Not Justin Welsh? Good. That’s Your Edge.

Let’s get one thing clear: you don’t need to perform to build a personal brand on Substack. Not here. Not now.

Everywhere else, it’s the same show. LinkedIn posts engineered for applause. Instagram carousels that look like Canva threw up. Tweets that dress up recycled advice with a new hook.

Now that crowd is eyeing Substack.

Big names like Justin Welsh and Dan Koe are showing up with polished content they’ve already posted twelve times elsewhere. It’s slick, sure. Helpful, sometimes. But it’s also part of a larger formula. And let’s not pretend it’s a level playing field. They came with numbers.

If you’re not here for that? Good. Because you don’t have to be.

Substack isn’t a stage. It’s a room. You don’t need to go viral. You don’t need a funnel or some clever “value stack.” You just need a voice that sounds like you and the confidence to actually use it.

This platform still lets people write like actual humans. No tricks. No forced hot takes. People come here to read, not skim. And that’s the opportunity.

You can write a loose personal piece on Monday and something thoughtful and structured on Friday. Notes let you be seen without playing the algorithm game. The chat function’s basically a group text. You can talk to people like you know them. You can also go live, run a mini-course for paid subscribers, create audio and podcast, or quietly publish a post that feels more like a journal entry than a pitch.

Substack makes room for all of that. And weirdly, it all works.

You don’t need to pick a lane. You are the lane.

Now let’s talk about “personal brand.” Because most people are confusing it with “persona.” And that’s where it all starts to unravel.

A persona is what you polish. A personal brand is what’s left when you stop performing.

If you’re constantly “delivering value,” chances are you’re hiding the things that would actually make people care. That would make them stay.

Substack’s different. You don’t need to pretend you have it together. You don’t need to teach something to prove your worth. You can write to connect, not convince. And that changes everything.

The best writers here don’t try to be impressive. They feel familiar. You trust them. You want to read them not because they’re a thought leader, but because they sound like someone who gets it. Someone who gives a damn.

This is your cue to stop copying. Start telling the truth.

Write like you talk. Share the parts you think might be “too much.” They’re probably the most useful. Share the parts that didn’t work. Those are helpful too.

Ask your readers what they need. Then answer like you would if you actually cared about them. Because if you don’t, they’ll know.

No one wants to be “converted.” They want to be understood. They want to feel something. Substack can do that, if you let it.

And right now is the best possible time to try.

This place is still early. Still weird, in a good way. Still human.

You can build something that grows with you. Not a content machine. Not a brand. A space. Yours.

Something slow. Honest. Alive.

You don’t need a full strategy. You need a point of view. You don’t need to optimize. You need to give a shit.

So stop trying to be impressive. Be someone they come back for.

The kind of person whose emails they don’t delete. Whose writing they send to a friend. Whose voice they recognize instantly.

That’s the real work. And it’s already on the table.

Warmly,
Andi

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