To Substack—and back again

So little time, and all those options.

That's how it feels these days, doesn't it? Everything being made, everything already existing, everything being said about everything being made and existing. The noise is overwhelming. The options, infinite. And somewhere in all of that: you've built something. Maybe several things. Things you actually believe could be useful to others. Things that came to you, and you felt compelled to bring into the world.

But then comes the question that stops many of us cold: How does anyone find out this exists?

The Search for a Place

I've written before about why DigTek doesn't use social media. The data asymmetry. The attention capture. The tracking that crosses boundaries. All of it felt fundamentally misaligned with the values we're trying to build into our apps. But principles don't solve the visibility problem. You can build something excellent and have it sit unseen because you're not playing the engagement game.

So I went searching. Looking for spaces that might offer something different. Places where conversation could happen with substance rather than performance. Where people gathered because they cared about ideas, not just metrics.

Substack seemed promising. The platform marketed itself as a space for thoughtful writing, for building genuine audience relationships. The rhetoric suggested depth over virality, substance over speed.

Reddit too, in certain corners—communities supposedly built around shared interests rather than algorithmic feeds.

I tried both. Not aggressively, but earnestly. Looking for signs that these spaces operated differently.

The Same Patterns Everywhere

Here's what I found: the same dynamics, just with different interfaces.

People talking about everything and nothing. The banal getting disproportionate engagement. The thoughtful often ignored. Conversations that looked substantive on the surface but felt hollow underneath.

The platforms differ in aesthetics, but the underlying mechanics remain: metric-driven algorithms rewarding whatever keeps people scrolling, clicking, reacting. Volume over value. Frequency over depth.

It's not that nothing of value happens on these platforms. Clearly, meaningful connections form and useful exchanges occur. But the structure of these spaces—the incentives they create, the behaviors they reward—pulls consistently toward engagement optimization rather than genuine utility. And I realized: I was looking for a place that doesn't exist on terms that aren't mine to set.

Somewhere in this search, a different question emerged:

If what I'm creating comes from a place of "this came to me, and I'm its messenger to the world"—why can't I bring it to the world on terms that align with my actual values?

Put differently: if I'm building apps based on principles of attention respect, data minimalism, and user control, why am I trying to promote them through systems that operate on opposite principles?

The search for the "right platform" was itself a compromise. I was looking for someone else's space that would be acceptable—knowing it wouldn't be ideal, but hoping it would be good enough. But acceptable isn't the same as aligned. And good enough still means compromising on the things that matter most.

Own It, and Own It Good

So here's what I've landed on: own it. Own the platform. Own the distribution. Own the terms of engagement.

Not because it's efficient—it's not. Not because it reaches the most people—it won't. But because it's consistent.

This website. These words. Our apps, described honestly in their own space rather than optimized for algorithm-friendly copy. Our thinking, shared without tracking pixels or engagement metrics.

It means:

• Fewer people will find us, but those who do will find us on our actual terms
• No engagement metrics telling us what to write or how to present things
• No platform changes suddenly shifting the rules underneath us
• No algorithmic intermediary deciding who sees our work
• No data collection on visitors beyond what's necessary for the site to function

It also means depending on different mechanisms for discovery: direct search, word of mouth, RSS feeds for those who want them, and the old-fashioned approach of simply being findable when people go looking.

Let's be clear about what this costs.

Platforms offer reach we'll never achieve on our own. They offer built-in discovery mechanisms. They offer the potential for viral spread. These are real benefits we're forgoing.

The apps we build might help fewer people than they would if we were better at playing the visibility game. That's a genuine loss—not just for us, but for the people who might benefit from the apps but never find them.

I don't have a clean answer to that tension. It's uncomfortable. But the alternative—building tools on certain principles while promoting them through systems that contradict those principles—feels more uncomfortable still.

Practically speaking, it means:

• This website as the center—Not a landing page optimized for conversion, but an actual place to explain our thinking and our work
• Clear, honest App Store descriptions—No dark patterns, no manipulative copy, just straightforward explanation of what the app does and who it's for
• Writing like this—Not content marketing, not SEO-optimized blog posts, but actual attempts to think through ideas in public
• Direct communication—Email at developer@digtek.app for anyone who wants to reach us, without it being filtered through platform messaging systems
• RSS for those who want it—The original, non-tracked way to follow updates

It's a slower approach. A smaller approach. But it's an honest approach.

The Circle Completes

I started this search looking for a platform that would let me reach people without compromising on principles. I tried Substack. I explored Reddit. I kept hoping to find some middle ground between reach and integrity. And I ended up right back where I started: on our own site, on our own terms, accepting the limitations that come with that choice.

But I'm back with something I didn't have before—the clarity that comes from actually trying the alternatives and seeing why they don't work. Not in theory, but in practice.

The compromise platforms aren't compromises. They're just other systems with their own rules, their own incentives, their own ways of shaping what you create and how you share it.

So: own it, and own it good.

An Invitation (Again)

If you've found your way here—through search, through recommendation, through persistent curiosity—you've already done the hardest part.

You've found something that wasn't trying to find you. That wasn't optimized for discovery. That was just here, waiting to be useful to whoever needed it.

If what we're building resonates with you, the most valuable thing you can do is mention it in whatever spaces you naturally participate in. Not because we're asking for marketing help, but because that's how things that don't play the engagement game actually spread: through genuine recommendations from people who found them genuinely useful.

And if you have thoughts on this tension—between building things you believe in and getting them to the people who might benefit from them, while staying true to the principles that made you build them in the first place—I'm genuinely interested. Email us at developer@digtek.app.

This isn't a manifesto. It's just a description of where the search led: back to the beginning, but with more conviction about why the beginning was actually the right place all along.