By modern writing standards, what you’re about to read may seem ill-advised. It’s too long, it doesn’t aim for quick consumption, and it dares to drift away from the usual “best practices.” You’ll find no bullet-point lists and no flashy promises of easy answers. In other words, this piece is “sub-optimal.”
I know this goes against the grain. I recently saw another creator boast about “cleaning up” their email subscriber list, proudly showing a graph that dropped from the mid-600s to the mid-500s as proof they were serious about audience curation. Meanwhile, on that very day, I realized I’d never placed a subscribe button anywhere on my own site. So while they were busy tuning their funnels, I was typing away, blissfully unaware that I wasn’t even giving people a way to follow me. If that’s not a sign of misalignment with current online logic, I don’t know what is.
My wife also reminds me that my articles often read like wandering debates, stuffed with philosophical dilemmas and moral reflections, rarely offering neat conclusions unless they hinge on a question of right and wrong. “You bring up these deep issues,” she says, “but then you don’t solve them.” To me, that’s part of the appeal; but I’m well aware it’s not a recipe for mass appeal. You’ll likely find the same is true of this very article.
And I’m fine with that.
Recommended Listening:
The Optimization Trap
Anyone who’s tried to write for an online audience knows the standard advice: Keep it short. Use common words. Break up paragraphs. Stick to simple examples. If you want to go big on engagement, structure your content around bullet points, enticing headings, and a clear call to action in every section. Respect the reader’s short attention span and make your message simple enough to digest at a glance.
At a quick glance, it’s hard to argue against these tips. They boost readability and help busy people get the main idea instantly. Websites often see a spike in clicks, shares, and email sign-ups when they follow this formula. It works because it treats attention as the most precious currency in the digital age.
But in chasing optimization, we risk overlooking the fact that people can think more deeply than these formulas allow. We replace genuine curiosity with a product-based approach—our words become something to “consume” rather than engage with. The focus shifts to “What can I do to keep them here another minute?” instead of “What deserves to be said?”
We see the results everywhere. Influencers talk openly about “cleaning house” on their mailing lists, trimming out people who don’t open messages, and bragging about improved engagement metrics. The conversation becomes less about the substance of their ideas and more about controlling subscriber graphs. Meanwhile, some of us haven’t even bothered to include a ‘subscribe’ button because we were too busy wrestling with the actual topics we care about. That conflict—between focusing on the message and tuning the metrics—sums up a lot about the writing landscape today.
Perspective Over Consensus
Articles that go viral often do so because they either appease people’s existing beliefs or provoke them into outrage. Whether it’s fluff pieces that say, “You’re right, and everyone else is foolish” or fiery rants that yell, “They’re evil, and you should be furious,” the result is a predictable wave of clicks and shares. The piece confirms what readers already think or stokes emotions that draw them in. That’s consensus-building, one way or another.
But perspective is different. It means looking at a question from multiple angles, sometimes knocking the legs out from under our own comfortable views. Perspective isn’t about patting you on the back or rallying you against a villain—it’s about probing reality in a way that might leave you less certain than when you started. That’s a harder sell. Most people come to the internet to feel good, entertained, or validated. Real perspective can be unsettling.
Still, Masquerade & Madness is less interested in telling you what you want to hear and more interested in breaking down complex topics so you can see what might be hidden behind the usual narratives. It’s not a strategy destined to shoot any site to the top of trending charts, but for those who value thought over tribal cheerleading, it might be worth the trade-off.
Questions Over Answers
Look around and you’ll find a never-ending stream of “Five Steps to Level Up Your Life” or “Ten Tricks to Boost Productivity.” There’s a good reason these formats are everywhere: they make people feel capable of quick wins. Skim a short article, get your easy fix, and move on.
But genuine understanding doesn’t usually come in tidy packages. If you look at any deep issue—moral dilemmas, political tensions, personal growth—they often involve layers of complexity. You can reduce them to bullet points, but you’re only capturing the top layer. If you want to probe deeper, you’ll need more time, more context, and often more questions.
That’s why my writing tends to ask a lot of questions rather than give a roadmap. The most meaningful solutions usually require the reader to form their own reasoning. My wife has often told me that I dabble too much in ethics and philosophy without giving clear answers, often being too analytical and not sharing enough of my own thoughts. She’s right. When something feels irreducibly complex, I’d rather leave it open than tie it up with a shaky conclusion. This might annoy readers who expect a straightforward resolution. Yet, I’d argue that sometimes the best “answer” you can offer is an invitation to think harder.
Challenging Pop Culture Instead of Feeding It
If you’re hunting for clicks, there’s no faster route than writing about whatever is hitting the headlines. Celebrities, viral memes, hot-button controversies—attach your thoughts to these topics, and you’ll at least ride the wave of public interest. You don’t even need a novel angle; you can simply reframe the existing debate in a catchy way.
We don’t do that here. The endless churn of trendy content reminds me of a carnival that’s always tearing down one attraction to set up another, demanding you move along before you’ve even finished the first ride. If you refuse to join that cycle, you risk becoming invisible. Those who scour the internet for “what’s new” might never cross your path.
But the beauty of ignoring pop culture storms is that you can write for those who care about broader truths, not just the spark of the moment. Sure, it means you might only gain a small readership—especially if, like me, you forget to even add a “Subscribe” button. Yet this choice can preserve the freedom to explore questions that matter beyond a single news cycle.
The Attention Economy Is Not Built for Depth
We’re told people have the attention spans of hummingbirds, flitting from one piece of content to the next. Technology certainly plays a role. Social media platforms thrive on quick hits of emotion. The more you scroll, the more data they collect, the more ads they deliver. Deep engagement—a slow, thoughtful reading session—goes against those profit models.
Depth isn’t easy to market in a world craving immediate gratification. If something is complicated, it threatens the fast-moving pace. Readers expect to be hooked in seconds or they’ll scroll away. Lengthy, multi-layered reflections feel out of place among short videos and pointed tweets. Yet big truths, the kind worth wrestling with, usually take time to understand.
And so, choosing to go deeper is, by default, sub-optimal. You forfeit the quick wins, the instant shares, the comforting reassurance of “Yes, you’ve nailed it!” But maybe that’s the only way to treat some subjects with the respect they deserve. Sometimes, embracing questions that can’t be answered in 280 characters is a mark of respect for the reader, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into the algorithm’s preferences.
Embracing the Shadow of Sub-Optimization
If I measured my success purely by how many sign-ups or shares I got, I’d be falling short. My writing doesn’t lend itself to the typical marketing funnel. I’m not trimming subscriber lists to boost open rates. In fact, as mentioned, I only recently discovered I was missing a button so readers could subscribe at all.
Still, that’s a price I’m willing to pay. Because sometimes, clarity requires nuance that can’t be cut to a single paragraph. Sometimes, we do need to roam around an idea before we can see it fully. If that means the piece is harder to digest, so be it. I’d rather keep the complexity intact than fit the entire argument into a bullet list.
My wife’s feedback reminds me there’s a cost: it’s not always easy to read moral or philosophical questions without a clean solution. Yet this level of depth is the point of Masquerade & Madness—to give ourselves room for exploration, to spark our own thinking, rather than settle for bite-sized lessons.
Final Thoughts: Why I Keep Writing Against the Tide
So, why keep doing this when every digital trend says otherwise? Why refuse the proven shortcuts to wider visibility and simpler messages?
Because for me, writing is more than building an email list. It’s a way to shape how I—and maybe you—see the world. It’s a process of peeling back layers, wrestling with truths that can’t be settled in a neat diagram or bullet-point chart. It’s a search for depth in an environment flooded with surface-level noise.
I accept that this runs against the current. But if I tried to force my work into a neat funnel—if I turned every thought into a catchy snippet or a gimmicky list—I’d lose what drew me to writing in the first place: a chance to challenge, inquire, and sometimes just wonder.
Your Next Question
Which brings me to a final challenge: if you find yourself wishing for a crisp ending—some easy bullet points to wrap this all up—ask yourself why. What prompts the need for a tidy resolution, especially on topics that may not have one? Could it be that we’ve been trained to expect quick takeaways, even when reality is more intricate? It’s worth examining.
By refusing to provide a smooth, lockstep finish, I’m inviting you to linger in the open space. Not every question has to end with a tidy plan. If calling this article “sub-optimal” means giving you a chance to do that, I’m glad to make the trade. Because sometimes, choosing the path that goes against the digital tide is the only way to honor the full complexity of what we’re trying to understand.
…. queue the outro:
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