đĄ The #1 Way Creators Accidentally Lose Money on Substack
Spoiler Alert: it's your category selection
Hey Sutoscientists,
This is Kyle (writer of FounderCore and Amyâs partner in crime) coming in for a special dispatch, guest post here to tell you that if youâre writing on Substack and you havenât thought about your category⊠you likely are lighting heaps of money on fire.
Not because Substack is punishing you. But because category is distribution. Itâs the âstreetâ youâre setting up shop on.
And in the newsletter economy, traffic is oxygen.
Substack uses categories to help readers discover you (search, explore, recommendations), and your primary category is the one that determines where you show up on category leaderboards and onboarding for new Substackers. Thatâs not a vibe thing. Thatâs a routing decision. And, the second category option is like a vestigial tail; unique, but not helpful.
So yes: you can write the greatest newsletter in the world (you might be)⊠and still be dead on arrival if youâre standing on a street with no foot traffic and hoping someone âjust finds you.â
The hard truth: priming someone to pay is brutal
Most of us underestimate how hard it is to get a stranger to pay for words on the internet.
Even if your writing is excellent. Even if you post consistently. Even if your mom says itâs âso you.â (Moms are not a scalable acquisition channel, unfortunately.)
The real game is: are readers already conditioned to pay for this kind of value? Because âpaying behaviorâ is a habit, not a moral stance. People pay for what theyâve been trained to see as worth paying forâwhat feels like a normal line item in their life.
Thatâs why some categories feel like pushing a boulder uphill, ask Sisyphus, he seems like the classical example of picking the wrong Substack category. Donât be him. Donât be that guy.
Picking the right category should feel like thereâs already a conveyor belt of paying customers and you just need to step onto it without falling off.
The Substack wrinkle: categories are a substitute for the audience you donât have yet
Substackâs origin story (at least the mythological one we all tell each other) is basically: the island of misfit toys for journalists.
A lot of writers left big publications with an existing fan baseâreaders who already trusted them, already wanted their voice, and honestly were already paying somewhere (newspapers, magazines, memberships) and just followed the person instead of the institution.
If youâre that writer, your category matters⊠but itâs not life-or-death.
If youâre not that writer (most of us), category becomes your borrowed distribution. Itâs one of the few levers you get that nudges you toward âpeople who are already looking for something like this.â
Big pond vs. small pond isnât about ego â itâs about your plan
Hereâs the strategic choice hiding inside category selection:
If you choose a big pond category (think: places where readers already pay in large numbers), youâre stepping into proven demand. The upside is obvious: youâre selling into a market that already understands subscriptions. The downside is also obvious: youâre standing next to absolute killers who have been publishing for years, and âpretty goodâ gets ignored.
If you choose a small pond category, youâre not necessarily choosing âworse.â Youâre choosing a different job. In smaller ponds, you donât get as much ambient demand, so you have to create the paying trigger yourself: sharper positioning, clearer promises, off-site sourcing of subscribers, and a paid product that feels like a tool â not a tip jar.
Both paths can work. The mistake is picking a pond and then using the strategy that only works in the other one.
Why politics is a special case (and what to steal from it)
Politics tends to produce big paid newsletters for a few very unsexy reasons:
First: people were already trained to pay for political coverage. Newspapers. Magazines. Opinion columns. TV subscriptions. Politics has lived inside paid media for decades, so the âpaying muscleâ is already developed.
Second: the stakes are emotionally high and time-sensitive. Politics runs on urgency. It rewards frequency. It punishes âIâll write when I feel inspired.â A lot of politics readers arenât paying for âwriting.â Theyâre paying for interpretation and priority: âtell me what matters, tell me what it means, and tell me what to ignore.â Thatâs an easy subscription decision when the world feels on fire.
Third: politics is identity-adjacent. And identity-adjacent categories are sticky. People donât just read, they recruit themselves into a worldview, a tribe, a lens. Thatâs not a judgment. Itâs just the psychological reality of why it converts.
Now the important part: you donât have to write politics to steal the underlying mechanism. The mechanism is âpaid clarity.â
The Culture category has its own version of this. Weâve been paying for culture commentary forever: glossy magazines, reviews, gossip columns, and the sacred ritual of reading trash at the grocery checkout line like itâs anthropology. Thatâs a primed audience too â just pointed at different needs.
Business and finance work because the reader can justify it instantly: âthis helps me make money or save time.â Thatâs basically the cleanest subscription pitch on earth.
So the point isnât âswitch to politics.â The point is: choose a category where the paying habit already exists, closest to what you do, or build a product so obvious it creates the habit.
The mistake to avoid: picking a topic instead of an offer
Most people pick a category like theyâre choosing a Hogwarts house: âIâm a Culture writer.â Cool. So what do you do for the reader?
Readers donât pay for topics. They pay for outcomes.
Thatâs why the best mental model is: category is how you get discovered, but your offer is how you get paid.
A simple paid promise format that forces clarity:
âI help [specific person] get [specific result] in [timeframe] without [common frustration].â
Thatâs how âI write about businessâ turns into âI help freelance writers land two retainer clients in 30 days without posting daily on LinkedIn like a motivational hamster.â
Also: donât underestimate naming. Most people will give you two seconds of attention. If your publication title doesnât tell them what theyâre about to get, youâre asking them to do homework. And nobody subscribes to homework.
Yes, there are counterexamples. Lennyâs Newsletter is an objectively vague name and it still became enormous â Lenny literally wrote that it hit one million subscribers.
But thatâs the point: when the name doesnât do the work, distribution has to. You need external traffic, a big reputation, strong word-of-mouth loops, or years of compounding.
If youâre earlier, make it easy. âMake Writing Your Jobâ works because a stranger can instantly think: oh, thatâs for me (or not for me). Thatâs a gift.
And in categories that donât have a lot of existing paid gravity, like comics, you can still win, but youâll feel the difference. Brian K. Vaughan has the biggest comics presence on Substack (his profile shows 21K+ subscribers), but there arenât a million Brian K. Vaughans pouring into that category every week.
The 2-second test (use this before you overthink anything)
Imagine a reader is browsing a category feed with mild curiosity and a short attention span (so⊠a human).
In two seconds, can they answer:
Who is this for?
What do I get?
Why should I trust you?
If not, your growth isnât blocked by âwriting.â Itâs blocked by positioning in the moment of discovery.
Do this today
Pick your top 3 category options and write a one-sentence paid promise for each.
Then ask: which category has the highest chance that the right reader is already browsing there, already primed to pay, and will instantly understand what theyâre getting from your title + promise?
Because the best category isnât the one with the biggest leaderboard. Itâs the one where your promise is most believable, most differentiated, and most valuable to the exact reader you want.
âŠand if you want to see the tally of the categories with the highest amount of paid subscribers flowing through it look here đ



