For Cash or Kinfolk: How Writing Platforms Shape the Way We Show Up Online

Or, Why Medium Only Pays My Bills while Substack Feeds My Spirit

Lately, I’ve been in a bit of a mood.

Not just because I girl-bossed a little too close to the sun last week and had to spend a few days nursing my nervous system, but because I made the mistake of wandering back into the chaotic waters of Medium.

Now, let me be clear, I know where my bread is buttered, and Medium has been good to me, financially speaking. I’ve been publishing there since 2020, and one of the platform’s biggest draws is that my back catalog continues to earn passive income. When the algorithm is on my side, my pieces can go viral, pulling in thousands of views and a paycheck that reflects the work I put in.

But sometimes I wonder if it's even worth it.

Over the years, many of the publications I have written for on Medium have ceased to exist or become hollow shells of their former selves. What makes it worse is that most of these publications focus on Black culture and the community, meaning there are now even fewer spaces for Black creatives to shine. Instead, what remains on the platform feels increasingly geared toward tech takes, self-help advice, and audience-chasing opinion pieces. So, what was once my space for culturally relevant content now feels like a transactional space.

So, when I discovered that a burgeoning Black community existed on Substack, I decided to put my Medium platform on the back burner to focus on producing essays where I felt I could genuinely connect with the people who read my work, rather than just generating revenue from content. Not just writing pieces for a bunch of random commenters, but creating a space where kinfolk gathered in community.

However, I set those lofty ideals aside last week, as I had an idea I knew would make it on Medium. So I went back and wrote a piece on artificial intelligence, one of my core areas of expertise. For those unfamiliar, my professional background encompasses a range of fields, including responsible machine learning, data science, and algorithmic accountability journalism. I’ve held postdocs in data curation, trained major LLMs, and built a portfolio I call The AI Project, which is one part of a longitudinal series investigating bias and the ethics of new and emerging technology.

In that sense, writing about tech is second nature to me, so I was not surprised when my most recent AI article for Medium got picked up by the algorithm and has been performing well, with thousands of views, dozens of comments, and the cash to match. But even as I count my coins, I can't help but be annoyed by the comment section.

Despite my credentials, I’m often met with disbelief, condescension, and strawman critiques, especially when writing about AI as a Black woman (and I could write a whole other article about the racism and sexism that this disbelief reflects). People often want to argue, rather than engage in conversation. And even when the criticism is lazy, it still drains me. Because what I’m looking for isn’t just feedback. It’s connection.

And while I tend to believe that all publicity is good publicity and am glad that the views are coming in, even if not all of them are positive, it leads me back to this question I ask myself every week when deciding how to spend my valuable writing time, which is am I writing for cash or community?

Do I want the dopamine of virality, the arguments in the comment section, the applause of strangers I’ll never meet? Or do I want to build something more intentional and communal, rooted in shared language and mutual care?

Because even when it's fun to create viral content on Medium, I realized last week how frustrating it is to be back on that platform.

It feels especially frustrating because it has been so enjoyable to write on Substack. Consequently, I have been reflecting on striking a balance between cash and community (or currency and kinfolk) because, in many ways, I view Substack as my home away from my other writing spaces, where I can connect with people and engage with writing that feels familiar to me.

Meanwhile, my other platforms have become spaces where I can focus more on investigative journalism and tech reporting. As a result, I believe I have officially stopped engaging with comments, which feels very sad for someone who literally wrote my dissertation on how important online comments are and my belief that, as creatives, we should be as involved as possible with our online communities.

However, as I share all my feelings about it here on Substack, I have realized that I don't have time for people raising my blood pressure and playing on my internet. And if I am going to keep creating content for the masses, I need to set boundaries around how I choose to engage. If that means no commenting, so be it.

I'll keep my fingers crossed that things continue to go well on this side of the internet, so I can talk about my writing without feeling like I'm fighting for my life. And I say all of that to say I'm grateful for this platform. I'm thankful for y'all, and I'm glad to be back in the calmer waters of this virtual community after a very long week away.