february 2025 letter
i went viral on substack notes, calm amidst chaos, and the state of the newsletter
from my mind
i went viral on substack notes
Back in December, I was scrolling on Reddit and came across a meme.
Without thinking twice, I reposted it on Substack Notes with a cheeky caption foreshadowing the new year.
Since then, the note has accumulated over 2,000 likes and has attracted a handful of new readers to my newsletter. Watching engagement numbers rack up was exhilarating at first, but I quickly got sick of the constant notifications.
What annoys me the most is the reality that, despite my consistent efforts in sharing original insights on Substack Notes, my first viral moment was sponsored by a stolen meme. Which prompted the self-deprecating question: are my own thoughts and ideas less interesting than a pixelated vomiting man?
The answer is yes, the meme has more to offer. It’s all about context.
I always knew that social media was driven by the attention economy. But after going through this brief moment virality, I think I can actually identify the cogs pumping the machine.
Substack Notes, despite running on the same platform as Substack’s newsletter engine, follows a completely different set of rules from long-form writing. On Notes, the rules of the home feed are sovereign, where home feed refers to the oh-so familiar user interface that we find homogenized across Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. And this visual cue of the home feed has reinforced a habit we no longer think twice about: scroll until something grabs our attention.
I had previously operated on the assumption that, since Substack’s user-base is well-read and clearly craves longer-form content, Notes merely served as a channel by which people could discover new writers and ideas.
Maybe I’m just slow, but things have finally clicked. To get engagement on Substack Notes is to play and win the zero-sum attention game. And to even qualify for a chance at being looked at, one must ensure their Note can be readable in the span of a scroll.
Which is in very stark contrast to what’s necessary for maintaining a strong newsletter following—consistent depth and relatability. One’s email inbox is an intimate space; it persists as one of the few corners on the internet where the power balance remains within the hands of the account-holder. There is no algorithm powering what emails you get, and spam-filtering prevents unwanted ads and content from overcrowding your inbox.
As for the meme itself: I’ve been in far too many toxic conversations that start with one person sharing a fun story, but quickly spiral into a competition of one-upping each other with even crazier stories.
By shifting the topic—not just to yourself, but to something even “crazier”—you essentially invalidate the efforts and lived experience of the friend who shared their story. Oh yeah, something similar happened to my friend, but ten times crazier.
Do you really think that’s going to make them feel heard? Or do you just not care about these things?
Don’t get me wrong: there is always room to relate with a similar anecdote, and it’s one of the most genuine ways to connect within conversation. But constantly relying on that as a crutch—restricting your contributions to only what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard—is a clear and obvious sign of conversational ineptitude.
This is something I need to get better at, and so do you.
calm amidst chaos
January 7: I flew from LA to DC. While I was in the air, a brutal snowstorm on the East was calming down, and the raging fires on the West had just begun. It was an odd feeling to have walked such a fine line between opposite weather extremes.
The next few days were an extension of that juxtaposition—my morning commute had me trudging through snow and ice in my thickest winter jacket, listening to podcasts detailing the fire, with the WatchDuty app constantly pinging me with updates on fire containment (or lack thereof).
Fortunately, those closest to me are safe, but I know of many families who have lost their homes. The LA fires helped me articulate this:
One of the greatest flaws we have as humans is how easily we forget what’s most important to us. We are all guilty of being swept up in the daily grind, growing desensitized to the beautiful little things we swore we’d always appreciate—until some tragic, external event jolts us into remembering that what we have now is so much more precious than the greater wants we crave. And then we forget again.
January 20: My roommate and I took an early morning walk down to the heart of DC to experience the energy of Inauguration Day. We were met with a sea of red, and the immediate reaction I had was damn, I should’ve bought and resold merch to this obsessive crowd.
We tried to maintain distant, but at one point we were stopped for a street interview by two college student reporters. We were asked questions like “what would be a song that best describes how the next four years will pan out?” and “what are you most looking forward to these next four years?”
As they asked these supposed “fun” questions, I couldn’t help but notice that pedestrians were getting caught behind the taut wired-microphone our interviewer was holding, patiently awaiting our interview to finish so they could keep moving forward. Under this societal pressure, I gave ambiguous answers like the star-spangled banner and lot’s of interesting news stories before scurrying off to safety.
I cursed the world for denying me the chance to be a mere bystander in the midst of political chaos. Then again, maybe this was the closest I could get.
I was, after all, standing in the middle of Washington DC on Inauguration Day.
January 30: A horrible plane collision happened at the DC airport. I’ll be flying out of there to visit home in a few weeks.
The details of the crash are still slowly coming out, but the president’s baseless response to the tragedy felt like a jarring flashback to something unsettlingly familiar. Hearing it, I felt energy leaving my body—this is what the next four years will be like, and there’s no choice but to come to terms with it.
I’ve humbly ingested these experiences with full acceptance that this is the world we live in. I hope this is a sign of emotional maturity, and not a precursor to growing old and cynical.
Despite being so close (emotionally and physically) to these tumultuous events, I’m grateful to be able to enjoy calm amidst the chaos.
My January felt slow and steady, like something gently thawing.
state of the newsletter
I’ve been thinking a lot about personal branding and what the purpose behind writing this newsletter is.
The most important decision I’ve made is to be less passive and more vocal. Another way to put it is that I want to take leap years a bit more seriously.
I spend a lot of time on my newsletter because I care deeply. Beyond creative fulfillment, I believe that the time invested I invest into refining my ideologies and sharing my perspectives will offer outsized opportunities for growth and connection.
Taking things more seriously does not mean spending more time writing (I don’t think I could give much more). It also does not mean trying to scale growth.
Rather, I want to craft my profile and newsletter to be a more accurate reflection of my growing personal identity, which in turn, will build a stronger brand that builds off my authenticity. A flywheel effect of sorts.
Understandable if this is some mumbo jumbo to many of you, but it’s an important clarification of the purpose behind leap years, which is something I never had.
Some other smaller realizations regarding newsletter writing include:
I will never create paid subscriptions for this newsletter, no matter how large I get. The economics of it just don’t make sense to me, and it would take the joy out of my writing process.
The newsletter is an opportunity for me to connect with people I don’t get to interact with on a daily basis. Make better use of this.
Even if I don’t have a niche, I need to have an overall ethic. This point was inspired by Celine’s essay. I’ve been experimenting with what ethic feels most aligned with myself. So far, the best I’ve come up with is building a life that excites you.
While one goal of mine is to realize my true creative potential, another goal is to create strong community. I’ve spent so much time working on the former, that I’ve completed neglected the latter. But not anymore. I’m unsure how to best approach community-building, but I’m going to embrace the challenge.
What does this all mean for my readers? The most noticeable change will come in the form of an updated posting schedule, which, surprise surprise, I’ve already been following for several weeks now.
Moving forward, you can expect three different essays a month:
The first will be a letter similar to this one, which will be an assortment of shorter essays, life updates, and miscellaneous curations like recent wardrobe pickups, things I’ve cooked, and some content I consumed. It’s my hope that the loose nature of this post will encourage me to get my thoughts out with more velocity.
The second essay will be a personal, memoir-esque story from my life. This genre of writing has become my bread and butter, and is typically what most of my essays here have been like. Expect these to remain lyrical and stream of consciousness.
The third essay will be a bit more informational, like a book review, life advice, or insights into my creative process. I guess another way to differentiate between essay two and essay three is that in essay two, I share what I’m figuring out right now, while essay three shares what I’ve already figured out.
from my closet
While last winter was relatively mild, this past January was absolutely frigid on the East Coast, thanks to the polar vortex.
Unfortunately, my job has updated it’s in-office mandate, and thus I’ve been consistently stepping out to morning rush-hour foot traffic in 10 degrees Fahrenheit weather.
For both survival and style reasons, I like doing the scarf balaclava.
It looks sick.
It keeps my ears warm.
When the wind really starts beating me, I can hide my nose and mouth underneath the scarf.
Highly recommend.
from my kitchen
This month’s meal is brought to you by Trader Joe’s and my sister’s stroke of inspiration.
Sticking with the cold weather aesthetic, here is a very simple dumpling noodle soup recipe:
First, bring two cups of chicken broth to a simmer.
Then, toss in two frozen ginger cubes, some dumplings, a dash of soy sauce, white pepper, and some salt to taste. The dumplings (assuming they are frozen and pre-cooked), should be done in five minutes.
While that’s going, bring another pot to a boil so we can cook our noodles. The first go-around I used somen noodles, but the second time I tried Trader Joe’s wavy noodles. I liked the wavy noodles better because of it’s chewiness, and I’d imagine egg noodles would also work quite well.
Finish with chopped green onion and some chili oil.
My sister made hers without noodles (crazy move, tbh) and added some extra seasoning and healthy things.
from my algorithm
Timm Chiusano has been making more YouTube content lately, which never fails to make me appreciate the beauties of a steady, grown-up life
What if the Attention Crisis Is All a Distraction?
Another month, another Jack Raines banger
A mathematical breakdown of why speeding is overrated
Playing golf on paper, especially great for the dead of winter
I like this animation of penguins making some salmon miso soup
Founder of Resy, Eater, and now Blackbird, on the importance of storytelling when it comes to building out your brand
Loved this Raymond! Can't wait for the new essay formats either ☺️
Dumpling noodle soup is one of my faveeee comfort meals and I'll often have it for lunch if I'm working from home. If I've got some leftover cabbage or kale lying around I'll crisp that up too and chuck it in. It's the best!
Raymond, this was an interesting and reflective read. The word that stood out to me when you were discussing the meme was “shifting”. It reminded me of Matt Abrahams’ discussion in Think Faster, Talk Smarter about the difference between responses that support what another person is saying and those that shift the conversation back to you. When we resist the urge to tell our own anecdote and instead ask questions or simply invite the storyteller / our conversation partner to tell us more, we make it about them, not us.