I’ve been noticing something on Substack.

Most people here are thoughtful, engaged, and generous.

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Like a group of friends meeting for coffee.

But the exceptions are revealing.

Two patterns that show up again and again.

And they look a lot like high school.

The first one is easy to recognize.

Remember the girl in high school who tried too hard?

She seemed so nice. She got attention. People included her.

But something felt off.

Over time, people started to notice patterns. She mirrored whoever she was with. Her opinions shifted depending on the room. She shared stories that weren’t hers to share, just to stay part of the conversation.

There was always a slight sense of reaching.

As the inconsistencies added up, her reputation changed from friendly to fake. No one knew who she really was.

People began moving away from her.

(I don’t know what happened to her. I hope she gained a sense of self after high school.)

Now think about the opposite.

The guy who didn’t try at all.

He was attractive and popular for one reason or another. He didn’t initiate conversations outside the inner circle of friends who were nearly as attractive and popular as he was. He carried himself like attention would come to him—and it did.

But there was something else there, too.

Aloofness and a quiet arrogance.

He didn’t believe he had to make an effort; he believed he deserved the attention.

You may have heard later that he dropped out of college. (I remember that guy. He actually said he couldn’t handle being unknown.) But most of the time, these people do quite well, even if they never reclaim the adoration they held in high school.

I’ve been thinking about these two archetypes as I spend more time on Substack.

Because both of them are here.

The girl who’s optimized for attention.

Hooks. Trends. Borrowed ideas. Someone else’s quotes.
Content designed to land—but not to add value.

Her strategy is to say something catchy, get engagement, and repeat.

But it’s disconnected.

There’s no throughline. No conviction behind the words. No alignment between what’s being posted and what the person actually stands for.

It’s attention without identity.

And over time, people feel that—even if they can’t articulate why.

The guy who shows up as the established, well-known name.

He assumes attention is his. He rarely, if ever, responds to comments. He doesn’t read other writers. He’s not here to support the ecosystem.

(Hot take: he’s probably not even publishing his own content. He has people for that.).

His strategy is to broadcast and claim the platform as he’s claimed others.
It’s entitlement. Can you feel it?

Over time, people will (I hope) question if they want to subscribe to someone who's only here for his own benefit.

Here’s the takeaway:

Neither archetype builds relationships.

And eventually, that distance becomes visible too.

Both approaches miss the point.
In different ways, they create the same distance.

Because attention isn’t the point.

What I (and probably you if you’re reading this) value here is something entirely different.

Writers like , who take the time to connect other writers through notes and thoughtful referrals, because she understands eveyone wants to be seen.

Bright shiny humans like , who read your work and respond with something meaningful—not just a quick reaction, but an actual extension of the conversation.

The genuine connections that are forming between people in different industries and life stages, simply because they respect how the other person thinks. That’s why I’m reading everything writes about art and creativity.

There’s a shift that happens when you stop trying to grow indiscriminately.

You start choosing.

You notice the writers whose work holds weight, like and .

The ones who are consistent and convicted, like .

(And there are so many more, so stay tuned!)

When you engage with them, something begins to compound, and it’s not attention.

It’s alignment, trust, and sometimes, even friendship.

Other platforms have trained us incorrectly.

They reward reach, speed and volume.

Substack, at its best, rewards something else: clarity, depth and presence.

The willingness to show up as who you actually are—and to engage with others doing the same.

This is also where your broader philosophy comes into play.

Most people are still optimizing for popularity.

They measure the vanity metrics: likes, comments, and subscriber counts.

Popularity creates activity. It fills the room.

Presence—clear, consistent, and anchored in what you stand for—creates movement. It changes the platform's energy.

And when you support the work of others, you raise the standard for everyone in it.

What I’m seeing here reinforces that in real time.

The people who are building something meaningful aren’t the ones chasing attention.

And they’re not the ones assuming they’ve already earned it.

They’re doing something quieter, and far more difficult; showing up consistently, clearly, and relationally.

Substack can feel like high school if you bring high school behavior into it.

Trying too hard to be liked.

Or deciding you’re too important to participate.

But there’s another way to be here.

One that has nothing to do with attention—and everything to do with building relationships.

Because in the end, attention was never the goal.

It was always connection and trust.

This is what I’ve spent years helping leaders build—and I’ll be sharing more insights here.

Note: photos are AI generated.

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