It Was Supposed to Revolutionize Journalism. Recently, I Knew I Had to Leave.

This story is being published in collaboration with the Food Section, which covers food and drink in the American Southeast. The Food Section just relaunched as a publication independent from Substack.

In retrospect, I probably should have had an inkling that Substack had flaws from the start.

I launched the Food Section, a newsletter covering food and drink across the American South, in September 2021 with the backing of a Substack Local grant. The program, designed to support community journalism, offered a quarterly paycheck, editing services, Getty Images access, and a customized logo—far more than most legacy newsrooms could scrape together.

While I wasn’t looking to leave my job at the Post and Courier in Charleston, South Carolina, I couldn’t turn down a $70,000 package, especially if it allowed me to practice food journalism in more places. I knew our region was desperate for more rigorous coverage of issues central to what we eat and why, such as labor practices, race relations, climate change, income inequality, and public health. Outside of media circles, very few people at that point had ever heard the expression “Substack,” which is perhaps why the platform was trying to attract attention with a golden ticket–type contest. (Now, of course, “Substack” is almost a generic noun for online newsletters.)

What I didn’t consider at the time, though, was that the way Substack was hand-picking writers to showcase in its local news incubator foreshadowed the company’s transition from a neutral publishing platform to a social media network. And a social media network is a fraught place for journalists to set up shop—and not just because few of us need the private publication and in-app chat functionalities that Substack touted. The initiative also signaled Substack’s intent to build up its own brand, which poses special problems for people trying to report the news in even glancing association with it.

Putting aside questions about corporate trajectory, though, I failed to recognize that Substack’s much-publicized program validated a sad reality of the media landscape. Namely, that throwing money at the local news crisis won’t quell it.

Within just a few years of its inception, Substack has quietly discontinued its Substack Local effort after bankrolling its first round of winners. Presumably, the company reached the same conclusion as the dozen publishers it funded, who gamely invested in highway billboards and digital kiosks to help build their readership. (I took a slightly different tack and told nonpaying readers to get lost.) Substack is a terrific platform for writing, but a lousy one for business—which is how a news outlet has to operate if it hopes to succeed.

The problem with audience development started early. In simplifying the publication process, Substack did away with nearly all the customization and engagement tools that typical media organizations use to attract and retain subscribers. Since the Food Section launched, the platform has introduced various referral and recommendation systems, but those function primarily to draw readers deeper into the Substack universe, rather than promote allegiance to the one publication that got them there. (To be fair, it’s also introduced a few of the features that Substack Local grantees requested in a co-signed letter on Jan. 25, 2022, including saved templates and photo galleries.)

I did the best I could during my two and a half years on Substack, with the Food Section becoming the first solo newsletter to win an award from the Society for Features Journalism (finishing second only to the Los Angeles Times in the Food Criticism category), and the first solo newsletter honored with a James Beard award. The publication also picked up Best Newsletter honors from organizations including the International Association of Culinary Professionals and New York University’s Arthur. L. Carter Journalism Institute.

But on the revenue side, I only acquired 728 paying subscribers. The size of that number doesn’t matter to my ego, but it has journalistic consequences. Unlike the personal essays that occupy a huge swath of Substack space, reported stories can’t be produced for free. Traveling to meet with sources, obtaining government documents, and purchasing access to newspaper archives or academic journals is costly—and a few hundred readers can’t shoulder those expenses forever.

By the time I cashed my last Substack check in 2022, I knew staying on the platform would ultimately inhibit the Food Section’s growth. But the decision to take on the added time, expenses, and headaches associated with putting together my own tech stack (confidential to the geeks who care—that meant cobbling together WordPress, Memberful, Campaign Monitor, and Stripe) came down to five factors:

So, for that reason and all the rest, I’m done with Substack.

Getting off Substack is far more complicated than deleting a Twitter account, particularly if a newsletter is the publisher’s main source of income. In my case, the process took six months and $20,000, which I never could have scared up without LION’s help. Please know that writers who continue to publish on Substack aren’t necessarily Nazi sympathizers, and many of them are busy figuring out how to relocate their publications to platforms that don’t nurture hate.

As for me, I’ll be at thefoodsection.com.