is emily sundberg's substack critique peak white literary gatekeeping? 🚫🔑

how one writer's nostalgia reveals the colonial mindset still plaguing online spaces

tl;dr: emily sundberg's take on substack isn't just missing the mark - it's a masterclass in unconscious bias and literary elitism. let's unpack why this matters for marginalized voices and the future of online writing.

---

Photo by Mel Poole on Unsplash

hey mi gente! 👋🏽

"edgard, your voice is too... unique." the rejection email stared back at me, its words a thinly veiled code for "too queer, too latine, too much." i laughed, a bitter sound that echoed through my tiny apartment. if only they could see me now, trying to build something good by being unapologetically myself on substack. it's this very gatekeeping that emily sundberg's recent critique of substack unknowingly perpetuates, and it's a perspective that deserves a closer look.

sundberg's take - which essentially boils down to "if you've seen one substack, you've seen them all" - initially had me nodding along. as someone who's spent countless hours doom-scrolling through an ocean of online content, i get the fatigue.

The machine in the garden.

but as i sat with her words, sipping my café and reflecting on my journey from silenced voice to celebrated writer, i realized her critique misses the forest for the trees. this isn't just about substack. it's about who gets to tell stories, who gets paid for them, and who decides what's worth reading.

sundberg's piece, while well-intentioned, inadvertently reveals the blind spots many of us still have when it comes to diverse voices in literature. so, mi gente, let's unpack what's really brewing beneath the surface.

the white gaze in writing: colonialism's lasting legacy

imagine walking into the most diverse library you've ever seen, and declaring all the books look the same. that's essentially what sundberg does when she says:

"if you blacked out the names of many of the writers i come across on substack today, i wouldn't be able to tell them apart."

this statement isn't just reductive - it's a perfect example of the white gaze in action. let's break it down:

1. assumption of uniformity: this perspective presumes diverse voices should be immediately distinguishable, as if writers of color or from marginalized communities must always sound "different" to be valid. it's the literary equivalent of saying, "you don't sound puerto rican."

2. erasure of nuance: by lumping all substack writers together, sundberg inadvertently erases the unique perspectives and experiences that inform each writer's voice. it's like saying you can't tell the difference between julia alvarez and junot díaz just because they're both dominican-american writers.

3. implicit bias: the inability to distinguish between writers says more about the reader's limited exposure to diverse voices than about the quality of the writing itself. it's a neon sign screaming, "i don't read outside my comfort zone!"

this mindset isn't new. it's the same one that led to the creation of "ethnic literature" sections in bookstores, as if stories from non-white authors couldn't possibly appeal to a general audience. it's the same thinking that kept incredible voices like zora neale hurston out of the literary canon for decades.

the superiority complex: a dance of false humility

there's a fascinating contradiction in sundberg's piece. she positions herself and other established writers as superior to the new wave of substack authors, while simultaneously engaging in self-deprecation about her own writing. it's the literary equivalent of a humble brag, and it's about as transparent as my abuela's plastic-covered sofa.

this duality is a common tactic used to maintain a position of authority while appearing humble. by saying "my writing sucks too," sundberg creates a false equivalency that actually reinforces her perceived superiority. after all, if her "sucky" writing is published and respected, where does that leave the substack writers she's critiquing?

it's like when your rich friend complains about being "so broke" after buying their third vacation home. this approach subtly undermines emerging writers, particularly those from marginalized communities who may already be fighting to be taken seriously in the literary world.

here's where i'll also give sundberg a little credit. she's right that there's a weird dance happening around authenticity online. we're all trying to be real while also being palatable, relatable, monetizable. but here's the thing: that tension? that's where the good stuff happens. that's where we figure out who we are, what we want to say, how we want to say it. it's messy and uncomfortable and sometimes cringeworthy. but it's also beautiful and necessary.

gatekeeping in the digital age: who decides what's worth reading?

sundberg's critique of substack as a platform for "monetized diary entries" is particularly troublesome for me when we consider who has historically had access to traditional publishing avenues.

let's look at some cold, hard facts:

• a 2019 diversity baseline survey in publishing showed that 76% of publishing staff, review journal staff, and literary agents are white.

• in 2018, only 6% of children's and ya books published were written by black, latinx, and native authors combined.

now, let's consider:

1. traditional barriers: the publishing industry has long been criticized for its lack of diversity and high barriers to entry. it's like trying to get into an exclusive club where the bouncer only lets in people who look like him.

2. digital democratization: platforms like substack allow writers to bypass these traditional gatekeepers and connect directly with readers. it's the literary equivalent of a block party where everyone's invited.

3. value judgments: by dismissing certain types of writing as unworthy of monetization, we risk perpetuating the very exclusionary practices that have kept marginalized voices out of the literary canon.

when sundberg says she "cringes" at paywalls for certain content, she's making a value judgment about what writing deserves compensation. but who made her the arbiter of literary worth? what she deems unworthy might be deeply valuable to others, particularly readers who have long sought voices that reflect their own experiences.

listen, i get it. gatekeeping is comfy. it's nice to think that only the chosen few, anointed by the great publishing houses of new york, get to claim the title of "writer." but honey, that's some colonial mierda if i ever heard it.

writing isn't just for the “elites” anymore. it's not just for the mfa grads or the folks who can afford to live in brooklyn on an intern's salary. it's for all of us. it's for the queer kid in middle america finding their voice. it's for the abuela in puerto rico sharing her stories. it's for me, a non-binary pansexual puertorriqueñe living my best life in san diego.

from tumblr to substack: the evolution of online writing

sundberg's nostalgia for the tumblr era is palpable. sundberg says:

i think a certain set of millennial women think they miss tumblr, but they really miss a specific moment of anonymity and creation on the internet.

here's where we diverge - that nostalgia shouldn't be a barrier to embracing what's new. substack isn't tumblr. it's not trying to be. it's something new, something different. and yeah, it comes with its own set of challenges and pitfalls. but it also comes with opportunities that we never had before.

let’s go through how online writing spaces have evolved since the 2010s:

1. from anonymity to accountability: the shift from anonymous tumblr posts to named substack newsletters represents a growing willingness of writers to stand behind their words. it's like going from whispering secrets in the dark to speaking your truth in broad daylight.

2. community building: substack facilitates direct relationships between writers and readers, fostering communities around shared interests and experiences. it's not just shouting into the void anymore - it's having a conversation.

3. diverse monetization: the ability to monetize content on substack provides opportunities for writers who have been historically underpaid or exploited in traditional publishing. it's about damn time writers of color got paid for their emotional labor.

4. experimentation and growth: the platform allows writers to evolve their style and content in real-time, responding to reader feedback and interests. it's like a literary lab where writers can experiment and grow.

take, for example, delia cai's "deez links." what started as media industry gossip has evolved into nuanced cultural criticism, all while maintaining

Delia Cai

's unique voice and perspective as a chinese-american woman in media.

or consider brandon taylor's "sweater weather."

Brandon

, a booker prize-nominated author, uses his substack to explore everything from literature to pop culture, offering readers insights they won't find in his novels or traditional media outlets.

and then there's p.e. moskowitz's "mental hellth."

P.E. Moskowitz

unflinching exploration of mental health, politics, and culture often challenges my own biases and assumptions. it's a prime example of how substack can foster intellectual growth and dialogue, pushing readers out of their comfort zones in ways traditional media often fails to do.

these writers, and countless others, are using substack to push boundaries and explore new forms of expression. they're not constrained by traditional publishing norms or expectations. instead, they're creating spaces for voices and stories that have long been marginalized in mainstream media.

oh and honey, the tumblr nostalgia is real. i get it. i, too, spent many a night scrolling through an endless sea of gifs and emo poetry. but here's the thing: we grew up. the internet grew up. and that's okay.

i had 48,000 followers. then i vanished. 👻

embracing a truly diverse literary landscape

instead of lamenting the perceived homogenization of online writing, we should be celebrating the unprecedented diversity of voices now able to reach audiences.

here's what we gain:

1. authentic representation: writers from various backgrounds can share their stories without needing to conform to the expectations of traditional publishers. no more code-switching or watering down cultural references to appeal to a "mainstream" (read: white) audience.

2. intersectional perspectives: readers can access a wide range of viewpoints, broadening their understanding of the world. it's like having a global literary potluck right at your fingertips.

3. economic opportunities: marginalized writers can potentially make a living from their work, something that's been historically difficult in traditional publishing. it's not just about exposure - it's about paying the bills.

4. evolving language: as more diverse voices enter the conversation, our very understanding of what constitutes "good writing" can expand and evolve. maybe it's time we valued storytelling traditions from non-western cultures as much as we do the traditional western narrative arc.

sure, there are trends. but there are always trends. but to say that erases the incredible diversity of voices on this platform? i've found voices on substack that i never would have encountered in traditional media. voices that speak to experiences i've never had, in languages i'm still learning. voices that challenge me, inspire me, and yes, sometimes annoy the hell out of me.

and you know what? some of those voices might use similar formats. they might share lists or talk about their day or gasp - monetize their content. but the stories they're telling? those are uniquely theirs.

the diversity isn't just in the content - it's in the rhythms, the cadences, the unique ways each writer strings their words together. it's in the specific experiences they bring to the page. if you can't hear that, well... maybe it's time to clean out your ears.

the monetization boogeyman: breaking down the starving artist myth

in her piece, sundberg also mentions folks trying to make money off their writing. to which i say: ¿y qué? what's wrong with getting paid for your work?

sundberg quotes a friend, agreeing with them:

monetized diary entries is totally right. i cringe when i hit a paywall on some random weekend update newsletter of a writer who i subscribed to because their work was interesting.

for too long, we've bought into this idea that art should be pure, that money somehow taints creativity. but you know what? rent needs to be paid. food needs to be bought. and if someone can support themselves by sharing their thoughts and experiences? that's not a tragedy. that's a goddamn victory.

1. the "starving artist" myth is toxic. it perpetuates the idea that suffering is necessary for creativity, and that real artists shouldn't care about money. this mindset has historically benefited those who already have financial security, marginalizing voices from less privileged backgrounds.

2. monetization allows for sustainability. when writers can make a living from their work, they can dedicate more time and energy to it, potentially improving the quality and consistency of their output.

3. paywalls create value. when readers pay for content, they're more likely to engage with it thoughtfully. it creates a different kind of relationship between writer and reader.

4. it's a choice. no one's forcing anyone to pay for content they don't value. if you don't think someone's "weekend update" is worth paying for, don't pay for it. but recognize that others might find value where you don't.

5. it democratizes publishing. traditional publishing has high barriers to entry. substack allows writers to go directly to their audience, without needing to convince a publishing house that their work is "marketable."

the ability to monetize doesn't diminish the art - it gives the artist the freedom to create more.

reframing the conversation: what really matters in writing

sundberg's critique, while perhaps well-intentioned, ultimately reinforces problematic power structures in the writing world.

instead of asking whether substack is making writing worse, perhaps we should be asking:

• whose voices are we hearing that we weren't before?

• how is this changing our understanding of what stories matter?

• in what ways can this democratization of writing challenge our own biases and expand our worldviews?

substack, like any platform, isn't perfect. but its potential to amplify diverse voices and challenge traditional power structures in publishing is something to be celebrated, not derided. change is scary. seeing a space you thought was exclusive suddenly open up to everyone? that can feel threatening. but maybe, just maybe, that's a good thing.

maybe we need more voices, not fewer. maybe we need more people trying to make sense of this crazy world through words. maybe we need more bad writing and good writing and mediocre writing and experimental writing and every kind of writing in between.

so keep writing, mi gente. your stories, your perspectives, your voices matter. don't let anyone tell you they're not worth hearing - or paying for.

in the words of audre lorde:

i write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified, because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves. we've been taught that silence would save us, but it won't.

at the end of the day, the real value of writing isn't determined by gatekeepers or critics. it's determined by the connections it forges, the perspectives it shifts, and the worlds it opens up.

and instead of lamenting the change, why not embrace it? there's room for all of us in this new literary landscape. let's work together to make it as rich, diverse, and vibrant as possible.

hasta la próxima, mis amores! 💖

edgard✊🏽🌈

p.s. if this post got you thinking, drop a comment below. let's have a real conversation about who gets to decide what "good writing" is and why that matters. your voice is crucial in this dialogue.