Why I’m tearing down my newsletter paywalls
You shouldn't be manipulated into paying to think. And I don't want to be boring anymore.
I have a confession.
I’ve been writing this Substack newsletter for two and a half years and I have never personally paid for a single subscription.
Not even for a month. Never.
(braces for impact)
Sure, I’ve bought plenty of other digital things like courses, apps, tools. But a subscription to a Substack (or actually, any) digital publication?
Not once.
I’ve had two major revelations about online writing
The first is that your experience as a reader must always come first. To do that, the writing has to be free.
Let me explain why.
I’ve never bought a Substack subscription not because I don’t believe writers should be paid well for their work. Obviously, I very much do.
But I’ve come to the realisation that for most people, the paywall does not make them want to pay. It makes them want to do the exact opposite.
Turns out, I’m one of those people.
You cannot ask a total stranger for money
It’s the equivalent of walking up to someone on the street and asking them to hand you a fiver before you’ve even finished a sentence.
Unless I have a migraine that feels like I’m giving birth through my head and behind your wall lies a magic pill, nothing you have to say is going to make me pay you there and then. Whether it’s about your cute list of best winter hats or the meaning of life.
And yet, that is exactly what I’ve been expecting you to do. I’ve been treating our relationship like a transaction before it’s even begun.
I turned up in June 2023 with an email list of zero and had the paywall activated from the start.
I expected people to believe my words were so vital they would hand me cash before they even knew who the hell I was.
I’ve been utterly delusional.
Biggest Hypocrite of the Year goes to me 🏆
And that did work, for a while.
I would spend my time thinking of things to put behind the wall to make people convert to paid, rather than writing what I actually wanted to say. Those ideas soon ran dry because there are only so many things I can teach.
But you know what ideas never run dry? Thoughts.
Every Substack reader experiences this: you get the email, you open it, you start reading. You’re interested, you’re invested. Then suddenly, you hit the wall.
If there’s a quicker way to piss off a reader, I’m all ears.
And if I receive emails from someone that keep containing paywalls, I just stop opening them altogether.
The more you try and force me to hand over my money, the more adamant I am that I never will.
(This is such basic bitch sales 101 everyone probably already knows, yet here I am — today years old — only just realising any of this.)
Paywalls are a digital form of manipulation
No one wants to feel like they’re being manipulated.
I’m not going to follow you around prodding you with a stick chirping pay me pay me pay me.
You either actively choose to pay me for my work or you actively choose to not.
Either way, the decision should come from your own free will. Not because some dumbass (i.e. me) is purposely gatekeeping the important bit.
It’s interesting, because there have been numerous instances where writers on Substack have publicly declared they’re now doubling down and putting everything behind the wall.
‘So you better sign-up now before I raise that price!’
But I’ve never come across the reverse
A person who was previously gatekeeping who is now making all their writing free.
Maybe there’s a reason; it’s a move few sane writers would make. But I do have a habit of doing the opposite to everyone else. So let’s see how this experiment pans out.
Could backfire, might not.
I don’t write here to piss people off (at least not with paywalls). I write because I actually care about people and want to be helpful and I’m not going to achieve that if I’m putting up barriers everywhere.
And so that’s why from now on, all of my words here will be free.
Yay!
“The path forward is about curiosity, generosity, and connection. These are the three foundations of art.”
— Seth Godin
The Substack money delusion
Now let’s be real – most of us who write on Substack will never earn anything meaningful by chasing pittance £5 subs.
You’ll spend a lot of effort going nowhere fast and piss off a load of people on the way.
Sure, we see accounts with the solid orange ticks making a shit tonne of moolah and we love their work. But they are the exception. Most have been building online their entire careers.
Unless you’re also willing to put in a decade of work before seeing any real dough, the math just ain’t mathing for the rest of us starting from zero.
Substack isn’t an earner for most, in and of itself.
The subscription model is flawed and paywalls are pathetic.
But what Substack is good at is being a broadcast medium
It’s an ecosystem for getting your words read by thousands of people.
That’s kind of amazing!
That leads to building a mailing list you own, which is arguably the most valuable asset Substack offers.
I’ve even started to finally see the value in Notes after being mostly annoyed by it for months.
As long as it’s treated like any other social media platform – creation over consumption, and it supplements your main work, rather than being a distraction from it – it’s a brilliant way for readers to find you.
But ain’t no one going to pay you when they hit your paywall. Accept it, then get over it.
So that’s been revelation one.
My writing has been so fucking boring
Here’s my second revelation: I’ve been trying to be a people pleaser which has resulted in me wasting both of our time.
This epiphany is actually hilarious to me because IRL I am literally the opposite. A people displeaser would be more accurate.
Because I’ve been under the grip of the paywall, I’ve prioritised being vanilla in the hope it would lead to an upgrade.
I’ve been wearing a mask on the internet, trading my personality for the chance of a sell.
Oh, the shame.
I’ve been toning myself down
Making myself quieter. Tiptoeing over feelings so as not to make people uncomfortable. All the things I am totally against.
The irony is, I’ve been guilty of exactly what I accused others of doing - trying to be more palatable.
I haven’t been doing that by trying to be more relatable as per my last essay; I’ve been doing it by trying to be less me.
In other words, I’ve been trying to be everyone’s cup of tea.
*shudders*
And you know what that’s resulted in?
My writing has been boring.
Oh god, it’s been so boring for so long. How have any of you been reading it? I’ve literally been boring myself to tears with my own words.
Sure, we all like tea because it’s familiar, comforting. But tea is dull. Drinking tea is not exactly a thrill ride.
Sod being anyone’s cup of tea, let alone everyone’s.
Negroni or blue cheese — take it or leave it
I want to be your straight talking glass of Negroni with a twist of burnt orange: invigorating, undiluted and slightly bitter (non-alcoholic options also available).
I don’t want my writing to be as boring as tea. My brain is not boring. And you don’t deserve boring.
(before anyone @s me, I love tea – that’s not my point)
Yet, my writing has been fluffy and soft and gentle and pandering and so many other things that are not me.
I am direct. I say it like it is and I play with a straight bat. I don’t offend easily.
I don’t want to be palatable. I want to be an offensive blue cheese – you either think I’m bloody amazing or you’d rather not stand too close to me.
My last essay about the bullshit relatability tax was the first piece I’ve been proud of in a long time. It wasn’t gentle. It didn’t pussyfoot. And people resonated with it.
I received WhatsApps from friends and family saying, ‘I LOVE no-BS Leyla! Yes!’
Thanks, Tim
I attribute much of this to only just discovering Tim Denning (big fan, read all his stuff).
He says what he thinks and manages to not sound like dickhead in the process. He doesn’t care if he rubs people up the wrong way and that makes his writing interesting.
He doesn’t have over 170,000 readers for no reason.
I’ve been swallowing his essays whole and they have made me realise, who you authentically are is your defining factor.
So I’ve decided I’m bringing more of IRL Leyla into these newsletters – the Leyla you would actually meet in person.
Not everyone will like it and that’s fine; that’s actually a good thing.
It’s taken me 2.5 years here but I think I might have finally ‘found my voice’.
Why I’m betting on free
Since November 2024 my paid subscribers have been steadily and consistently declining. And frankly, it’s been completely warranted.
Paywalls plus ‘tea’ writing – what the hell else did I expect?
I would spend an entire day tapping away through the lens of gotta get them to upgrade, slap on a paywall and send it out.
All that effort to be read by just a roomful of paying members. Plus, I’d piss off my free readers – again.
Lot’s of people say they would continue to write even if no one ever read their words.
Not me.
I’m not knocking out weekly essays for jollies. I write because I want to be read. I want to be heard – I want to be seen.
I want you to see something of yourself when you peer inside my brain.
It makes both of us feel connected to eachother and the rest of humanity. Even if it means being read by just one person, our words reaching others is what counts.
So I’ve taken my own advice, looked at this thing and asked myself: what is it I actually want from this newsletter?
It’s lead to a complete overhaul — of everything
My writing here and my whole online presence in general. And it’s been exciting.
I finally feel like I have a clear direction.
Ditching the paywall has made me feel free again. I’m writing to be helpful to people and now that the gates are gone, I can finally get to the point — and you can read all of it
I feel invigorated by this newsletter again. I’m going all in - YEAH!
My new manifesto for A Day Well Spent is about helping you realise (in every sense) the life you actually want to live.
I’m here to shake up your thinking and tell you to stick two fingers up to societal conditioning.
Because you were not put on this earth to have meetings, pay off debts then die.
Do have a read of my new newsletter manifesto.
Final thought
My essays will now be free to the end.
I’m keeping the paywalls only for the community comments because I want to keep that space private.
If you’re an existing paid subscriber, stay put. You’re investing in the future of this project and therefore, the future of yourselves.
I’ll be increasing the pricing a fair bit soon because a paid subscription is going to become part of a wider package I’m developing ,and I’ll be adding more features. If you want to lock in the current price, you have a few days.
And to those of you who have stuck around all this time, thank you.
My Boring Era is coming to a close.
We are moving out of the Dark Ages and into the Renaissance. And if you’ve actually quite enjoyed my writing so far, thanks for being kind.
But you ain’t seen nothing yet.
About me: I’m Leyla, the person behind this newsletter called A Day Well Spent. I’m a TV and radio presenter, journalist and writer.
I send this email weekly. If you would also like to receive it, you can join the 8000+ other smart readers who are loving it today.
If you enjoy reading this post, feel free to share it with friends! Or click the ❤️ button so more people can discover it on Substack - thanks! And see you in the comments.