"I Can't Support Every Author I like!"

“I can’t pay $60 a year or $7 a month for every Substack writer I like—it’s just not gonna happen.” I hear you—money’s tight, and there’s a ton of content out there. But let’s dig into how this reluctance to pay handed the reins to the oligarchs and globalists, setting us up for their “you will own nothing and be happy” vision.

Back in the early 2000s, we’d bicker that a world-class music album wasn’t worth $15—a total ripoff—while happily spending $3-4 a day on the shittiest coffee Starbucks ever brewed. (Many still do, but add Netflix and other brain-rot indulgences.)

The tech titans saw us coming from a mile off, their eyes glinting with the promise of profit. Google clocked it first: we wouldn’t pay a cent for value, so they dangled a shiny lure instead. Gmail in 2004 was the tipping point—free storage, a client so fast it hummed, and all they asked was to rifle through every email, every heartbeat typed out in haste, and plaster ads stitched from the threads of our most private selves. We didn’t blink. “Fine,” we said, “take it all.” The mainstream media caught the scent soon after—their subscriptions bled out, so they turned to the ad men and corporate coffers, crooning globalist anthems to keep the presses running.

And from that surrender, a monster was born. Our refusal to pay for value fed the beast. The world flipped upside down, and now we’re drowning in a sea of subscription services, a relentless tide of monthly tolls for everything from music to movies to the very software we type on. They gave us “free” to hook us, then turned the screws—nickel-and-diming us into a labyrinth of recurring charges, each one a shackle we forged ourselves.

For a quarter-century, we’ve screamed it loud and clear: we won’t pay an adequate price for quality, but we’ll bleed cash for the fleeting highs of our basest desires. Trashy movies, porn, rancid coffee, and grease-soaked burgers—our brains rotting away for a hit of instant gratification.

We handed over our privacy, our data, our very thoughts, like tossing a lifetime of emails into the fire for a measly gigabyte of Gmail space. And all the while, they’ve been building their empire—a world where ownership is a relic, and we’re just tenants grinning through the rent.

We lit the match. Every time we said “no” to paying for value, we traded sovereignty for servitude.

So here’s my offer (again): subscribe to my newsletter for a single dollar a month. One measly buck—less than the cost of a candy bar—to strike a blow against the machine. I’ve got seven thousand souls on this list, and not even two percent have ever tossed a coin my way. Imagine if twenty percent stepped up, trading value for value.

If a dollar still feels like too steep a price, I’ve got to ask—what are you even doing here? Join me today for that lone buck. Let’s mend what we’ve shattered, reclaim what’s ours, and tell the puppeteers we’re done indulging in their slob.