I. can do it faster, almost as well, and doesn’t need to pay for health insurance or a roof over its head? Which do you actually prefer–paying for things, or thoughts? Or both?

Comments are open on this issue to everyone–come talk to me so I don’t feel like I’m hurling all these thoughts into a void!!

K bye,
Kelly

P.S. I’m sorry this issue got way, way too long–I know I need an editor, but I can’t afford one yet and I don’t want to hire ChatGPT :) Please know that ILY and wouldn't be here still throwing random thoughts onto the internet without you, whether you pay for a subscription or not!!!!!! The internet is such a weird place, we’re all just living in it!