If one earns their living in office environments, they will undoubtedly encounter this career advice: “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” The essence of this advice is to aspire to a role that suits one’s career potential and not become too comfortable in one’s current role, or else one might never willingly leave.
The spirit of this advice can be applied to writing: “Write for the audience you want, not the audience you have.” Writing for an audience one aspires to have will engender a different mode of writing than what occurs when one writes to their current audience. Embodying this principle is necessary for those afraid of being “audience captured,” the phenomenon where neediness for audience approval compromises a creator’s integrity.
In marketing terms, writing to the audience one wants to have is called “target audience,” the audience one sells their product or service to. However, when having the market framing, one’s target audience easily slips into whoever most efficiently pays. The market framing should be released for creative projects, such as writing on Substack.
’s phrase “1,000 true fans” offers a healthier lens. Kelly argues that creators do not need a huge audience to succeed but a core group of loyal fans. A true fan is a true supporter, eager to contribute to a creator’s livelihood as a token of appreciation for the enrichment the creator has brought into their life. Cultivating true fans requires authentic creation, trust in the artistic discernment of virtuous strangers, and avoidance of greed, necessitating a wise relationship with one’s lifestyle ambitions.One’s aspired audience could consist of one's current audience, who might potentially become true fans, even if this is not the case currently. For example, if one treats writing as a spiritual practice, writing with the “daemon” and becoming less foolish in the process, then those in their current audience who sense “something is here” will transform alongside the writer.
If one writes for their current audience, whoever they may be, especially with an unexamined fear of not gaining their approval, the game is over; they become captive. This capture leads to philosophical stagnation, and the sense of aliveness fades. To keep things alive, one must write in a way that allows for natural audience attrition, letting some interest wane while ensuring the focus on their true fans never fades.
I am always aware of my aspired audience when writing. Stepping outside conventional temporal boundaries for a moment and sensing into them, they can currently be described as follows:
My audience consists of foolbros and foolsisters who strive to be friends of virtue. They are intellectually humble yet bold at the same time. Unafraid to offer explicit critiques on foolish propositions, they lovingly criticize one’s character, while being senseful of the sociopaths lurking in digital corners ready to evilly prey on any sign of weakness. They possess power literacy and thick skin and are not easily triggered because they lack the political daddy or mommy issues prevalent among the Culture War Left and Right. With transperspectival capacities and wholesome vibes, they are interested in holistic development. They avoid developmental lopsidedness by embracing the role of embodied theoreticians with fit bodies and pure souls. As artists of life, they can be summed up as Stoic Zaddies and whatever the female equivalent of that term is.
Now, a more advanced move than writing to one’s aspired audience exists, embodied in the Stoic practice of “ta eis heauton.” When writing, one can get into a state that blocks out all attentional fears and has one intended audience: themselves. The art here is not to write to one’s current self, or even to an aspired self, but to the liminal space in-between. This space brushes against the facts of the moment while reaching toward heavenly futures, tapping into the primordial nowness that is ever-present.
Writing in this manner carries the risk of transforming oneself and any potential true fan who feels drawn to read. Naturally, choosing to publish brings awareness to the existence of readers during the writing process. This awareness is okay as long as no neediness exists for their approval. Besides, with such a non-needy awareness, the experience and responsibility of writing become heightened, like an athlete who is aware of the audience in the stadium but has their focus fixed on winning the game.
While it may be wise to write to oneself, it is not wise to write for oneself. Instead, one should write for others, and there is no one better to write for than those naturally called to support one’s life.
If you have any questions, insights, feedback, or criticism on this entry or more generally, message me below (I read and respond on Saturdays) …