Does anything I write matter anymore?

Punditry in the age of populism, AI, and monetization.

About three years ago, someone asked me why, with my physics undergrad background and a PhD in economics, I had decided to become a professional blogger. I told him that blogging seemed like the highest-leverage thing I could do, in terms of actually having an impact on the world.

I didn’t mean that bloggers literally rule the world, of course — this isn’t Ender’s Game. Nor do I have any illusions that I’ll be able to have as much influence as a top politician like Donald Trump, a top entrepreneur like Elon Musk, and so on. But in terms of what I could personally accomplish, it seemed like a no-brainer — being an opinion writer has probably allowed me to change the world much more than being an academic or an engineer or a financier or a consultant would have.

Why? Because blogging has allowed me to inject ideas into the discourse with unparalleled speed, breadth, and access. A researcher goes deep into a few topics; a blogger can quickly hit the main points of many topics. This enables speed; academics might take months to write something useful about a breaking event like the Iran War or Trump’s tariffs, while I can have something out in hours. It also enables me to comment on a wide variety of topics, because people expect me to be an analyst rather than a subject-matter expert. And speed and breadth in turn allow me to talk to a wide variety of important and interesting people — top academics, billionaire company founders, presidential advisors.

Injecting ideas into the discourse is incredibly powerful. John Maynard Keynes famously described the power of idea injection:

Practical men, who believe themselves to be quite exempt from any intellectual influences, are usually the slaves of some defunct economist. Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back.

To describe why idea injection is so powerful would take an entire post (which I do intend to write). There are a number of reasons. First, idea injection allows you to frame the terms of the debate. Whether people think your idea is right or wrong, once you put it out there, discussion of the issue at hand turns into discussion of whether your idea is good or bad.

As Keynes notes, an early writer’s ideas can also act as a kind of training data for later thinkers; it becomes a foundation off of which politicians, bureaucrats, staffers, other writers, and even entrepreneurs and financiers build when they make their own ideas.¹ Just today I saw Matt Yglesias and Jerusalem Demsas — two of my favorite pundits — riffing on my post on dating advice on their podcast.

But injecting ideas is only one part of a blogger’s influence. We’re also part of a community of intellectuals that span multiple disciplines and walks of life. On a daily basis I get to mull ideas over not just with other writers and pundits, but also with top academics, CEOs and entrepreneurs, Congressional staffers and political advisers, think-tankers, corporate researchers and engineers, and plenty of people from other countries. This leads to a much richer discussion, with a greater diversity of viewpoints, than almost anything else I can think of. And they reach a very wide set of ears. In a way, blogging is like DARPA — ad-hoc multidisciplinary teams that build the rapid prototype of an idea. OK, maybe that’s a bit pretentious, but you get the point.

Anyway, the reason I’m writing all of this is not to brag, but to complain. Over the last two years, I’ve felt like my job has become a bit less important than it used to be, for three reasons:

1. The rise of populism on all sides of the political spectrum in the U.S. means that smart ideas are simply not as likely to be implemented by the people in power.

2. The general shift to Substack and other monetizable direct-to-audience channels has made punditry less conversational.

3. The rapid proliferation of AI writing has increased the demands on readers’ attention (including my own).

This doesn’t mean I think punditry is dead or unimportant — despite the title of this post, I do think that what I write still matters — but it does mean I’m now spending some time thinking about how to regain some of the impact I felt I had a couple of years ago.

Populism means being intellectual is a liability

“Thus when the irreverent intellectual has done his work…The stage is now set for the fanatics.” — Eric Hoffer

Ten years ago, it was already apparent that wonkish policy types were to have a much diminished role under Donald Trump. Trump himself is not the type of person who’s inclined to listen to egghead intellectuals — he’ll always trust his own instincts, which were usually developed watching CNN in the early 1990s. In his first term, though, he could sometimes be prevailed upon to listen to reason when a crisis struck — Operation Warp Speed and the CARES Act were done under his auspices, because he stepped back and allowed smarter folks to take over.

And in Trump’s first term, it still felt like there were lots of relevant ideas for econ types to debate — trade policy, place-based economic policies, new socialist ideas from the Bernie camp, and so on. It felt like a time of great political ferment and upheaval — even if Trump himself wasn’t listening to economists, someone would be soon.

In Trump’s second administration, though, that’s all gone. Whether it was Covid, Trump’s advancing age, or his attempted overthrow of the 2020 election that made Trump totally lose faith in everyone but himself, the big man now seems inclined to listen only to the voices in his own head.

Take tariffs, for instance. Essentially no one thought — or thinks now — that his tariffs were a good idea. Oren Cass, one of the last few tariff defenders, has been reduced to speaking in snarky generalities about how “econ isn’t a science”, because on some level he knows that the way Trump went about imposing tariffs is intellectually indefensible.

There was Peter Navarro, of course, at least until he got sidelined. But Trump didn’t get the tariff idea from Navarro. He thought of it all himself, and then looked around for someone — anyone! — who would be willing to stand in front of a podium and endorse the policy, and Navarro was just the guy he found. Reading Peter Navarro’s books, or trying to start a dialogue with Navarro, would have been useless, because Navarro’s ideas — such as they are — weren’t actually driving anything. It was all just a cult of personality.

The rest of Trump’s administration is the same way. The “MAHA” antivax insanity, the research funding cuts, the doomed war in Iran, the reckless spending — it’s all just ad-hoc stuff that Trump did, either on a whim, or because the last guy he talked with told him it would be a good idea, or because he’s in damage control mode after a drop in the S&P. There’s no intellectual movement here, just a cult of personality. There’s no one to argue with, because nothing that’s happening is based on an argument in the first place.

This state of affairs will eventually end, of course. Whoever succeeds Trump won’t have his cult of personality, and will have to rely on ideologies and ideas that will be ripe for debate. And if a Democrat retakes the White House in 2028, ideas will be back on the table, as they were during the Biden administration.

But even on the left, the trend is away from open intellectual debate. Zohran Mamdani and the other socialist candidates who are winning primary races in blue cities are interested in ideas, but only from people within their own clique. Leftism in America is fundamentally a factional movement disguised as an ideological one; bloggers who aren’t on the team will simply be ignored, except for the occasional denunciation.

This is just populism. Populism isn’t really about doing stuff that’s popular; it’s about putting factional and tribal conflict above the national interest or the general public good. The goal is always to “own” the other side, and economic and social outcomes become subordinate to that goal.

Intellectualism thrives in times of relative social peace. This isn’t one of those. Hopefully, the tide of populism is receding in America, but the experiences of other countries suggest that these times of factional struggle can go on for a very long time.

Monetization means intellectuals are siloed

“Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.” — Ferenc Molnár

Substack has done a whole lot of good, both for me personally and (more importantly) for the world. In a time when most of the internet has been taken over by malignant opportunists and sensationalist attention-seekers, Substack stands as a lone island where reasoned, intelligent, earnest debate is still possible. It has also allowed many writers to escape from publications that stifle their voice, impede their development, and don’t pay them their due. In many ways, Substack has resurrected the old blogosphere from the early 2010s.

However, this resurrection has come at a price. Substack’s killer feature — email distribution — allows writers to get much larger and more loyal audiences, and to make a lot more money by charging those audiences for subscriptions. But this creates a financial incentive for writers to spend more time serving their customers and less time talking to each other.

In 2011, I was blogging part-time, because it was fun — the attention that mattered was when Brad DeLong or Paul Krugman or Tyler Cowen was interested in something I had to say. It was a little “republic of letters”. Now I’m blogging full-time, and having a conversation with Brad or Paul or Tyler is still just as fun and stimulating, but it’s a distraction from my job of creating content for my paying audience. There are still interesting intellectual debates and exchanges in the blogosphere, but they are no longer the main thing writers are rewarded for.

Turning intellectuals into content creators tends to put them in siloes. And Substack is far from the strongest in terms of silo-ing. Most of the internet is being taken over by vertical-scrolling short-form video, which is not exactly good for conversation and exchange. I could go start a YouTube channel, but it would just be me talking directly to my fans — I’d basically be a TV talk show host. I might still do this, because it’s a high-leverage way to influence the world, but it’s not as intellectually rich or rewarding as being part of a round-table conversation.

Nor are interesting new ideas as likely to emerge from one-way siloed content creation. Ideas emerge not from singular minds in isolation, but from dialogue — the cross-pollination that the blogosphere and other intellectual communities create isn’t just fun, it’s productive. Writing for you, my readers, is not boring, but you’d get better content from me — and from all your other favorite writers — if we talked to each other more.

I do think that platform companies could consciously try to recreate intellectual dialogue by tweaking the features of their platforms. Substack has tried to do this with the Substack Live feature, with modest success. But a more powerful tool would be to allow Substackers to easily and automatically see when another Substacker links to their blog. This feature existed on Blogger in 2006 — whenever another website linked to you, you’d see how many pageviews it drove to your blog. If Substack implemented this feature, it would get a lot of writers talking to each other more often.

AI is stretching our attention to the breaking point

“My ambitions accelerate. My afternoons do not.” — Claude

Unlike many people, I think AI writing is actually pretty good. Yes, there’s a recognizable style that the basic models use (“It’s not X, it’s Y” and lots of other little cliches). That style isn’t bad, it just gets overplayed when everyone uses it.² Yes, AI models are still not great at boiling a complex idea down to one or two pithy sentences. But you can modify the style that AI uses. And AI can do plenty of things human writers can’t — it can seamlessly incorporate vast knowledge and novel data analysis into a piece as it writes it.

For example, I immediately suspected that this essay by Aaron Brown, Michael Mendelson, and Cliff Asness, on the confusion of the debate over “affordability”, is mostly AI-generated, and Pangram — the most reliable AI text detector — flagged it as around 50% AI. But that’s not a knock against it — the essay is great. It classifies different kinds of “affordability” problems — true poverty, precarity, downward mobility, etc. — into different buckets, gives some illustrative vignettes, and provides some useful numbers about each one. I broadly agree with the article’s conclusions, and I think it’s a valuable addition to the discourse.

A bigger problem is that in a world where a huge number of people generate effectively infinite amounts of good-quality content like this, it becomes hard for readers to decide where to allocate their attention. Instead of identifying the few most consistently useful blogs and reading those in great detail, a lot of people will respond to the explosion of content by “reading” a larger number of posts but only lightly skimming each one.

It’s not my job I’m worried about here. It’s that in that world, even if my blog continues to get tons of readers and make me plenty of money, what I do becomes less important. If people are just skimming what I write so they can move on to the next 10,000-word Claude-generated post, the fact that they’re paying me $10 a month is cold comfort — I’m not really reaching them. And even more worryingly, no one is reaching them — if they’re skimming 100 posts a day instead of reading 10 all the way through, they’re not getting really good information from anywhere.³

I don’t know how severe this problem will be, to be honest. There was always a lot more high-quality content on the internet than anyone could ever read, and a lot of people always just skimmed my posts instead of reading them closely. Maybe AI can’t make this problem worse because it was already maximally bad.

Also, I’m optimistic that AI itself will open up new channels for intellectual influence. It’s a well-known fact that if AI just consumes AI-generated output, it gets worse and worse. So AI companies try very hard to “clean” the text they use to train their models. Human writers, whose personal experience brings in new data for AIs to learn, can influence the world if their writings are used to train the next generation of AIs.

Interestingly, I think I’m already doing this, quite by accident. I don’t know how reliable the website intheweights.com is, but it shows me in the top 2% of contributors:

Source: intheweights.com

I suspect that on the topics I write about, I’m even more influential. Claude and GPT often cite me as a source on topics I write about⁴, and friends have told me that Claude recommends my blog with surprising frequency when they ask it for reading material. Maybe Tyler Cowen is right when he says we should be “writing for the AIs”.

In any case, I find that although blogging is still very fun, and I still think I’m having a positive impact, and my readership is still growing, the environment a lot more challenging than it was just two years ago. The combination of a nation ruled by closed-minded tribalists, a blogosphere obsessed with putting out monetizable content, and the rampant proliferation of high-quality AI output is forcing me to rethink what I do. I want to keep injecting ideas into the discourse and participating in a vibrant and relevant intellectual community, but what it takes to do that might look a little different going forward.

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1. Occasionally this can devolve into unconscious copying. I always smile when another pundit presents one of my ideas as their own, weeks or months after I wrote it. The reason I smile is because only the belief that it was their own original idea, instead of “that thing Noah Smith wrote”, allowed them to spend time and effort broadcasting the idea in the first place.

2. An analogy is the song “Under the Bridge” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, which is actually a great song, but which got so overplayed in the late 1990s that it made me want to burn down the building whenever I heard it.

3. Have you ever met a guy who “reads” a hundred books a year? He’s almost certainly doing the same thing. Unless he’s Brian Potter, in which case he’s actually reading and absorbing every word. Brian Potter is superhuman.

4. Not when I use them, because it knows not to quote my own writing back at me, but when other people use them.