What the Fuck Is Substack?

By Mars, Author of Dear Artist: Everyone Is Your Friend and Dear Artist: From a Lion’s Den to a Pack of Wolves

When I first came across Substack, I thought, Oh wow.

A place to share literature.

A place to share ideas.

A place where writers write and readers actually read.

So I pulled up. Logged in. Started scrolling.

And what did I see?

The same recycled bullshit I’ve seen a hundred times before.

Same content. Same formulas. Same safe-ass energy.

So I said to myself, Nah. I want to make something different.

Something that doesn’t feel like it’s been rinsed through ten rounds of corporate editing.

Then I remembered—I already got a whole book. Matter fact, two.

So why waste time creating something new just to watch it get buried under mediocrity?

I flipped the playbook.

Reappropriated my own content.

Because that’s what they teach you in corporate America anyway.

Take Black brilliance, Black rebellion, Black art—

Water it down, slap a logo on it, and sell it back to us.

So I said, Bet. I’ll run that same play.

Y’all want content? Here’s mine. Already written. Already potent.

And no, I ain’t giving it away for free.

Because once people get used to free, they stop paying altogether.

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Substack’s Identity Crisis

So again—what the fuck is Substack?

Nobody could give me a straight answer.

Is it a newsletter? A blog? A literary clubhouse?

What I saw looked more like a rebranded Twitter.

Less raw expression, more filtered algorithms.

A few short stories. A couple essays.

But where’s the platform support for Black creators?

Where’s the amplification of people pushing boundaries?

Instead, it felt like another tech giant using its users to stack cash.

Monetize voice. Ignore vision.

Profit off the people—without truly seeing them.

WTF is Substack

Just Like Twitter… Until It Wasn’t

Old Twitter used to be a sanctuary.

You could log in and speak truth.

Rage, vent, cry, laugh, share poetry and politics—unfiltered.

It was community.

Then the First Amendment got ghosted.

Censorship crept in. Voices got silenced.

And then Elon happened.

No beef with Elon—I think he’s a genius.

Tesla? Fire.

That Cybertruck? Beast.

But Musk? Man… that name just screams armpits.

Anyway.

Now Twitter’s been swallowed by X.

Expression got replaced with exploitation.

Sex sells, so sex floods the feed.

Not shaming those showing body—some look damn good doing it.

But don’t confuse free speech with NSFW clickbait.

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Substack’s Instagramification

Then Substack dropped an update.

Photos. Videos. The whole visual circus.

People started reposting stock pics and fake aesthetics to look poetic.

And I said, Nah.

I didn’t come here for narcissistic collages dressed up as creativity.

I came for words. For soul. For culture.

Some folks got no originality—just enough copy-and-paste to fake vibe.

And instead of owning their lane, they steal somebody else’s.

Don’t do that.

Whether you’re right-brained or analytical, play your part.

Your lane matters.

But theft isn’t art—it’s theft.

WTF is Substack ?

We Create, We Reclaim

I don’t think anything is truly new anymore.

But that doesn’t mean we stop.

We pretend. We recline. We reinvent. We redistribute.

We reclaim what’s ours and remix it for the future.

And instead of forcing something fresh, I leaned into the truth already living in me:

• Dear Artist: Everyone Is Your Friend — for connection, independence, and creative kinship.

• Dear Artist: From a Lion’s Den to a Pack of Wolves — to teach agency, resilience, and unapologetic self-expression.

I’m not arrogant.

I’m not narcissistic.

I’m someone who fought tooth and nail to stand tall, stay free, and speak loud.

Faith so small it could barely be seen—but strong enough to move mountains.

So… Again…

What the Fuck Is Substack?

Still haven’t gotten a real answer.

Still waiting for a platform that doesn’t shrink my voice.

Still watching the algorithms decide who gets to be seen.

But I’m done asking.

I’m writing anyway.

Because the truth lives here.

Because the culture breathes through me.

Because we don’t need permission to be brilliant.

So if you’re asking, Mars has one last question for you:

What the fuck is Substack?