WHY I HAVE A SUBSTACK VENDETTA

Not the bootleg IG lives, or even the Nazis, it’s a third thing.

Back in mid-August, which feels like a lifetime ago, I had an idea, and that idea made me laugh. So, I opened Photoshop, and made this “Substack Summer” meme.

I was inspired by the Substack-wide freakout over

Emily Sundberg

’s viral essay, a masterclass in “engagement” from the platform’s most brilliant provocateuse. Many other newsletters were written in response, which I found very meta and very funny. What can I say? I have a rotten brain and niche internet drama makes me horny.

The meme took me like 20 minutes to make. While I do know that roasting crazy behavior from inside the house is one of my greatest talents — thank you, childhood — I had no idea the post would go so viral that at one point it would reach a Spanish-speaking corner of the app. I couldn’t have predicted it would travel so far and make its way to so many boring people that it would eventually lose its thick, delicious layer of irony.

But that, my friends, is exactly what happened. Earlier this week, Substack, the platform itself, released a “Substack Summer” feature and I was so enraged that I went full Azealia Banks and took to my IG stories:

Yes, they drained the fun from “Substack Summer,” slapped it on a monumentally dorky and useless iteration of Spotify Wrapped — a true concept of a plan — and didn’t even shout me out in a mere social post on their platform.

At least a dozen Substack employees, including a co-founder, liked my meme, many of them in quick succession. That one of those employees shared a link in a Slack channel is a pretty safe bet.

Now I’ve been forced to write this substack about LITERAL SUBSTACK ripping the meme I made about writing a substack about writing on Substack and then people writing a substack about that substack about writing on Substack. I do believe this cements me as the world’s foremost Unhingement specialist because this level of meta is giving diseased. I put it all out there and the universe once again had its way with me.

As I’ve said before, I truly, madly, deeply love to write, and I don’t lose sleep over how much money I make from this newsletter. But memes and virality? They are my business, baby. I am, quite literally, a freelance meme auteur on a monthly retainer to make social content for a global streaming platform you all watch. I’m also a consultant who specializes in creative development for social media. I have made a lot of viral content in my career and I get paid very well for my time. Naming internet things is a major part of what I do for a living, and unless it’s for my own benefit or creative expression, I don’t do it for free.

I’ve been doing this shit for so long that I’m basically a culture witch. I know that ideas on social media tend to belong to whoever feels entitled to take them. Content that performs well on social is not even “fresh” 99% of the time; it makes use of an iterative creative dialect that runs on formats, trending sounds, and reactions to what people are witnessing and feeling.

And sometimes, as was the case with this meme, a viral post is just an astute observation presented at the right time in a way that makes a community relate.

I don’t own the phrase “Substack Summer,” since, my bad, I forgot to include the ™️ emoji. So, I guess what’s really pissing me off here is that my meme went viral because it was creative, it hit a nerve, and it was unique. Then, it was appropriated for some algorithmic nonsense put out by a soulless tech company that continues to host and make money from Nazis on their platform in the name of “free speech.”

This is actually a case study of what’s happening to creativity in our Age of Unhingement™️ — hijacked ideas, icky algorithms, and tech companies being tech companies. I know Substack loves to position itself as a good guy in “man vs. the machines,” so I went back and re-read an old post from last year that presented their take on AI. What I found was gold:

These new machines are trained on a vast corpus of work produced by humans. And those humans, most of whom have never found a way to turn their art into riches, aren’t getting compensated along the way.

Newsflash for the Substack team: Lazy human employees “trained on” other people’s ideas can also be machines.

When it comes to Substack, we have focused on using the internet’s powers to serve, rather than subsume.

K. Serve me a check for what you subsumed.

The cost of “content creation” will be driven to almost zero. But content isn’t culture.

Content is absolutely culture, you pretentious fucks — which is why you mined my viral meme for a zero cost idea that aimed to get people to post more on the social media part of your platform.

My work has been ripped off a lot over the years, because brands will be brands, and when I’m getting paid for the goods, I honestly don’t care. But when I’m posting as little old me, “inspiring” the platform that hosts my newsletter, and they can’t even throw your girl a link back so she can build her cult following, well, that doesn’t sit right with me.

And do we think they would have done that if I had 10,000 subscribers on my list?

There is one huge advantage to being a rando — I don’t have a reputation to worry about, so I can be freely unhinged and talk all the shit I like. I named this newsletter “Burn It All Down,” because I think a lot of what goes on in our bizarro world is not worth keeping. I have no interest in upholding old, washed power dynamics or keeping my mouth shut about any of this.

me writing this newsletter.

This happened at an interesting time for me. I find myself at a juncture where building an audience for my writing meets my own lack of a social platform. That lack of a platform was by design until I decided to write a book proposal and an agent told me I have to start making TikToks to sell it.

I know I still look as fresh as a fetus if you squint in the right light, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know better than anyone that social media is where things sell these days. And yet, the thought of creating “Unhingement-themed” TikToks makes me want to scale a mountain and let out a primal scream.

Social media is what I do for a living, but I think these apps are a series of hellholes and I would rather never be perceived. My Instagram¹ was private until December of last year and I only went public because I was quoted in the New Yorker and my friends wanted to share my post. I guess that was my first foray in leaving my favorite digital perch, lurking in the shadows. My second? This fucking “Substack Summer” meme — the only piece of actual social content I have made to promote my writing.

Now, here we are, and that post “inspired” Substack, the one platform I actually want to build an audience on,² to commit IP thievery. I am terrified of turning these powers on myself. I don’t know how to do social media like a civilian who is interested in being seen.

I’ve been dragging my feet on starting the TikTok for two whole months. Procrastination is one of my specialties, but this is getting a bit ridiculous, even for me. “Substack Summer” is over. Today is the first day of “Fuck Substack Fall.” It’s time for me to stop spiraling and build my little Unhingement empire so the next time someone steals one of my ideas, they can endure the wrath of a larger, more unhinged community.

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that it feels like we’re all under construction right now and was shocked by how many people that resonated with. Well, the crew has made some progress, and I think what I’m constructing now is a version of myself who stands in her power. A fear of failure is understandable, but a fear of success, that’s pathological.

Thank you, Substack, for delivering the final push I needed. I am a true Scorpio, so nothing fuels me to get things done better than vengeance and rage. I am going to (once again) get over myself and start my fucking TikTok this week. I can’t wait to take you all on this new journey with me.

Less Lessons More Blessin’s™️³

Liz

P.S.

Hamish McKenzie

, you still owe me a consulting fee.

1. Please follow me — I have more newsletter subscribers than I do Instagram followers. Unwell.

2. Am I pivoting to Mailchimp? JK could never — I love being a part of this deranged community of writers.

3. Any day now! :)