From TikTok to Substack: Should we welcome digital refugees?

Digital immigration and the future of Substack culture

Hello, fellow voyagers. Today’s edition is about digital immigration and online cultural clashes.

Photo by Rubaitul Azad on Unsplash

I’ve never been a big-time social media user. During the pandemic I had an Instagram account where I shared my love for tea ceremony—I’ve been practicing Japanese tea ceremony since 2016. In the summer of 2019, I spent time in the largest Zen monastery in southwest China, learning Chinese tea ceremony from a tea master. That account grew to about 2.5k followers, connected me with cool tea people from around the world and helped me discover great tea. But, after 1.5 years, I stopped posting on a regular basis. Around the same time, I discovered Substack with its quiet, intentional community that reminds me of chajin or tea people. I must admit that Notes, its social media component, is a bit too fast and boisterous at times, but it keeps me up-to-date with what’s happening on the platform. This is where I noticed the latest Substack announcement, which is causing quite a stir.

On January 19th, TikTok could be banned in the US, leaving more than 170 million monthly American users in search of a new digital home. In a bid to funnel some of these new users to their platform, Substack’s founders offer a $25,000 TikTok Liberation Prize ‘to the person who makes a TikTok video that sparks a trend—not the video with the most views, but the one that inspires others to post their own video inviting their audience to Substack to build a sustainable future’ writes Substack’s co-founder

Hamish McKenzie

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This open invitation to TikTok has caused backlash from Substack users who feel that the platform’s unique culture might be overwhelmed by ‘low brow’ TikTok creators. Comments on Notes reflect the sentiment:

∼ ‘Instead of trying to appeal to everyone by homogenising something that is so special, unique and creative, why don’t you work on sustaining its individuality - Substack has created a fantastic, supportive and loyal community specifically because of how different it is.’

∼ ‘I don’t want Substack to turn into TikTok. Please reconsider and rescind.’

∼ ‘TikTok people don’t read friend.’

∼ ‘The TikTok-ification of Substack begins.’

This resistance reminded me of an entirely different kind of migration.

In 2016, during the Syrian refugee crisis, my husband and I volunteered at a reception center in Austria. I’ll never forget the defeated look in the eyes of hundreds of bone-tired people who had lost their homes, families, and livelihoods to war. Not everyone in the Alpine Republic was eager to welcome them. Don’t worry, I won’t compare the horrors of war with a TikTok ban—the stakes are vastly different! However, the fear of having a ‘high-brow’ platform like Substack overrun by ‘low-brow’ TikTok users made me pause and think about how we reflect our offline behaviors in our digital spaces.

Like real-world nations, large online platforms such as Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, Xwitter and TikTok act as digital homes to billions of users, human or otherwise—hello cat videos! Despite their many shortcomings, these platforms aren’t just tools, they’re sources of meaning, community and income. TikTok’s potential shutdown in the US could leave millions searching for a new digital home.

Much like the refugee crisis, Substack’s invitation has prompted a split response. Some users fear a culture clash, believing that TikTok’s fast, viral energy might bring the culture of scrolling and trolling to the only corner of the internet that feels sane right now. Others empathize with the TikTok creators facing an uncertain future:

∼ ‘…it breaks my heart to think of how hard those TikTokers have worked to build their audiences. Moving to Substack is such a great opportunity for their audiences to continue following them.’

This raises an important question: Can Substack provide refuge for these creators without losing its identity?

As someone who has studied transcultural communication, I know how challenging it can be to bridge cultural gaps. When I transitioned from Instagram to Substack, I was drawn to its quiet, intentional community—a space as wholesome as a tea ceremony. I’d hate to see it turn into something resembling TikTok!

But isn’t this an opportunity to turn things around?

In a time of economic, political and climate uncertainty, the young TikTok generation has the opportunity to migrate to an online platform like no other. Substack offers an alternative to the frenetic pace of social media:

• Scrolling is replaced by reading.

• Short viral videos are exchanged for in-depth, long-form content.

• Chasing followers, clicks, and views give way to meaningful relationships with subscribers.

The digital migration from TikTok to Substack could have profound effects on our digital culture, reflecting a real-world desire for a more sustainable and meaningful world.

Substack is confronted with a new challenge: How can the platform grow while preserving its unique culture?

In traditional Japanese tea ceremony, the teishu or tea host, strives to create a space where people from all walks of life can have a heart-to-heart encounter. Substack could embrace this philosophy by encouraging a dialogue between its long-term users and newcomers through mentorship and community building and by maintaining its commitment to quality, long-form content.

Who knows, a blend of TikTok’s creative flair and Substack’s thoughtful depth might finally produce that elusive Substack native content we’ve all been waiting for.

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