You Need to Download Substack
“In the age of abundance, our issue is not scarcity, it's having too much. Whereas all the previous generations were striving to make more, do more, meet more, know more—we must strive to do less. To narrow our focus and care for our attention as a precious resource that can be swiftly taken from us.” - Mark Manson
As a collective human society, we are being constantly bombarded by information. I know I’m beating a dead horse, but stay with me. There is too much for our brains to digest, too many platforms to keep track of, and just too much in general. As an MCC major, where your entire curriculum rests on such a rapidly-changing industry, it can be hard to escape the echo chamber of phrases—the rise of internet technology, new affordances to advertising and marketing thanks to social media, and the rush of dopamine we get when we are perceived by others.
The digital world has become a vast ocean of possibilities. Every swipe delivers a wave of carefully curated content, and every notification promises something fresh—something that feels urgent, if only for a moment. Yet amid the infinite scroll and the endless pursuit of “keeping up,” I often catch myself longing for silence. I crave a space that nurtures reflection and creativity, rather than drowning in the echoes of viral trends and chronically online discourse.
In that sea of abundance, I sometimes find solace in acknowledging my own limitations. I'm reminded how quickly my attention can slip away if I’m not vigilant. How easy it is to abandon my most cherished ambitions in the face of distractions clamoring for my time and energy. It’s moments like these—when I realize just how delicate our mental bandwidth can be—that I discover a hidden determination to protect whatever scraps of focus I have left.
I like to think that I am a somewhat bright person.
I have witnessed, learned, and experienced so much in my 20 years of existence. I was blessed with the opportunity to go to school in New York City, the city of dreams. I am surrounded by creativity, aspiration, star-studded work ethics, the desire to live with purpose and intention—every ingredient you can think of to achieve true self-actualization.
I have so many things I want to say and do right now, yet I cannot find the correct way to articulate my thoughts nor the proper procedures for doing so. My pen is frozen atop a sheet of paper, stunned by inaction yet longing to move. It’s frustrating and exhausting. In my head I would always think, I will rest well tonight because I know someone has already voiced my exact thoughts into existence and turned it into something beautiful.
Question. How do I know this? Answer. I don’t think I’ve ever had an original thought in my entire life. I realized this early on, back when the Internet felt like a shiny new toy rather than a debilitating eyesore. Last week, my screen time totaled to 44 hours and 14 minutes. Over half of that time was spent on Instagram and TikTok. My mind feels like it is nowhere and everywhere at once. Am I in desperate need of a digital detox? Maybe. That being said, there is one saving grace that has restored some of my faith in humanity: Substack.
Substack hands the stage to independent writers, giving journalists and content creators a dedicated platform to publish various forms of media—this can come in the form of newsletters, videos, notes, and more. They’re able to interact directly with their subscribers, with the option to monetize exclusive content through paid subscriptions. This is a nice incentive that I don’t think comes off as too overbearing, as they can also offer free subscriptions, where access to content is available to all.
If everyone was on Substack, I think the world would be a little more intellectual as a whole. At its core, Substack is a social, user-generated content (UGC) platform. But there is so much more substance to uncover. These are real people with real passion for writing. Every article I’ve read has left me stunned at how beautifully written it was. AI could never create something to this degree. Sure, it might be able to imitate it by algorithmically stringing together the same words, but vulnerability and genuine human emotion are things that a mere language learning model simply cannot produce. It cannot replicate the incredibly intimate and endearing relationship that a writer has with their readers.
In 2025, the currency of real, human connection is a rare find—whether or not that currency will rise or decline in value is uncertain.
I am tired of telling people that I get my information from TikTok. That’s why at the beginning of this year, I set a goal for myself to read more outside of social media. But this goal has no tangible ending. It will never be fully achieved, and that’s the point. I was a former bookworm, spending much of my time in elementary and middle school cooped up in the library. This timeline aligns with when I got my first iPhone in 6th grade—marking my very first step into the world of social media, and the beginning of the end.
Last semester, my professor raised an interesting question in my Global Media Seminar class that really stuck with me. Taking this class abroad in London spun an interesting take on journalism, global news, and the threat of rising misinformation. One time during lecture, she asked us how informed we were on current events—what news outlets, how often we read them, and where we got our news from. Concerningly, only a select few people raised their hands. I could tell she was a bit taken aback, and for good reason. It would seem like common sense to always stay informed, right? Not necessarily. Echo chambers are harder to escape than you think, especially when that is essentially what algorithms do—amplify them. So how do we break out of the bubble and find new ideas?
This is the beauty of Substack—the amount of cultural and intellectual enrichment on this platform is insurmountable. It’s been really cool to see its growing influence and impact; I remember when Substack was still up and coming and it was more “if you know you know.” Today, the start-up has grown tremendously, scoring a New York Times feature on the heavy topic of politics and viability as a content creator. The numbers don’t lie: in politics and news, more than 30 publishers earn at least $1 million annually.
Substack’s unmatched depth and humanity rivals top-tier publications and outlets. What’s cool about this platform is that nearly everyone is an individual creator. No affiliations or titles. And here’s the catch—it’s not all news and politics. If you’re looking to feed your brain with stuff that isn’t brainrot, I’ve hyperlinked some of my favorite think pieces below. If you’re into YouTube video essays, you’ll have a ball with this.
the "omg you people can't do anything" of it all
things you can do this weekend instead of being on your phone
single girl syndrome (keepsake is one of my favorite newsletters!!)
the panic and pleasure of being alone
On staying home v. going out, brat summer, and the ethics of rotting
on digital anarchy, the aesthetic of revolution, and how we are becoming strangers.
I miss mystery
A very small reflection on arguably the biggest NYC girl essay of all time
there will never be a perfect time
In conclusion, we need to cherish human connection. Where we are overwhelmed with digital noise and censorship, Substack offers a safe haven for everyone—aspiring writers, “mainstream media exiles” as quoted by The New York Times, even people who aren’t creators. Substack’s emphasis on “productive” discussion also drives subscription revenue; sometimes people just need a community. Mark Manson’s quote about abundance is a reminder that in a world saturated with endless distractions, it’s up to us to narrow our focus and choose quality over quantity. If you’re ready to break away from the constant clamor and seek content that resonates with genuine substance, I urge you to explore Substack. It’s more than just a platform—it’s a step toward preserving human creativity and fostering meaningful engagement in an age where we could all use a little less noise.
