The Death of Substack

In Loving (and Slightly Aggravated) Memory

Feb 25, 2025

I’ve been on Substack since late October 2024. I love it here. I loved it from the moment I joined, it feels like the perfect place for me as a professional writer with a penchant for eloquence and also as one of those human …. thingys. ;-)

As a 4 month veteran of this platform, my perspective is unrivalled… and by unrivalled I mean as valid as anyone else’s!

In that time I’ve published lots of random Notes, dozens of Posts and got to know some amazing people. In short, I’ve come to love this platform, but it’s not perfect. Nothing is I guess.

There are a number of things I’d like to see added, changed or done away with completely on the platform to see it go from ‘love’ to …. whatever better than love is.

I originally wrote this, not as a eulogy (as is my want), but as a straight-forward piece of prose that looked at what I think is wrong with Substack and what I think can be done to change it for the better. Just to mix up my writing a bit if nothing else.

Then I had a crisis of confidence.

Then I rewrote it as a eulogy.

Then I wondered if I should have left it as-was.

Then I wondered if it was better as a eulogy because that’s what people seem to like.

Then I wondered if people were getting bored of my eulogies.

Then I had a bit of a panic attack.

Then I had a coffee.

Then I copied the original and so now have two pieces about the same thing.

Then I had a biscuit.

Then I wish I hadn’t had a biscuit because I’m trying to lose weight.

Then I thought “Oh bollocks to it”.

Then I published it anyway.

Then you read it.

Now you’re caught up.

All eulogy-based jokes aside, these are just my thoughts and ideas but they’re not just for my benefit, they’re for all of us. Well, most of us.

I accept that some of these ideas crafted within the eulogy be a little ‘inside baseball’, some are a bit ‘out there’ while others are more whimsical and purely for your literary entertainment (still with a hint of truth and a snippet of tongue-in-cheek) but I genuinely think many of these will make Substack a thoroughly nicer and more productive place to be.

I also accept that some of these might already exist hidden deep in the ‘Settings’ and I’m just too new (and / or dumb) to have realised it! If that’s the case then ‘My Bad’ as they say… in the early 2000s.

So, without further ado, in loving (and slightly aggravated) memory, it’s over to you

Hamish McKenzie

and the

Substack Team

to implement them all immediately ;-)

Credit to Thomas Umstattd Jr. on Authormedia.com for the image.

Dearly beloved,

Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed Substackers and anyone who’s ever scrolled in confusion, we gather here today to bid farewell to a true enigma of the modern digital publishing age; Substack and all it’s quirks, starting with the Homepage timeline.

Oh, timeline, you were a paradox, a riddle, a chaotic symphony of posts that defied all logic and reason.

You were the Shakespearean tragedy of feeds, the Kafkaesque nightmare of newsletters and that TV series we couldn’t stop watching, even though we knew it would never make any sense, like ‘Lost’.

Today, we celebrate your life, your quirks and your utter disregard for chronological order.

We laugh, we cry and we wonder aloud, what were you thinking?

The Early Days: A Promise of Order

In the beginning, there was hope. Isn’t there always.

When we first signed up, we thought, nay we hoped, you would be different.

We thought you would be our guide, our compass, our North Star in the vast ocean of online content.

We verified our email address and became our own first subscriber. It was like having an incestuous doppelgänger, or like Tom from MySpace.

The app was downloaded and we opened it, imagining a feed where the latest posts appeared first, where we could scroll seamlessly through the thoughts and musings of our fellow writers in chronological order; ‘logical’ being the keyword here.

But oh, how wrong we were.

You quickly revealed your true nature; a mischievous trickster, a digital Loki, a feed that delighted in chaos.

One moment, we’d see a post from 16 minutes ago and the next, you’d hit us with a blast from the past, a post from 9 whole days ago, sitting there like it owned the place.

This chronological discombobulation was your signature move.

Were you trying to teach us about the relativity of time? Or were you just messing with us?

We’ll never know, or will we?

The Algorithm: A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma

Now w’ve broken the dam, let’s talk about the algorithm the powers the feed, shall we?

That shadowy force behind the curtain, pulling the strings of our digital lives. The Oz to our literary dreams.

We know you were just following orders, but couldn’t you have put up a fight? Couldn’t you have said, “Hey, maybe we should sort these posts by date?”

Instead, you embraced the confusion.

You gave us posts from 3 hours ago, then 22 hours ago, then 2 days ago, like a time-travelling sandwich with no regard for our sanity.

Was it too much to ask for a little order? A little logic? A little common sense?

Apparently, it was.

The Picture Feed: A Carousel of Confusion

And then there was the Picture Feed, your loyal sidekick in the art of befuddlement.

Oh picture feed.

As we sit here today, I’m not even sure that is actually your real name, but you were the cherry on top of this chaotic sundae.

You showed us the same newsletters we already subscribed to, as if we needed a reminder that yes, we do indeed follow these people.

And then, just to spice things up, you’d throw in a few of our own posts, because nothing says “discovery” like seeing our own posts staring back at you.

We imagined you as a tool for exploration, a way to stumble upon hidden gems and new voices. Instead, you became a mirror, reflecting back the things we already knew.

It was like going to a buffet and finding only the coleslaw and sausage rolls that you brought yourself staring back at you.

But hey, at least you tried.

In Memory of the Justification We Never Had

We can live with the timeline, but can we mourn the loss of something we never truly had…. proper text formatting.

Oh, how we longed for the ability to justify our text, to centre it, to right-align it, or even to fully justify it like the pros we are. But alas, it was not to be.

Would it have been so hard, dear Substack, to give us these simple tools?

Would it have been so difficult to let us align our words with the precision of a laser beam?

Apparently, the answer was yes. Yes, it would have been so hard.

So we are left with our left-aligned text, our ragged edges, our uneven right-hand margins.

We are left to wonder what could have been, to dream of a world where our words could dance across the page in perfect harmony.

But let us not dwell on what we have lost.

Let us instead celebrate what we still have, the ability to write, to create, to share our thoughts with the world.

Let us also look to the future, to a time when Substack might finally give us the formatting tools we so richly deserve.

In the meantime, let us raise a glass to the misaligned text. May it rest in peace, knowing that it was loved, even in its imperfection.

The Muting Debate: A Dream Deferred

Justification aside, how we longed for the power to mute keywords, to banish certain topics from our feeds.

We dreamed of a world where we could scroll without stumbling upon yet another post about ‘that guy’ (aka Trump) or ‘that thing we’re trying to avoid’ (aka Here’s How To Be Successful on Substack).

But no, you denied us even that simple pleasure.

Instead, you flooded our feeds with posts about ‘how people were tired of seeing posts about that guy and how they loved / hated that guy and how they came to Substack to get away from that guy and now all they see is that guy.’

It was like a constantly repeating meta-nightmare, a feedback loop of frustration.

We get it. You were trying to keep us informed, to keep us engaged, but sometimes ignorance really can be bliss, but muting is paradise.

The Notes vs. Posts Debate: A Tale of Two Formats

Before we get engulfed by the minutiae of Substack, where would our feeds be without the great Notes vs. Posts debate?

Notes, your Twitter-esque cousin, were the wild child of the Substack family.

Short, snappy and often nonsensical, they were the life of the party. The easy-to-grasp, simple-to-recognise comfort blanket that looks just like that thing you know from the other platforms you claim not to use anymore.

Posts, on the other hand, were the responsible older sibling; long, thoughtful and meticulously crafted. Harder to get, but more satisfying; like someone with an up-to-date photo on Tinder.

But you didn’t discriminate.

You treated them all the same, mixing them together like a digital smoothie.

One moment, we’d be reading a heartfelt essay, and the next, we’d be hit with a Note that said “Subscribe to me and I’ll subscribe to you!”

It was like attending a dinner party where the menu alternated between gourmet cuisine and microwave popcorn.

The Disposable Post

With Posts fresh in our mind, we are also here today to honour an idea; an idea so bold, so audacious, that it might just save Substack from the scourge of vapid, disposable content.

I speak, of course, of the notion that Posts….. should act as currency.

Not a Substack Meme coin, but a genuine transactional paradigm.

Yes, dear friends, imagine a world where your ability to write Notes, those bite-sized morsels of thought, wasn’t given, but earned.

A world where you couldn’t just fire off a ‘brain dump’ without first proving your worth with a proper' Post.

A world where every Post you published earned you, say, 5 Notes to spend as you please.

It’s a simple equation; More Posts = More Notes. Fewer Posts = Silence.

Now, I know what you’re thinking; “But what about my brilliant, profound Notes? What about my hot takes, my witty observations, my ‘I-hate-this-thing-people-are-doing-on-Substack’ rants, my ‘Subscribe to me and I’ll subscribe to you’ masterpieces?”

Fear not, dear friends.

Your Notes will still have their place in the sun, but only after you’ve paid your dues with a long-form Post.

Think of it as a literary economy, where Posts are the gold standard and Notes are the loose change.

You want to promote your latest brainwave? Fine. But first, write a Post.

You want to introduce yourself to the platform? Great. But first, write a Post (probably about yourself).

You want to share a photo of your dog wearing a hat? Adorable obviously. But first, write a Post.

This, my friends, is how we restore balance to the Substack ecosystem.

This is how we encourage people to use the platform for what it’s intended for, writing.

Not as an alternative to the vapid, disposable posts you’d find on X, Facebook, Instagram or TikTok (try as it might to surreptitiously infect our Substack feeds).

Let us remember the words of the great philosophers;

“With great Posts comes great responsibility.” or was it “With great Posts comes great Notes”? Either way, the message is clear.

Let us raise a glass to the Posts; the unsung heroes of Substack. May they multiply, may they flourish and may they one day reign supreme over the Notes.

And to the Notes overlords, those who would flood our feeds with half-baked thoughts and shameless self-promotion, we say this; your time is up!

The era of Posts-as-currency is upon us….. possibly.

Farewell, disposable Notes. You will not be missed.

Farewell also to the Notes overlords, may your future be filled with thoughtful, well-crafted Posts.

And farewell, vapid content. May you find peace in the digital graveyard of X and Facebook where you belong.

Signing off with one Post and my new five Notes!

The Categories Conundrum: A Labelling Labyrinth

For all the user-generated confusion, there were also those created by Substack itself, I give you categories. Oh, categories, you were the bane of our existence.

We tried to fit our newsletters into your neat little boxes, but you were having none of it.

Take your favourite eulogy writer, where does he belong?

Faith and Spirituality? Sure, if you squint.

Health and Wellness? Kinda, if you stretch the definition.

But what about the real eulogies? The TV rants? The poets? Love and relationships? The midlife crisis? Video games? (We hear you

Alex Stasenko

). Where do they fit?

You left us all hanging. You left us to navigate the labyrinth of overly broad labels on our own, with nothing but a flashlight and a prayer….. which ironically would fit ‘Faith & Spirituality’ perfectly.

The Unsubscribers: A Bittersweet Goodbye

I see you. You work hard, you post hard and you write harder and I see you’re building a loyal following, but then what?

Let’s not forget those we leave behind, or more accurately, leave us behind.

Oh, unsubscribers, you were the thorn in our side, the fly in our ointment, the notification we never wanted to see.

We know it’s not personal. It’s not right???

We know people come and go, that tastes change, that interests evolve. But couldn’t you have given us a little feedback?

A little note saying, “Hey, your last post wasn’t my cup of tea” or “I’m just here for the snacks?” or “I didn’t like it when you didn’t like the thing that I like and then said so.”

Instead, you left us in the dark, wondering what we did wrong with only a subtraction in our statistics to show for it. A depressing downtick in the graph of Substack domination.

The Unsubscribers: Part 2; A Vengeful Editor’s Dream

And while we’re on the topic of subscribers, let’s talk about the elephants in the room; the inactive ones.

As we gather here, we’re not only here to mourn, but to celebrate an idea; another idea so bold, so revolutionary, that it too might revolutionise the way we think about our subscriber lists forever.

What if, dear friends, Substack were to automatically scrub these ghostly pachyderms from our midst every, say, three months?

Yes, I speak of those subscribers who linger in the shadows, haunting our metrics with their silence.

They do not open our emails.

They do not click our links.

They do not engage with our content in any way, shape, or form.

And yet, there they remain, like digital spectres, inflating our numbers and giving us false hope.

What if, after three months of radio silence, they were to simply… vanish? Poof! Gone. Automatically scrubbed by Substack and its cleansing code of clarity!

Like a vengeful editor with a big grey mammal-sized death wish, sweeping through our lists with a broom of justice.

It’s a harsh measure, yes, but sometimes, tough love is the only way to cleanse the soul, or in this case, the subscriber list.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “But we already have the ‘⭐️’ activity scale!”

And yes, dear friends, the stars are a fine start.

They give us a glimpse into who engages the most (or least) with our content. But let us dream bigger.

Let us go further than the stars. Let us make it mean more. Or perhaps, dare I say, more mean. Let’s go all Hunger Games on inactive subscribers.

Imagine, if you will, a league table of subscribers; ranked by engagement, with the most active at the top and the least at the bottom.

It’s a gamified version of survival of the fittest, where only the most engaged survive. And the rest? Well, they get the digital boot.

It’s a ruthless system, I admit.

But isn’t it better to have a smaller, more engaged audience than a bloated list of ghosts?

Isn’t it better to know that every name on your list is there because they want to be, because they care about what you have to say, because they, you know, read your work?

So, before they drift off this mortal coil, let us raise a glass to the ghosts in our subscriber lists.

May they rest in peace, knowing that their departure was not in vain. And may we, the creators, find solace in the knowledge that our lists are leaner, maybe a little meaner, but more pure and filled with those who truly matter for once.

In Praise of Purity: A Substack World Without Ads

And while we’re on the subject of purity, let us take a moment to honour one of Substack’s greatest gifts: the absence of advertisements.

Thank you.

Oh, what a blessing it is to write and read without the intrusion of flashing banners, pop-ups or sponsored content.

What a joy to know that our words are not sandwiched between ads for weight-loss supplements or dubious investment schemes.

Substack, in its infinite wisdom, has given us a sanctuary; a place where creativity thrives, untainted by the noise of e-commerce.

Let us never take this gift for granted.

Let us cherish it, protect it and defend it with all our might.

For in a world overrun by ads, Substack stands as a beacon of hope; a reminder that some things are still sacred.

When it comes to adverts, the only gospel is this. None. Ever. That is all.

The Legacy: A Chaotic Masterpiece

And so, as we bid farewell to Substack, we can’t help but reflect on your legacy.

Your homepage was a chaotic masterpiece, a digital Jackson Pollock painting, a feed that defied all logic and reason.

Despite that, it taught us patience, resilience and the importance of a good scrolling finger.

You reminded us that life is messy, that order is overrated and that sometimes, the best things come in the most unexpected packages.

Yes, you were a hot mess, but you were our hot mess. And for that, we will always be grateful.

Let us raise a glass to the ghosts in our subscriber lists. May they rest in peace, knowing that their departure was not in vain.

And let us also toast to the absence of ads, a small but mighty victory in the battle for our attention.

The Reciprocal Subscription Brigade

And now, as we close this eulogy, let us address the other elephant in the room; those who preach the gospel of “Subscribe to me, and I’ll subscribe to you”.

Oh, brave souls, we see you. We hear you. We often mute you without you knowing and we… respectfully decline.

I’m sure you’re all lovely, but you are the carnival barkers of Substack, the digital equivalent of someone shouting, “Hey, let’s be friends because we both breathe oxygen!”

You traded subscriptions like Panini stickers, collecting names without ever stopping to ask; “Do they even like my work?”

And while your methods may have given you a fleeting instant sense of validation, a momentary boost to your subscriber count, we must ask; was it worth it?

Did those hollow numbers bring you joy? Did they fill the void? Or did they simply leave you chasing the next hit, the next reciprocal deal, the next empty promise?

This, dear friends, is why we must celebrate the idea of scrubbing inactive subscribers.

It is why we must champion engagement over empty numbers. For in the end, it is not the quantity of subscribers that matters, but the quality of their engagement because, here’s the thing, subscriptions are not a currency. They are not a transaction. They are not, nor should they be a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” arrangement.

They are a gift, freely given, to those whose words move us, inspire us, or at the very least, make us smile.

Granted, a gift sometimes hinted at through a blatantly, yet carefully placed ‘Subscribe now’ button, but a gift all the same.

So to those who peddle this transactional approach, we say this.

“May your Notes be witty, your Posts be profound and your subscriber count grow organically, not because you begged, but because you earned it.”

A Final Farewell

So here’s to you Substack and all your quirks. May your algorithm rest in peace, and may your Elon Musk-funded successor bring us the order we so desperately crave.

Farewell, old friend. You will be missed.

Farewell, dear ghosts. You will not be missed so much.

Farewell, intrusive ads. May you never darken our doors.

And farewell to the “subscribe-to-me” crowd. May you find your audience, preferably without resorting to bribery.

As we write our latest post, sending it off into the void, let’s look forward to a world when we can sign off with zero ads, zero ghosts and zero reciprocal subscription requests.

In lieu of flowers, please send suggestions for a better feed ranking system and we might find that there’s still be some life in Substack yet that’s yet to be written.

Amen.

Thanks for taking the time to read my ideas, but I’d love to know yours. Hidden behind the format of a eulogy, do you think any of these have merit? Would you like inactive subscribers automatically stricken? What ideas do you have? What are the things that you love and / or hate about Substack that you’d change if you could? Let me know in the comments. (Also, if you want to know what this look like BEFORE it was a eulogy, let me know that too).