An Interview With The Editor

Re: unlocking the commons, broken social scenes, and Succession

Loyal subscribers, constant ambassadors, early investors, and future contributors to The Happy Few.

The Happy Few has been around for a little over six months. Are you happy?

Yes and no. On the one hand, I’m happy that anyone is interested. This thing is in large part an inside joke — by me, for me. It’s vain and obscure and nauseatingly onanistic. But it’s fun.

At the same time, I wish I kept a better publishing schedule. I’ve also plateaued on subscriptions, which makes sense given that I’m starting from scratch with no noteworthy credentials and literally no value proposition. The most “successful” newsletters are launched by established writers/experts, offer a clear benefit/utility, or both. The Happy Few doesn’t check those boxes.

Other than reading, what can subscribers do to support The Happy Few?

Thanks for asking.

The number one thing is to pass it along to two or three or twenty-five people you think would like it. I’m not expecting binders full of subscriptions. Maybe one thick binder would be nice.

You don’t think you should encourage people to pay for a subscription?

Honestly, no.

That’s an interesting business strategy.

As it stands, a) This is hardly a business and b) I wouldn’t pay for it, either. I’m grateful that some people do, but I’m just not in a position to be turning away readers.

I do think my approach — which is essentially a patronage model — has long-term benefits. Tim Carmody has written the best argument in favor of this model, which he calls “unlocking the commons.”

The most economically powerful thing you can do is to buy something for your own enjoyment that also improves the world. This has always been the value proposition of journalism and art. It’s a nonexclusive good that’s best enjoyed nonexclusively. . . . The most powerful and interesting media model will remain raising money from members who don’t just permit but insist that the product be given away for free. The value comes not just [from] what they’re buying, but who they’re buying it from and who gets to enjoy it.

Now, The Happy Few is not improving the world. See above, re: value propositions. But the argument still holds.

Let’s say you’re buying a book. Books aren’t perfect commodities, but they’re still commodities. As a shopper, you’re trying to get as much value for your book as you can for your money. If I can get the book cheaper and faster from retailer A(mazon) than retailer B(arnes & Noble), most of the time, that’s what I’m going to do.

If I’m skeptical of A, and prefer to support B or C(ity bookstore of my choice), I’m not strictly speaking in a purchasing relationship anymore, but something closer to a patronage one. I don’t just want my money to buy an object; I want it to support institutions and individuals I like, and I want it to support the common good.

This is one of the weird things about patronage. As a consumer, your first thought is to your own benefit. As a patron, it’s to the good of your beneficiary. Likewise, as an artisan supported by patronage, you tend to think more about what’s best for your patrons and audience than you do yourself.

But people aren’t rushing to your corner of the commons.

Well, beyond the hacky conceit, there’s a reason why this newsletter is named what it’s named. My target audience is small. Still I think it exists.

But it’s hard to develop.

Yes. Even if I was actively on social media, social media is broken. At least for my purposes. Without a huge built-in audience base, any promotion of my work on social media is going to be drowned out, regardless of the content — and I don’t say that begrudgingly. I’m not suggesting the algorithm itself is broken. The algorithm itself is actually working. That’s the problem.

There are emerging alternatives. Maybe Bluesky will be good for writers. But there’s good reason to doubt.

Substack’s Notes feature is their answer to the distribution problem, but again I just don’t see how it helps writers with smaller audiences. It’s siloed by design. Their marketing team has sent me many — many — emails highlighting hockey-stick growth for writers on Notes, and yet those writers are, again, pretty well established. Why should I be impressed that someone with 30,000 subscribers now has 40,000? Again — good job, algorithm.

Anyway I don’t want to devote a ton of time on self-promotion. If I’m spending more energy on building the newsletter than making the newsletter, then this is pointless. Even a little profane.

That sounds melodramatic.

You’re right.

And like you’re asking your readers to do your job for you.

A little bit, yeah.

Moving on.

Ok.

Why do you write under multiple pseudonyms?

Yes, that’s caused some confusion.

It’s confusing.

Several people have told me that they didn’t realize I was writing all these posts.

Well that tracks. Why would they?

I don’t know, I thought the joke-y names would be enough of a hint.

Are the names jokes?

Some more obviously than others, but yes.

I’m not sure they’re very good jokes.

I’d say they’re aimed at a particular kind of liberal arts major.

Yeah — I’m not sure they’re very good jokes.

No, that’s true.

Right. So why the pseudonyms?

The Happy Few really started with the title, which of course I stole. I’d rather not say where I stole it from because it’s boring and pretentious, and I don’t like it when people over-explain their work (in part because it’s boring and pretentious). But the reference isn’t uniquely hard to uncover.

Anyway, as I mentioned above, I liked that “happy few” could apply to both the audience and some group of authors or correspondents. So I started wondering, well, who are these people?

That’s a very dry and technical origin story. Why did you need characters in the first place?

I think that stems from the fact that I personally don’t feel like I have anything unique or useful to say. There’s enough noise as it is. I know that sounds precious, and I also know that my pseudonym solution is a cheap workaround.

You said so.

It’s the best answer I’ve got. For context, initially I wanted to create separate Substack accounts for each of the pseudonyms but quickly realized that would be even more confusing.

Right.

I should also note that the same week I launched the newsletter — which I had been thinking about since early in the pandemic — ChatGPT opened to the public. So in a way the inciting gag of The Happy Few was immediately moot, or at least significantly muted. The parody angle lost a lot of value.

Then again, I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. Nor am I sure it would’ve been sustainable. Like I said, the conceit is hacky. Whether personally or professionally, I am nearly always writing in someone else’s voice. I think I’m over that, or would like to be.

So you’re dropping the pseudonyms?

No, I don’t think entirely. But I think the focus will shift away from them. Some come easier to me than others, and I’ll probably continue those while caring less about attempting to maintain unique writing styles for each correspondent. It gets to be a problem when the persona gets in the way of the writing. For instance, if I’m like, well, so-and-so hasn’t had a piece in a while, I need to concoct something from them which I may or may not care about. Rather than just being like, what should I write about. That’s where the hack factor comes in. To a certain degree, often I am only pretending to write. And if I’m only pretending to write, then yeah, there’s no point.

You’re a chat bot.

Basically.

Damn.

Yeah.

Well, hell.

The good news is that apparently artificial intelligence is here to liberate us.

Funny, I heard it was here to destroy us.

Yeah, I guess I heard that too.

Do you have an AI take?

Not really.

Hm, ok.

What?

Well I feel like the interview has sputtered out.

You said so.

Do you have a Succession take?

Great show.

Be real.

Succession was great because it could play both straightforward and ambiguous. Dick jokes and Shakespeare: a recipe as old as — in fact older than — Shakespeare. There’s no shortage of commentary, but I especially liked Brian Phillips’s essay.

What I will say is that I liked what Succession was not. It was not self-important. It was not especially profound. It was not even uniquely provocative by today’s standards. Sure, the characters could be provocative, but the provocations were primarily performative and in the final analysis, impotent. Edge lords, business psychos, The Disgusting Brothers, and the very rich: they rant and rave, bicker and bombast; they’re ecstatic and depressed, manipulative and clueless, clever and cunning and puerile and dull. They cause real harm. But they are not serious people.