#214: Five years of emailing you

An update and an offer

Good morning!

Despite the “#214” in the subject line of this email, this is actually my 580th newsletter, if you include the paid posts. That’s more emails than I’ve received from the Democratic party… a stunning thought. Today I’m going to briefly reflect on five years of Maybe Baby, and at the end (fair warning), I’m going to try to persuade my free subscribers to switch to paid subscriptions. But I’ll try to be fun about it!

Five years ago I created Maybe Baby on a lark. Substack was not yet the Kleenex of newsletter services—I picked it without doing any research, because the inimitable Molly Young told me she heard it was good. I dubbed it “Maybe Baby” after a day’s consideration (other options in the mix: Gut Flora, Proof of Life, In Process…yikes), and will live with that decision, which people will mistake for being related to my relationship with motherhood, forever. No regrets though. The custom podcast song by Soft Streak made it all worth it.¹

Have to laugh at me saying things were “depressing” three days into quarantine…for context I was stressed over how I was going to make money having just quit my job to go freelance as the economy crashed, and mentioned it to Molly because she’d given me advice on going freelance a couple weeks prior.

Had I known this would become my full-time job for the next five years and beyond, I might have wrung my hands a lot more before launching. Instead I made it only as a reprieve from the limits of “professional media writing,” and I’m so happy it’s actually turned out to be one, and to a greater degree than I expected. I’ve never obsessed over clicky headlines and pageviews, or sweated over content strategies to go viral, or forced myself to do social-media marketing, or sold my readers’ attention to brands, or pushed for growth for growth’s sake—all required elements of my previous editorial job. I’ve kept some professional guard rails, like having an editor (the great Mallory Rice) and sticking to a publishing schedule, but those have never felt limiting to me. I’ve been principled in these respects, which I’m proud of, but also super lucky for getting in when I did, and launching with a prior readership. Most don’t have the luxury of writing by their own rules.

The other day I received this question in my Dear Baby bank: “Dear Haley, For all the success you've had as a writer and the fact that you're thought to have put Substack on the map [ed note: I cannot corroborate this!!!], I notice you seem content to fly mostly under the radar. What I mean is, I feel like many other writers in your position or public personas try to capitalize on their success in some way. Like, even if they don't want to be influencers or at fashion week, they're doing press. Have you gotten these opportunities and just chosen to opt out? Do you generally not care? Do you feel like you're missing something? Are you really immune to the charms of fame and success or just super evolved? How do you not give a fuck?”

I love how aggressive this question is…I can’t tell if you love or hate my choices! I’m flattered nonetheless. My choice to abstain from “capitalizing on my success” (if that’s what I’ve done) was probably a mix of conscious attempts to think small, a little laziness, a lack of compelling opportunities, and a healthy skepticism about the world of personal branding. In sum, I lack entrepreneurial ambition. I am hard-working when it comes to my creative output and sluggish in a business sense. I’m lucky to make good money and don’t want to “hustle” to make more. Conveniently or delusionally, I think this makes my work better—more satisfying to make, more enjoyable to read. At the very least, it makes my life more pleasant.

This strategy has landed me in an interesting place. I recently had a “business review” with some nice people at Substack who told me that although my newsletter has “remarkably high” open rates, I have a lower paid conversion rate than my peers. This is likely a marketing problem, which I’ve historically been happy to ignore. But now that I’m supporting a family and (to be honest) would like to move to a bigger apartment at some point, I’m feeling curious about tackling it. One approach is to change my content strategy in any of the above-mentioned ways. Another is to make sure that every free subscriber of Maybe Baby who would love the paid perks and can afford them signs up—so that’s where I’m starting. I think that’s a lot of you!

So here’s a reminder of what you get when you pay:

1. Three newsletters a week instead of one: An essay every Sunday, a juicy discussion thread or podcast every Wednesday (you can listen anywhere, like Apple or Spotify), and a thoughtful list of recommendations every Friday (articles, books, recipes, art, shopping, etc.) that reads a little like a weekly diary entry. No ads or affiliate links ever. Pure & true recs only.

2. At the end of the month, you’ll also get my advice column, Dear Baby, which is like three essays in one, and my advice podcast with my acerbic cohost, Dear Danny, which the people love—we get the best and funniest questions (last week’s ep: “I caught my deli guy having sex on my bed”).

3. You’ll be able to comment (or just view comments) on all my newsletters, including my Sunday essays. The comment section is a world of its own—so many brilliant, funny, and generous people who teach me so much. I also ask for recs on a specific thing every Friday and am blown away every week (some recent faves: actually cool gym clothes, unexpected breakfast ideas, nonfiction book that changed your life).

4. You’ll gain access to my full paid archive going back five years. This is a LOT of content covering most topics you can think of.

5. Finally, you’ll be paying to support the writing of the essays, which despite being published for free are the most expensive part for me to produce. If you’ve enjoyed reading them over the years, I hope you’ll consider funding them!

If you’re wondering if these extras are worth it, more than 95% of my paying subscribers open them every week. Here are some testimonies from them:

“The first Substack I ever paid for and I will continue paying until my dying day/you stop publishing, whichever comes first! Honestly probably the best money I spend every year (and incredible value too)—I look forward to your posts and podcasts SO much. Consistently engaging, stimulating, and thought-provoking.”

“Haley Nahman is the only person who can share a list of links to things she's reading and I'm curious about or delighted by almost every single one.” —Hunter Harris

“Haley’s is the first Substack I’ve ever paid for and while I’ve added and subtracted other creators, I don't think I will ever get rid of my subscription to hers. Insightful nuggets, encouraging anecdotes, thoughtful suggestions, and overall encouragement to be more contemplative/think deeply. And only $5 a month?? Worth it xX10.”

“For other [newsletters], I will pause subscriptions on occasion. I have never taken a break from Maybe Baby. There’s so much added value, the podcasts alone would make it worth it. Dear Danny and the Friday lists are the cherry on top.”

“There’s obviously a lot of good and interesting writers here (myself included teehee) but no one with Haley’s voice. I realized very early I didn’t want to miss anything and also wanted to support the immense work that goes into this.” —Mindy Isser

And finally, my prices are going up on March 31st, and this is your last chance to lock in the lower rate!

For five years I’ve charged the lowest allowable fee on Substack: $5/month or $50/year. Most of my peers are charging more ($7+), and since I now offer a lot more content than I did when I first launched, I’d like the price to reflect that. I also pay Mallory and Danny, and would like to hire some additional help. At the end of the month, to mark five years of publishing, Maybe Baby will cost $6/month and $60/year for new subscribers. If you’d like to lock in the current lower rate, you can do that by subscribing now. You’ll get to keep your rate as long as you’re subscribed, like getting grandfathered into your hairdresser’s $45 cut. Personally, I recommend the annual subscription because it’s a better deal and nice to get it out of the way, but up to you.

Of course, if paying is a financial stretch for you or holds no interest, fly free! I’m grateful for your support no matter what form it takes. And if you’ve gotten a lot out of Maybe Baby over the years, are down for more, and wouldn’t sweat the cost (as they say: one cup of coffee a month), I hope you’ll consider converting. Regardless, my Sunday essays will always remain free, and I’m so grateful to my paid subs for enabling that. Cheers to five years!!

Love ya,
Haley

1. People ask me if they can find it on Spotify from time to time, and the answer is sadly no. You can hear their other music though!