We’re Not in a Content Boom. We’re in a Signal Crisis.

A lot has been said about journalists becoming the brand.

I still remember the moment it clicked for me. Late 2019, sitting in my apartment, reading a post that made me forget I was reading David Perell’s newsletter. It wasn’t just information. It was craft. David hadn’t just reported. He had thought deeply, and I felt respected as a reader in a way that had become increasingly rare. That night, I subscribed to six more independent writers, hungry for that same feeling.

The Substack boom and direct-to-audience model brought a breath of fresh air. Finally, the middleman was gone. Writers could own their voice, reach their audience, and make a living on their terms.

But let’s be honest. The floodgates didn’t just open for quality. They opened for everything. Shallow thought. Repetitive takes. AI slop by the ton.

I cheered this unbundling. I backed it. Out of my own pocket, I have supported dozens of Substacks and direct-to-journalist projects. Most weren’t worth it. But the few that were reminded me what great journalism feels like. They made me sit up, rethink something, share it, save it, and most importantly, they made me feel respected as a reader.

I’m not here to pretend I’m the final word on great writing. But I have been in this game since 2010. I have built media, scaled teams, read thousands of articles, helped sell a company for $50 million, and acquired content at the enterprise level. I have trained my taste the hard way.

And here’s what I know: we are in a full-blown signal crisis.

Audiences are drowning in noise. Low-effort content floods our feeds. Fragmented narratives compete for attention. Everyone is publishing, but few are resonating. Twitter descends into chaos while newsletters multiply endlessly. Every corner of the internet becomes littered with AI-generated slop that you can spot from a mile away. You know the type.

The numbers tell the story. More than 5 million paid subscriptions on Substack alone. The average knowledge worker now receives 54 newsletter emails each week and opens fewer than 20 percent. Meanwhile, trust in media has plummeted to an all-time low of 31 percent, according to Gallup. We are not just drowning in content. We are starving for credibility.

So what does great journalism actually look like?

It looks like time was invested. It reads with clear intention. It feels crafted by someone who cares. With that dedication to the work, the writer considers every nuance, honors context, and creates something that respects your attention.

I define great journalism as writing that pulls me in because the writer invested real effort. It shows unmistakably. You cannot fake that level of care.

And when you give your time to the craft, your reader reciprocates. Not just with attention, but with loyalty, money, and trust.

Because both sides understand this fundamental truth: time is expensive.

So why is this moment different?

Three forces have converged:

1. Pandemic isolation accelerated our digital media consumption and severed us from traditional curation.

2. AI has flooded the internet with mediocre content at scale.

3. Subscription fatigue has reached a breaking point. Readers realize they cannot vet every voice competing for attention.

The pendulum is ready to swing.

I read something recently about Hermès. What they truly sell is not leather or silk. They sell time. Time invested in masterful craftsmanship. Time spent waiting for something exceptional. Time devoted to owning something built to endure.

Media is the same. Or at least it used to be.

Now we have abundance, but not clarity. There is so much content, most people do not know where to look. We have traded editorial judgment for algorithms and mistaken quantity for value. Everyone has a voice, but few are truly worth listening to.

I have spent months wading through the digital slush pile: Substack, Beehiv, Mailchimp, Twitter, LinkedIn. Some days, my brain felt like it was melting. Other days, I would stumble across something extraordinary. A post or essay that made me stop scrolling and reread. I recognized it immediately. When something is crafted, it stands out.

Writers like Packy McCormick, who transformed tech analysis from dry metrics into cultural storytelling. Newsletters like Dirt, which cross intellectual boundaries while maintaining rigor. Profiles from Margaux MacColl that blossom people’s personalities while pointing to the futures they are building. The intentional curation of 1440, which delivers clarity without noise in a world saturated with it. Platforms like Puck, which began experimenting with bundling before most even realized the need. These are not just publications. They are signals of what is possible.

The voice is clear. The structure is tight. The writer has done the homework. And perhaps most importantly, I felt something. I left smarter, sharper, more informed.

Just like Hermès sells time embedded in its craftsmanship, great media offers the same precious commodity. Time distilled into quality that respects your intelligence and rewards your attention. That is rare. That is trust.

That is when I realized something.

We are entering a new era. Not just of publishing, but of curation.

Not the old kind of curation with stale gatekeepers.
Not the kind where everything dissolves into chaos.
ut something new: trusted bundling.

The next cycle of media is not about going solo. It is about knowing what deserves to be gathered, spotlighted, amplified, and shared. Not everything needs to be published. Not every voice needs a platform. What people are truly starving for right now is taste, discernment, and trust.

Let’s be clear. Newsletters are not going anywhere. But newsletter fatigue is real. People do not need more content. They need help making sense of it all.

I have watched the best writers start to break the fourth wall. They are not just publishing. They are connecting. They are building intimacy. Creating desire.

And that, to me, is the real job of journalism:
To create desire.
To inspire change.
To build trust.
To make readers feel like their time mattered.

Here’s how I define the recipe for great journalism:

• Journalism as a craft
  It is not manufactured. It is made. Each piece bears the imprint of its creator, shaped with thought and care.

• Culture architects
  The best journalists do not just report on culture. They shape it. They give us frameworks to understand a fast-moving world.

• Managed supply
  Quality over quantity. The best writers know when to speak and when to pause. They do not ship noise.

• Nuance
  In a world of hot takes and binary arguments, nuance cuts through. It holds complexity instead of flattening it.

• Quality
  Obvious, but not always practiced. To me, it means depth, distinctiveness, and intellectual honesty.

• Respect for the reader
  Every word earns its place. Every piece justifies the minutes it takes to consume.

As someone who has tried to leave the media industry more than once, and keeps getting pulled back, I cannot stop thinking about this. The world does not need more hot takes. It needs centers of excellence. Trusted voices. Curators who care.

So we went back to the drawing board.

We have been rebuilding Now Media from scratch. New thesis. New offerings. New model. At first, I thought I might get laughed out of the room. But shooters shoot. And our team got it.

The bet: that the future of journalism requires intimacy. That trust is the new distribution. That bundling the right voices is the real unlock.

Our Thesis

Newsletter fatigue and content fragmentation have opened the door for high-integrity, high-taste rebundles.

Our Approach

1. Own the category: Establish Now Media as the voice of digital culture and the economy. Deliver trusted editorial perspective on where power is shifting, how technology is reshaping society, and which narratives define this era.

2. Curate the best: Journalists who treat it like a craft. Writers with a point of view, not just a pulse on trends.

3. Build the platform: A home that amplifies these voices. A place where identity, taste, and editorial integrity live under one roof.

4. Scale the trust: Systems that maintain quality as we grow. Human-led editorial judgment, reinforced by real standards, not just clicks.

5. Augment with AI: Use AI to enhance discovery, streamline workflows, and surface the right stories at the right time without compromising editorial integrity.

The future is not about more content. It is about better content, thoughtfully assembled by people who care. We are betting that readers are hungry for signal in a world full of noise and willing to pay for trusted guidance through the information wilderness.

This rebundling revolution is not about turning back the clock. It is about taking the best of independent journalism (authenticity, connection, freedom) and reintroducing what we lost: curation, consistency, and collective trust.

The inbox is sacred territory. We aim to be worthy of it.

Journalists are not just bylines anymore. They are the draw. The connection. And when you pair them with a brand that knows how to elevate and organize their work, you create something magnetic.

Think of it like sports. Some fans follow the team. Others follow the player. The real magic happens when both elevate each other.

The team brings infrastructure, legacy, and reach. The player brings distinction, audience, and momentum. Together, they compound.

That is what we are building.

The last few months have been quiet on the surface. But under the hood, we have been building a media company for a new era. One rooted in taste, trust, and editorial integrity, not virality hacks or algorithmic churn.

I will share more soon. 

if any of this resonates, my DMs are open.