Let's talk about this orange checkmark.

Displaying hierarchy inside a writing platform doesn't make you look like a good person.

I am fiercely loyal to my beliefs. They’re the parts of myself that no one has been able to silence.

I hate hierarchy and the idea that an opinion matters more than another based on metrics that are irrelevant to value. Time, skill, experience—sure. We can feel those and judge for ourselves. But what if the very metrics that shape our decision-making of value are also… broken, manipulable, or dishonest?

There’s a responsibility that comes with sharing your voice. There’s even more integrity required when you use a social metric as proof of worth.

I woke up at 4 am today, and like every day, I wrote. Then I scrolled Substack notes and became frustrated.

Because two of my beliefs were triggered back-to-back:

The hypocrisy (irony?) of displaying a money-metric while boasting about authenticity, and also pretending to be for the people, while ignorantly disparaging those who are actually in the trenches.

I came to Substack to write my fucking story. This bitch of a thing has lived in my head for 23 years. I will (shut up), but I also came here to thaw out, so that’s most of what I’ve written about so far, because I can’t write my story inside a body that can’t feel.

What I’ve learned about Substack these last 13 days is that it’s like a weird little neighbourhood.

And like real life, you don’t get to choose your neighbours, and the algorithm is that one guy who knows everyone who has zero social etiquette. Since I started, he’s been grabbing my shirt, yanking me around, like, “HEY, YOU MIGHT LIKE THIS” with 30% efficacy.

Now, I have told Mark Zuckerberg to fuck off with his blue checkmark every time it pops up, because I think paying for ‘authority’ is… luda.

These last few days, the algorithm on Substack has been shoving orange-checkmarked people left-right-and-centre into my garden, trampling my beautifully curated nonsense machine. I didn’t know what these symbols beside people’s names meant until yesterday.

So I took these intrusions like a sign: Artie Algo is begging me to be honest. He wants me to shake up the neighbourhood. So… okay:

Hey everyone,

I’m Mel.

Displaying your paid subscriber count on Substack is value-signalling that lacks moral integrity, right up there with Mark Zuckerberg’s pay-to-play method.

If not worse.

Who wants to party?

*crickets*

… I was over here following and subscribing to people I enjoy. I don’t follow-for-follow, or sub-for-sub. That is the one rule from my marketing days I hold onto, because flooding your stats is a waste of time. I don’t look at my dashboard.

I will ask you about your work if I’m curious about you.

And if you can’t meet me, I won’t read your article. We won’t be a good fit. I won’t waste our time. If your article speaks to me, I’ll read it and give you feedback that is valuable (or at least entertaining to me).

I’m currently about 18k in debt and growing, but I refuse to go back to selling myself who I am as a service.

I am a person; my words have impact. I own that, I am responsible for each one.
I don’t talk from a perch of ignorance on topics I can’t embody. That won’t change as I grow, because honesty and integrity are important to me.

That is confronting for some because people would rather see me as only silly. That’s fine. I can be silly. And I am confusing to people who don’t want to dig deeper into themselves. It’s hard to conflate silly and serious, powerful and fucking crackers live in the same person.

I am also very clear: I’m going to eventually have to monetize access to my thoughts in some way. For reality's sake (bills and capacity). Remember, I’m here to write my fucking books and build things.

I value my work. The deeper, more intimate parts I will monetize. I don’t think that makes us monsters; it makes us people who recognize life is paid for. My art is my gift, and there is a cost to creating it.

I’m not a saint, but I am someone who regularly buys groceries for someone who can’t, while I am in debt, because I won’t walk by need. Everyone deserves to enjoy breakfast.

I know that part of me won’t go away when I have more to give. I want to. There’s no shame in wanting that. There’s no shame in needing money, arties.

In fact, this is why these sorts of things piss me right the fuck off. Enter an orange check mark with an opinion:

First, that hat is doing a lot of fucking work.

Secondly, the sentiment isn’t something I disagree with. But here’s the point that is missed:

That’s all fine and dandy for “only those” who are not in survival mode, K.

My response:

I looked up the average income of someone with an orange checkmark.

I am not saying K. Creek is malicious, or untalented, or undeserving. I am saying, if we’re going to treat an orange checkmark as a mark of prestige, then it’s also a mark of responsibility. You are displaying your minimum searchable income on this platform, from subscribers on this platform. You are tying a revenue trophy to impact.

Those are not the same thing.

But no one disagrees with hierarchy around here, and it makes me laugh a little.

A talented young writer’s post popped up right after:

emm candle emoji is a talented fucking writer. Check her out.

Emm doesn’t play the game; she just fucking writes. Her name is hard to search, she’s talented, and she’s exactly the kind of person K. Beard is talking about (but like, ‘broke’).

Yes. Accurate.

But more importantly:

This is the entire point. We often glamorize people who look good on paper, who speak in soft platitudes, who do not (or no longer) have the same skin in the game, and we just do this based on a symbol. I am right now, except my judgment is looking past the orange plating and sees the irony.

This gets eaten up as if from a prophet, because it’s DIGESTIBLE. There’s no constipation of thought; their writing has become Restoralaxx Lite.

That’s fine if that’s what you want to create, but it’s not ART.

People who can actually make a change DO NOT GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE. They’re also the people who history remembers as having made a DIFFERENCE.

That’s the whole fucking point of WRITING. B-AHHHHH.

We don’t write to make people feel NOTHING. I’d rather read AI-written work that came from original ideation. Seriously. Fucking SERIOUSLY.

If your ideas stand scrutiny, then prove me wrong.

I added:

I mute people who preach but do not embody artistry. I mute a lot of people. lol

I do not read the work of people who are here to play Substack like a game. If I ask you a question and you dodge or don’t answer, I won’t read your work. My attention is a laser beam.

There are people here who are genuinely unearthing the thing that sits inside of them, asking for life, the thing that they’re afraid to show the light and do anyway. And there are those creating community. Respect.

These people create what actually fucking matters.

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So, I’m going to say it:

REAL ARTISTS WHO ARE NOT IN SURVIVAL
CONTINUE TO
SUPPORT ARTISTS WHO ARE STRUGGLING TO LIVE.

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That is fundamental to what art IS. We rage at the 1%. How about we rage at the person sitting on 50 mill. who talks about life like they’re on the struggle bus? Jesus H.

And here’s the crazy fucking thing so many people miss… it may not LOOK like money. It might look like sharing, reinvesting experience, and providing curiosity.

SUPPORT isn’t just money.

Some of the most gracious artists are the ones who share others’ work with their audience and provide thoughtful feedback.

My coffers can’t pay for a sub right now, so until I can, I’ll let you know in my own weird little way what your impact is on me.

And don’t forget:

YOU KEEP WRITING.

Because artists (real ones) are powerful when we come together, but you have to keep creating. I won’t let you give up.

You are a full-time writer, whether you make money or not. Whether you have a job that sustains your life or not. This is WORK. You are a WORKING writer.

You can be a brilliant writer and an asshole. You can be a shitty writer making 100k/month. You can be a writer with a MESSAGE who is swamped in debt because the algorithm is full of people profiteering and saying dick-all.

Call them out. Call artists UP.

Because if your art matters to you, who are you?

What is your impact?

What skin do you have in this?

And when you find success, will you share it with the community that supported you?

Or will you forget and nest upon the perch made from the bones of those who propped you up, and whose talent you profit from?

Now, let’s go have some brekky. I am fucking starving...