When I started creating content, I had a simple mission: to help others in my field. So I launched a newsletter on LinkedIn, curating five articles each month that I thought would be relevant and valuable. For three years, I maintained this routine, cultivating a habit of finding and sharing high-quality content, despite modest engagement.
Then my advisors chimed in. «You need a newsletter on Substack,» they said. «That’s where serious content creators build their audience.» So I did what many creators do, I expanded, launching another newsletter on a dedicated platform.
But after just a few issues, I stopped.
The Pressure Trap
The weekly deadline became a monster. Instead of thoughtfully selecting content that truly mattered, I found myself scrambling to fill space. I was «forced to find articles and links and dried things that were not properly crafted.» The pressure to ship something, anything, every week transformed me from a curator into a content regurgitator.
What value was I adding? I was essentially copying and pasting information from around the internet, slapping my name on it, and calling it a newsletter. The authenticity that initially drove my content creation had evaporated under the weight of artificial consistency.
The Newsletter Explosion
Here’s what I’ve observed: we’re drowning in newsletters. Everyone has one now. Every entrepreneur, every thought leader, every company. They hit our inboxes every two days, every three days, weekly, bi-weekly, a relentless stream of «valuable content» that’s becoming increasingly indistinguishable.
But here’s the question: How much time do people actually have to consume all this information?
We’re experiencing information overload on a massive scale. I see it in myself, I see it in people around me, we’re all doing inbox spring cleaning rather than subscribing to more newsletters. The decluttering has begun.
The Coming Shift
I predict this newsletter boom is unsustainable. People will remain subscribed to content they genuinely love, the newsletters that speak directly to their hearts, their specific niches, and their deepest interests. But the general content? The «me too» newsletters that exist simply because content marketing gurus say you need one? Most of them will be ignored, then unsubscribed.
This doesn’t mean newsletters don’t have value. I’m subscribed to several that I genuinely appreciate. But the bar is rising, and the tolerance for mediocre, aggregated content is falling.
Returning to Authentic Creation
That’s why I’ve returned to writing blog posts on my blog and Medium. I’m creating content that comes from my brain, not from ChatGPT or content aggregation tools. Yes, I might use AI for research or to polish my English, but the core ideas, the perspectives, and the insights are mine.
I’m dictating thoughts like this one, working my brain, exercising my creativity. The content might reach fewer people, so what! but it’s original. It’s authentic. It’s something I can stand behind.
The Authenticity Advantage
This shift feels liberating. Instead of chasing engagement metrics and inbox deliverability rates, I’m focused on creating something of genuine value. I say no to the «Enshittification of the internet«, pushing back against the tide of recycled, AI-generated, and regurgitated content that’s flooding our digital spaces.
When everyone is shouting, sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is speak thoughtfully.
The LinkedIn Exception
I’m keeping my LinkedIn newsletter for now, partly because I’ve invested three years in it, partly because I do read all these posts anyway. Even with minimal interaction, it helps me stay sharp and share helpful content. But the pressure is off. It exists to serve a purpose, not to feed an algorithm or satisfy a content marketing checklist.
A New Content Philosophy
My new approach is simple: Quality over frequency. Authenticity over aggregation. Value over volume.
I’ll publish when I have something worth saying, not because a calendar dictates it. I’ll share my insights, not just links to other people’s work. I’ll contribute to the conversation rather than just amplifying it.
This might mean fewer opens, fewer subscribers, fewer vanity metrics. But it also means more integrity, more originality, and ultimately, more value for the people who do choose to read what I write.
In a world overflowing with content, maybe what we need isn’t more newsletters; maybe what we need is more thoughtfulness.
