There’s a pervasive narrative insisting that — if you’re truly great — your art, audience, and success will come to you naturally. So I hesitate to reveal that I read those How to Grow Your Substack in Two Weeks/Top Tips for Subscriber Growth/My Substack Has a Huge Dick and Here’s How Yours Could Too! posts whenever they come across my feed. It feels very un-Sylvia Plath of me. But the fact is that I usually do read them, and a lot of them pitch Consistency. Your Substack Is A Brand. It Must Be Familiar And Reliable If You Want Subscribers etc etc.
It would be lovely to have a million subscribers and have an income from writing and so on and so forth, but frankly that isn’t currently happening and even if it were: My substack is not a brand. It’s a hobby, and an outlet, and a diary. It’s my art, and any artistic practice worth it’s salt is constantly changing and evolving.
For another thing, there is no one right way to use social media, including substack. It is a tool and a medium to be used in any way that brings us joy. The first time I rebranded The Rambler I was terrified that I would drive away any number of my precious few subscribers (I see and love you all by the way x), but couldn’t ignore the needling urge that a change was needed. I justified it at the time by insisting that the old aesthetic wasn’t as polished and professional as the new, and was content to leave it at that.
When I started considering another rebrand in recent months, I wondered if I could pin it on my birthday (huge believer in new age/new year/new room = new me over here). I’m older now, my frontal lobe has abs, this is the final design etc etc.
But isn’t that a horrible thought? The final design. Nothing will ever change again and this will be me and my substack, static and stagnant, for the rest of my life.
We are not machines. We are closer to flowers than computers. While we might ruthlessly try to distance ourselves from the cycles of nature, our hearts, minds, and bodies demand rest and change. So yes, I will continue to redecorate my substack whenever I feel like it (and am in the mood to spend several hours on Canva) because it’s a fucking treat to live your life in a way that feels beautiful to you.
I’ve seen countless moon-appreciation posts on social media. Substack is the haven to which all those who personify the moon naturally flock. Perhaps it’s time to take our cues from her and allow ourselves, too, to live in phases.
B.
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