Recommendation Culture and its 'Chokehold on Social Media'

Laying out my aspirations as a chaos agent.

A Stanley Cup, NOT the one I discuss below.

In early March, I was listening to a Patreon episode of one of my favorite bookish podcasts WSIRN (more on that here) when the host, Anne Bogel, put out a call for submissions to be a guest on the show. My 37th birthday was fast approaching and I was ready to shake things up so I submitted an application and in a moment of complete delight and surprise, I was picked.

I had the pleasure of recording with Anne for about two hours. At the end of which, I was positively beaming. Being able to chat with someone about books but, also receive incredibly *personalized* recommendations about what to read next, felt like nirvana.

My husband’s brother was visiting on that particular Tuesday and he was the first person I talked to directly after recording. My brother-in-law is a visual artist and a musician—someone who takes risks and lives boldly. He’s American but only moved back to the States recently after living in London, Shanghai, and different parts of Argentina. I’m hazy on the details but I’m pretty sure none of those global moves generated as many pro/con lists as my decision not to buy a Stanley Cup did.

When I mentioned how much I enjoyed chatting with Anne and that maybe, I needed a creative outlet, and what I was thinking about doing next, he shrugged his shoulders in his inimitable way, and said, “Why not just put some stuff out there and see what sticks?”

And so I did, I played around with Canva and made some graphics, which I hated. So then I made some more. I realized everything looked quite amateur but I shrugged my shoulders and said, well, I am an amateur. And then I launched. I got many more subscribers that I had expected to, or than I was really ready for—I had expected a much longer period of musing into the void.

Then, the “Substack Growth Tip” e-mails hit my inbox. And then everyone in Notes was talking about the number of subscribers they had, and tips on how to attract more, and, and, and. I suddenly felt an urge to commit to a posting schedule and I was strategizing about how to grow the number of subscribers I already had.

I was also plagued with self-doubt. What did I have to add to a world replete with content and recommendations? Why hadn’t I defined my audience or my niche before launching? Also this felt a lot like being back on TikTok and Instagram, as a consumer, and hadn’t I *just* gotten my Screentime hours back down to a manageable level?

But also, over the weekend, I read

Alison Roman

’s post/essay on a recent visit to Paris. She discusses gate-keeping but also makes some apt observations about our culture more broadly. She said:

I’m sure you’ve noticed, but recommendations-based content has a real chokehold on social media, most of all, this platform. The people who really thrive tend to give you the most precious or practical intel, promise you the most special and exclusive XYZ. . . . .

. . . . .That said, the assumed entitlement that everyone should have the option to have the exact same everything as everyone else has reached a…weird place. Everyone with the same clothes, the same reservation at whatever mid restaurant, the same Instagrammy vacation spot, the same secret summer swimming hole.

I agree that we’ve reached a weird place. We’re living through a somewhat unpleasant flattening of culture (see prior reference to Stanley Cups). But that is not actually what struck me from Roman’s post.

What struck me is that despite being filled with recommendations of all types, and how to’s, and reading round-ups, and personal essays, and all the other categories of content that speak to the voyeur in me (and you?)—I don’t feel particularly *seen* on Substack. And that could be due to my own, singular, journey through life. Or it could be true of honestly anyone?

Do we actually, always, want the same recommendation as the 10,000 other subscribers to any given newsletter?¹ Or do we want something personalized to us, and to our experience? We want connection.² Isn’t that why we’re all in Subreddits and Facebook groups and Discord channels and Substack chats asking, “I liked X,” “what should I do for Y”? And isn’t that why Anne Bogel and bookish communities, in particular, are so special? Because people are sharing their opinions, and hot takes, and other people are helping them find their next book based on that particular information.

In some respects, Substack is a backlash against the complete consumption of creativity by capitalism—instead of forcing creators to hawk us goods to make a living, we can pay them directly. And that’s great, it really is. But I don’t actually want to be on here only to hear from the same voices as before. And I don’t want to offer the same recommendations.

Instead, I want to recreate some of the same *magic* of Anne Bogel and bookish or hobby communities writ large. I want to provide personalized recommendations, wherever I can.

And while I wait for those requests to come in (if they ever do), I want to write about the *stuff* I don’t think is getting enough attention (or that we have forgotten about), be it books or TV shows, or truly whatever. Or I’m going to talk about the stuff that is getting a *lot* of attention in a different way. Maybe I want to be an agent of chaos in a world that has been completely tamed by the tides and pressures of capitalism. I don’t know.

I do know I want to take

Daisy Buchanan

’s advice:

We’re all struggling with a lot of collective anxiety, and anxiety is dreadful for the imagination. This is a space where we dictate our own terms, a space where we can afford to get messy, free and wild. As a reader, I don’t want to read words written by a bunch of aspiring billionaires. I want to read lucy sweet’s meditations on Chupa Chups flavoured room spray.

From the outset, I have always said that I started this newsletter because I wanted a creative outlet. And therefore I am going to do my best to return to myself and drown out much of the noise on this platform.³ I am probably not going to post with the regularity that I had promised in my last newsletter—sorry. I suppose that’s what happens when you launch something without completely thinking it through.

I am going to focus on all of the things I mentioned above, and I’m going to try and create an extremely *niche* space on the internet for those of us who grew up as third-culture kids—those of us who know exactly what Chupa Chups are, but somehow also know what third down means to American football fans. Does this mean I have to change the title of my newsletter? And the graphics? Oh God, I am an agent of chaos, after all.

If you have stuck with me until the end of this post, THANK YOU. Thank you for allowing me to get messy, free, and wild.

1. Sometimes we do. I am eagerly awaiting

Leslie Stephens

’s next issue as much as the next millennial woman. And that has been true ever since she started writing The List.

2. We get a lot of that connection in our real life communities but perhaps not enough. Because, truly, so much of our real life communities are comprised of people with shared experiences (family, school, professional networks) but maybe not shared taste?

3. I also recognize I am extremely privileged to be able to create on this platform, without the need to charge for my musings. But given their experimental nature it only seems fair that I not focus on growth and just focus on what this is and what this is going to be—if you’re still here for that, I appreciate you.