The Content Paradox

I wrote for a living early in my career and occasionally find myself tempted to jump back into the game. The lure of crafting arguments, sharing insights, or simply putting thoughts into the digital ether remains strong (obviously). But every time I think about content as a business, I come back to one unavoidable conclusion: we're living in a content paradox.

Earlier this year Tyler Cowen wrote an intriguing piece titled "Should you be writing for the AIs?" where he suggests that writing has taken on a new dimension of value—not just for human readers, but for the AI LLMs that are digesting our content. He proposes that "If you wish to achieve some kind of intellectual immortality, writing for the AIs is probably your best chance." It's a compelling argument - that writing still matters, arguably more than ever.

I'm a voracious consumer of content. My reading list includes brilliant minds like Cowen, Andrew Ferguson, Scott Galloway, David Brooks, and Bari Weiss. These writers consistently deliver insightful analysis that shapes how I think about business, innovation, and our rapidly changing world. They're exceptional talents.

And yet... I can't justify paying for their content.

Here's the paradox: Content has never been more important, yet it's never been a worse business.

It's not that I don't value their work. I do. But I already receive more free content than I could possibly consume. My inbox overflows with newsletters, my podcast app is bursting with unplayed episodes, and my browser has so many open tabs that I can only see the favicons. In this environment of abundance, even exceptional content struggles to command premium pricing - or any pricing.

This creates a harsh reality for aspiring content creators. The hard truth is that most aren't as exceptional as they believe themselves to be. The writers I mentioned earlier represent the outliers, not the baseline. They've developed unique voices and perspectives over decades of dedicated practice. For everyone else, the value proposition simply isn't compelling enough to overcome the massive supply of free alternatives.

During the years when I worked as an industry analyst, I used to say that there was no barrier to entry in the analyst business—anyone could hang out a shingle and call themselves an expert. That observation is more true today than ever before. The democratization of publishing has removed all gatekeepers, for better and worse.

And now we have AI entering the picture.

With tools like Claude and GPT, the cost of creating serviceable content has plummeted to near-zero. Need a blog post about entrepreneurial mindset? A market analysis? A breakdown of the latest startup valuation methods? AI can generate it in seconds, and while it may lack the distinctive human touch of a Ferguson or Prof G, it's good enough for most purposes. This further compresses the already thin margins for professional content creators.

Look around and you'll see "traditional" media dying everywhere. Many suggest it's because these outlets are "biased," but that explanation misses the mark entirely. It's the business model, not the bias, that's killing them. There's simply no money in "news" in an era where everything that happens is immediately available on social media. By the time a professional journalist can verify, contextualize, and publish a story, thousands of tweets and TikTok videos have already shaped the public conversation—for better or worse.

I suspect we're heading toward a model similar to what we've seen in the music business. As streaming devalued recorded music, musicians pivoted to live performances and experiences. Content creators will likely follow a similar path.

Look at Mel Robbins' recent tour, which a number of my friends enthusiastically attended - as witnessed by numerous social media posts. They weren't paying for “content”—they were paying for presence, connection, and experience. The value was in being there, not in consuming information that could be distributed digitally.

Some writers have been complaining about the business models of intermediaries like Substack, suggesting that different revenue splits or platform features might solve their economic challenges. I'm skeptical. The problem isn't the platform; it's the fundamental economics of content in an age of abundance. The modern "ink-stained wretches" face a grimmer reality than their historical counterparts—at least those predecessors could count on a steady paycheck.

Tipping options and micropayment systems already exist, but they haven't meaningfully changed the equation. Perhaps the token economy will eventually create new monetization possibilities, but I'm not holding my breath. The core issue remains: when unlimited free content is a click away, paying for more content feels redundant, regardless of its quality.

So while I still occasionally feel the itch to write, I recognize the fundamental paradox: content has never been more valuable for connection and influence, yet never worse as a business model. My experience across various industries has taught me to recognize the difference between activities that create value and those that capture it. Content creation has shifted firmly into the former category.

That said, I do consider content valuable as a way to engage and connect. I intend to keep writing—and frankly, I need to do it more frequently - and plan to do it here. As Cowen suggested, human-generated content will become even more distinctive and valuable precisely because it isn't algorithmic. So yes, I'll keep writing, but with clear eyes about the economics. It's not for the money; it's for the conversation and connections it creates.