Art vs. Content
What's the difference and why Substack doesn't have to be social media
It’s January 5th and I’ve already seen a dozen resolutions to “make art, not content” on Substack. This concept coincides perfectly with a question everyone’s been discussing lately: is Substack a social media platform?
One side argues that it’s not based on the feel and/or goal of the platform (some saying it is not as toxic as IG, TikTok, and X therefore, it is not social media) while the other side argues that it is the same largely because of the Notes feature (some feeling frustrated by people claiming they are off social media in their Notes feed). Both sides have valid points.
I’ve quietly watched this conversation play out for weeks, if not months, choosing to be an observer rather than participant as I take time to collect my thoughts. You see, I have a personal investment in the answer to this question because, like so many of my peers, I have recently stepped away from social media. You can read my resignation from social media here.
I also stumbled upon Substack at a time in my life where I stood at a crossroads—am I okay with the effect social media has on my life? It’s safe to say that I’ve been asking these questions for a long time. You can read more about the origin of my Substack existence in my first article here.
All of that to say, this is a conversation that matters to me. I came to Substack as a way to honor my gift and love of writing while removing (as much as I possibly can) the negative side effects of social media which include, but are not limited to, doom scrolling, unending content, consumption and comparison, lack of true control over the content being consumed, and a false feeling of community.
So, this article is my nervous (people have BIG feelings about this question) attempt at entering the conversation. Hi, please be nice.
Art vs. Content
When I consider if Substack is social media, my answer feels a bit complicated: yes but it doesn’t have to be. Why? The answer to that question can be found in the difference between art vs. content.
Art, as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary, is “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.”
Art exists to move us. To make us feel a wide range of emotions—from awe to grief to inspiration. Art inspires wonder. It connects us to our humanity and to each other. In No Man Is an Island, Thomas Merton writes,
“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time. The mind that responds to the intellectual and spiritual values that lie hidden in a poem, a painting, or a piece of music, discovers a spiritual vitality that lifts it above itself, takes it out of itself, and makes it present to itself on a level of being that it did not know it could ever achieve.”
How does content (referring to more modern content such as TikToks, IG reels, photos, stories, status updates…) compare? Content, at best, dances in the shallow end of that definition. If art is Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, content is social media. If art inspires deeply human emotions, content inspires consumption. Content is one-dimensional. Art contains multitudes.
Ships in a Stormy Sea off a Coast
Two years ago, my oldest brother died unexpectedly of an overdose. Well, unexpectedly isn’t quite accurate since he had a life-long struggle with addiction, but unexpected as in something you could never truly be prepared for.
I am no stranger to addiction. It took my biological dad when I was almost two years old. It took my uncle and his son. It took another uncle. And, currently, it has an unrelenting grip on my mother, aunt, multiple cousins, and most of my family.
The day after I received news of his death, I went to the art museum. On this day, I was in desperate need of…something. I didn’t know what but I knew where to go. I couldn’t quite determine which end was up or down. Losing someone to addiction, even if they are still alive, is a horrible experience and it leaves a very unique impression on your life.
As I walked into the familiar quiet of the museum, a sense of urgency took over. I needed something to make me feel less alone and something to bring me out of myself. I did not seek human company as I knew that I wouldn’t be comforted by well-meaning platitudes. I was hungry for a sign that, although I was not okay in this moment, I would be again. A beacon of resiliency through the grief that was still raw. I walked through display after display searching for, something.
And, to my surprise, I found it in the Dutch section. As often as I visited the museum, I can honestly say I did not spend a great amount of time among the Dutch display (obviously an error on my part). But, on this day, I stood in front of this painting for an hour; utterly oblivious to my surroundings and completely still. It’s a wonder someone didn’t check my pulse or call security.
When I couldn’t organize my thoughts and emotions, art met me. This painting greeted me like an old friend who knew exactly what type of company I needed. It said nothing and yet, brought so much clarity. This painting offered a respite from my suffering, questions, doubt, and confusion. In all honesty, if I could’ve taken it from the wall and brought it home with me, I would have done so.
I left with an overwhelming feeling of being seen and a resounding sense of comfort akin to “this too shall pass.” Surely I was not alone.
This is what art does. This is the gift it offers us.
Closing Thoughts
How can content compare to that? The truth is, it doesn’t. I didn’t search for whatever it was I needed that day on TikTok or Instagram. Those platforms would have caused more harm than good. At most, I would’ve been able to numb my mind and emotions with a doom-scroll. But that wasn’t what I needed. I needed art, not content.
And here is where I make my argument: Substack can be social media. But, it doesn’t have to be. We have a chance to make this about art. It will be what we make it.
How? While I don’t have all the answers, I do have some thoughts (proceed with caution, I’ve been known to step on toes).
Not everything you think needs to be said. Not everything you read needs to be shared. Resist the urge to post on Notes more than you write long-form pieces. Not every thought you have is important. Keep some to yourself. Ponder them. Slow down. Create a work in progress versus a status update. Allow your thoughts to steep alongside other great minds and ideas and actions. In that space, they might just have a chance to develop into something great. Something worth sharing. Something that stops someone in their tracks and brings clarity to their life in a moment of deep grief and sadness.
We live in a society that compels us to think and speak within the same breath. Once upon a time, people existed without displaying their existence for public consumption or approval. That time may feel lost but I’m hopeful we can find it again.
In a cacophony of online noise, we speak too quickly out of fear that someone else will steal our words or our glory or our worth. I don’t blame us. Most of these desires are primal. We need to be heard. To be important. To be known and loved. But, since when is being loud or being first or being viral a good solution to these human needs? They run too deep to be satisfied by what social media has to offer.
I say this mainly in regards to the Notes feature. It feels very much like social media most of the time. I have posted a few Notes that, upon reflection, I decided to delete. I did this to resist the urge to share every thought I have. They are not all profound or worth sharing. I also feel the pull to engage with Notes in a mindless way—a like here, a comment there. What can I say? It’s the way the system is designed. Consume. Consume. Post content. Consume. Consume. Consume. Post Content. A vicious cycle.
Do you ever feel like you are becoming what you are consuming against your will?
I’m determined that I will not use Substack as social media. I am not giving it permission to prod me along with sense of urgency to be seen and known by the masses, to share every thought I have or engage with every post I see. I want quality versus quantity. Four subscribers who read what I write and believe my words are more valuable than 1,000 who do not engage with my art. I want to subscribe to artists and writers that move me.
Or, better yet, that stop me in my tracks, reminding me that I am not alone, that I am not the center of the universe, and that inspire me to endure.
As an experiment, I am not including any tags with this essay nor am I going to promote it in Notes. I want to see who my art finds and what it inspires. If it finds you, or you find it, please let me know!
I'm in the comic business, and I see exactly what you're talking about. There's a ton of content popping up, but not much art anymore. Nobody does it for the love of the zine or the medium itself. When a new indie darling breaks out, the back of the book is just a sales pitch: here's your new idol plush to rot in the corner while you... God knows what. It all feels like a stepping stone to pitch Netflix rather than any real love for the work. Really disheartening.
You're spot on though—there has to be thought in what you're doing. Thank you for saying it so clearly.
God Bless you.
I'm choosing to leave a comment on this because, though still requiring little of me, it does force me to pause and think longer than simply clicking on a heart icon does.
Thank you for writing this, and choosing the narrow way. We indeed choose not only what becomes of the services we make use of, but what sort of a world we create around us. By choosing art over content, you are helping to make a better world for all, Rachel. I find that inspiring, and challenging. God bless you.