Writers are deeply narcissistic creatures masquerading as various archetypes.
Were I in the mood for a pithy, hard-hitting, and philosophically pompous Note I’d have posted that statement just now, smugly leaned back in my chair, and stared at my screen for 20 minutes or so while not so patiently waiting for all the comments that should have arrived to testify to my genius but never did.
And then, just because the universe is so needlessly cruel, it’d convince me to scroll Notes to force me into existentially grappling with the mystifying popularity of not just far, far lesser Notes but ones that could have been written by a lobotomized retarded kid who’d had a second and third botched lobotomy years later and a medieval trephination in between those botched lobotomies and also a series of electroshock treatments and finally just a hollowed out skull with nothing but a hamster on a running wheel in it to power a mental computing system possessing technology on par with something like an Atari 2600.
A cute picture of a dog: 500 likes and 25 restacks.
An author announcing the publication of their first book: 1200 likes and 75 restacks.
WHY???
If this were a bad movie this might be the part where I raise an angry fist in the air and curse God before collapsing into a heap onto my bed, with mild convulsions bracketing my heavy sobs.
But what I really do is just stare at my computer screen in a kind of numbed shock and dismay, all while visions of my wretched soul melting like that bespectacled Nazi in Indiana Jones dance like flickering flames across the hellscape of my third eye.
This little essay here will be ignored, I predict, but some sick opportunist will restack the bit about retards and attach a lengthy Note about how his retarded kid brother impaled himself with a badminton racket and died back in 1994, and about a million of you silly bastards will frantically climb over each other to restack it.
It’s like irony is dead but it’s alive but its dead but it’s alive but it’s dead……………..
I don’t even believe people when they announce the death of a loved one or pet anymore in Notes; that’s how cynical I’ve become. All these sociopathic attention seekers have corrupted my sympathy mechanism. Not only would I need to see pics of a corpse before offering condolences, but I’d also require like a week’s worth of ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’ type footage of you and a friend dragging said dead relative through the Hamptons clad in blue Member’s Only jackets.
Engagement farming. It’s one of those annoying phrases like animal husbandry that I had to hear about 5000 times before I got annoyed enough to seek it’s meaning. I can’t look at a Note here and not see some form if it, no matter how sincere or tragic it’s being presented as. Is nothing sacred?
It’s all like some demented form of ritualistic sanctimony.
And look, I can take it in bits and pieces. Social media is largely performative; I understand the game. But…but…well, there’s something deep to be said about the signal to noise ratio here but frankly I don’t have it in me and it’s not that kind of essay. Plus people who prefer the phrase “signal to noise ratio” are insufferable cunts generally speaking, and I’d rather not be lumped in with them.
Life’s a stage, some old crusty bastard once said, and all the men and women merely actors.
So who are the actors? Well, here on Substack there are dozens of custom molds, and if you can squeeze your bloated and ailing soul into one of them you’ll soon find yourself bleating from the same script…
The newly sober person:
We’ve all seen it. So and so’s been sober for 160 days or whatever. The smiling pic. Sunny background. And the desperate please please pick me energy of the last two available fat kids at a 6th grade dodgeball game. I’m tempted to offer some form of kindness, I really am. I’m not without feeling, but I just can’t bring myself to like or comment. And I refuse to take blame; instead I’m pointing the finger at the 8 million other freaks who’ve pulled this little trick before, rendering half my soul numb to it all in the process.
The “I’m #60 and rising in World Politics” person:
In America we’re groomed from the beginning to be the best. Show me the kid who enthusiastically declares to the world, “I’m gonna grow up and be number 60!” and I’ll show you a beaten and bruised kid who just got stomped out by his older brother.
The whores:
Where have they gone? I once complained about their ubiquitous presence in my feed but now I sort of miss them in the Notes…particularly one very pale, robust looking woman who offered pics of her milky white breasts on an almost daily basis for a while, usually accompanied by some text updating everyone on the status of her bipolar disorder. Utterly expressionless, she unfailingly looked like every woman you’ve ever seen in every French painting you’ve ever seen. There’s a million others out there performing the same routine and there’ll be millions more, but you always get nostalgic for the original.
The “I’m new here” person:
Well, I’m obliged to plagiarize myself here. This is one of my recent Notes: If you’re new here make sure to announce it to everyone immediately. Then say something open and overly trusting. Present yourself as being emotionally vulnerable. Follow it up with an earnest sounding statement indicating your sincere desire to connect with like minds and support fellow writers. No one’s ever tried that before, but I think it’ll work.
The above the fray guy:
This is the fella that will announce over and over again his unwillingness to write about hot button topics - particularly political ones - the implication being he’s above all the seedy tawdriness of it. He’s just as obsessed with making these announcements as he claims others are with politics, but either can not or will not acknowledge this. It’s just another way of getting likes - another archetype - only cloaked in nobility. He’s just as devious and shitty and self-obsessed as the rest of us, the only difference is he’s acting passive-aggressively. A typical Note from the ‘above the fray’ guy might begin like this: Come on guys, I thought we were all in this for the right reasons, not for the clicks and attention and stats and numbers. Let’s get back to what really matters, lets write stories from the heart and support each other etc etc etc. It’ll earn him loads of likes and restacks the first and maybe second time around, but then he’s ignored in favor of all the political hacks he claims to hate so much.
If I was forced to write any of this sort of drivel at gunpoint, I’d pack my bags in shame immediately afterwards and head deep into the Alaskan wilderness, never to be seen or heard from again.
The “we need to talk about_” person:
These people are everywhere. We need to talk about this, we need to talk about that. And it’s always announced unironically, as if the topic they’re demanding we all talk about hasn’t been addressed 5 million times already.
…
Of course there’s a handful more; there’s the “I just published my first novel” person, there’s the brooding poet, the guy who loves to pretend like he doesn’t understand why fiction doesn’t work here and all the people who pretend to genuinely participate in this silly lament, and the hipster revolutionary types…all spouting the same drivel, over and over and over again, ad infinitum.
And no, I’m not immune, and I won’t pretend to be. My archetype? Well, I’m the smug prick who points all this shit out from his high horse. But outside of that I’m wholly original. Allergic to cliche. Now tell me about your ‘stack in the comments in five words or less.
So this discount approach doesn’t make my begging for money any more dignified, but it feels slightly more palatable to the reader here, who could - after all - read all my crap for free. But if you feel at all moved to donate anything to a writer’s pitiful dream of doing this for a living someday, God bless you.
😆, me too: “Not only would I need to see pics of a corpse before offering condolences, but I’d also require like a week’s worth of ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’ type footage of you and a friend dragging said dead relative through the Hamptons clad in blue Member’s Only jackets.”
I will never share my most personal business in a generic form. It’s sickening that we’ve reached a point that exploiting your trauma, or what you think is trauma, in order to gain a like from a stranger who doesn’t give a fuck bc they’re busy growing their own “brand” is considered okay. Let’s “normalize” the stupidest shit and everyone’s a therapist. 😆
I will only worry about what I can change. And control my input.
I’m going through a very tough time right now (you know I have an actual disease that was diagnosed by an actual doctor) and I told my friend the other day that I’m going to write a vague post for prayers, I heard that will heal me. 😆 What I’m actually going to do is turn it into a great piece of writing. :)
Thanks for the laughs, Mike. I’m glad I met you.
I am already waiting for part two of this brilliant analysis of Substack writers' types.