🧠 Working Theory 2: What’s Really Going On With Subscriptions?
Identity, commitment and too much of a good thing
In Working Theory, I draw on current studies from psychology, behavioural economics and identity research to ask: what’s really going on here? These are deep dives into the evidence shaping how we think, write, and belong online.
If you’re reading this on substack there’s a high probability that you’ve subscribed to more newsletters than you could ever actually read. You liked the writer, or the concept, or the way they framed a particular idea, and so you clicked “Subscribe.” It felt good.
But then your inbox started to swell. Unread issues piled up like books on a bedside table. You felt a little guilty, a little overwhelmed, a little… avoidant.
Sound familiar? It should. The psychology of subscription culture is not so different from the psychology of the TBR pile (To Be Read). And it’s not just about content. It’s about identity, aspiration, and how we try to create a version of ourselves we haven’t quite caught up to yet.
I’ve just turned on paid subscriptions.
Even writing that feels strange, like I’m announcing something too serious for something so everyday. But it is a shift. I wanted to understand what turning on subscriptions really means, not just for me, but for those of you who might choose to be here as paying supporters.
So I did what I often do. I turned to the research.
What I found is that subscription models aren’t just about money, or content, or frequency. They’re a nod to who we might become
When Was the Last Time You Subscribed to Something Online?
In 2000, a landmark psychology paper was published on the paradox of choice.
It was the same year the Nokia 3310 launched, a phone that let you text, call, and play Snake.
Fast forward 25 years, and the way we interact with choice has changed almost as much as our phones. Subscriptions are no longer about physical magazines or annual fees. Now, they’re embedded into our daily lives, newsletters, podcasts, software, socks, coaching containers. And yet, the psychology that shaped those early insights into choice still lingers underneath every scroll, every “subscribe now” button.
So today, I want to revisit that foundational research, because it might help us make sense of something very current: why we keep signing up for things we don’t always use, and how that shapes who we think we are.
Subscribing as Identity, Not Just Access
Let’s start with a familiar feeling.
You come across a newsletter or a podcast. It feels smart, relevant, maybe even a little aspirational. It takes several seconds to subscribe, but beneath the surface something more meaningful happens, you’re not just opting into content, you’re stepping into a version of yourself. The kind of person who reads deeply. Listens regularly. Engages consistently.
And then life happens. You get busy, the emails pile up. A dozen “just in case” tabs stay open on your phone or laptop for days (Readers: I am talking from experience). Still, you don’t unsubscribe, you meant to read it. Maybe you still mean to, and perhaps the initial thrill of subscription is turning into a small bit of shame. What’s going on here?
This is where the psychology of choice, and its consequences, starts to matter.
Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash
The Jam Study That Changed Everything
Back in 2000, psychologists Sheena Iyengar and Mark Lepper published a study with an irresistible title: When choice is demotivating: Can one desire too much of a good thing?
The research became famous for its “jam study”: when shoppers at a grocery store were offered 24 varieties of jam, only 3% made a purchase. But when the options were reduced to six, ten times as many people bought a jar.
The takeaway? More options don’t always lead to better decisions. Sometimes, they lead to none at all.
Their work helped shape how we think about consumer behaviour, motivation, and product design. But while the study took place in the era of supermarkets and sales assistants, its ripple effects are all over our digital lives. Every tiered subscription plan. Every bundle and email trying to offer you a curated experience. That logic has roots in research from the age of nokia phones.
From Jam to Substack: The Same Logic, Scaled
If the jam metaphor seems a stretch, consider this: today, our inboxes are the digital equivalent of a cluttered tasting table. We’re offered brilliant writing, urgent insights, calming audio companions, think pieces, toolkits, bonus episodes, and we take a little bit of everything. Until our inboxes, like those tasting tables, start to feel less delicious and more overwhelming.
There’s an intruiging term for the book version: Tsundoku. It’s Japanese for the habit of acquiring reading material and letting it pile up unread. But, what matters about tsundoku is that it’s not laziness, it’s aspiration. It’s the belief that one day we’ll be the kind of person who reads it all.
Digital subscriptions work the same way, e don’t subscribe for content or the act of reading ‘everything that is produced’ we subscribe for possibility.
So why do we stay subscribed long after the moment has passed? Part of the answer lies in three cognitive effects that show up again and again in behavioural psychology:
Sunk Cost Fallacy: Once we’ve invested emotionally, financially, or just through attention—we’re reluctant to walk away. Unsubscribing feels like giving up (Kahneman & Tversky, 1979).
Endowment Effect & Loss Aversion: If we got in early, or snagged a founder rate, we feel like we own it. And losing something we “own” feels worse than missing out on something new.
Reward Uncertainty: Especially common with subscription boxes, but also present in content, what if the next post is the one that lands? That anticipation keeps us clicking.
Each of these adds weight to the seemingly simple act of deciding what stays and what goes. And it explains why your email app might be full of good intentions.
Subscriptions as Social Identity Work
But there’s something else going on too, we’re not just subscribing to content, we’re subscribing to people. This isn’t just a market trend, it’s a shift in how we form identity and belonging. From a Social Identity Theory perspective (Tajfel & Turner, 1979), subscribing becomes an act of affiliation as we align with creators who reflect our values, our pace, our priorities. We’re not buying access, we’re buying a sense of us.
This shift explains the rise of personal newsletters, why some readers feel more trust toward individual journalists than media brands (Reuters Institute, 2023), and why parasocial relationships, those one-way but emotionally significant bonds with creators, are so sticky (Horton & Wohl, 1956; Tukachinsky, 2011).
When a writer shares their process, their doubt, their joy and their stories, we connect. Not to their brand, but to their being. And with that connection comes a sense of responsibility: to read, to support, to stay. (and if you need a real life case study;
might have lost her platform of published work, comments and subscriptions - but what unfolded was a show of responsibility and support by her followers. This is Identity Leadership in action. )It makes sense then, that when life gets busy, and the inbox piles up, that emotional connection could quietly curdle into guilt or shame for not being on top of the things we claim to love.
From Subscription Boom to Subscription Shame
During the pandemic, the newsletter and subscription boom made sense, we were hungry for connection and they offered lifelines. But now? We’re in what David Birch calls the flattening phase. Open rates are dipping, people are curating. The inbox has become an archive of intentions we no longer have the energy to honour.
So what do we do?
We could unsubscribe from everything. Or we could pause, reflect, and ask a better question:
What if the real value of a subscription isn’t just what you read, but how it makes you feel about being there?
Writers, take note: this is more than content strategy. The next Field Notes explores how we can honour a reader’s time and attention with the same care we hope they bring to our words, because staying subscribed shouldn’t feel like a burden.
The Takeaway
So much has changed in 25 years. We carry the world in our pockets. We read, scroll, and connect in ways we couldn’t have imagined in 2000.
But underneath all that? The same questions remain. What helps us choose? What overwhelms us? What affirms who we are, and who we’re trying to become?
If your inbox is full, you’re not alone. You’re not failing. You’re just human, in a world still catching up with its own complexity.
Thanks for being here. Whether this is your first read or your fiftieth. And whether you read every word or just skimmed
References
Birch, D. (2024). We are past peak subscription. Substack.
Horton, D., & Wohl, R. R. (1956). Mass communication and para-social interaction: Observations on intimacy at a distance. Psychiatry, 19(3), 215–229.
Iyengar, S. S., & Lepper, M. R. (2000). When choice is demotivating: Can one desire too much of a good thing? Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 79(6), 995–1006. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.79.6.995
Kahneman, D., & Tversky, A. (1979). Prospect theory: An analysis of decision under risk. Econometrica, 47(2), 263–291. https://doi.org/10.2307/1914185
Reuters Institute. (2023). Digital news report 2023. https://reutersinstitute.politics.ox.ac.uk
Tajfel, H., & Turner, J. C. (1979). An integrative theory of intergroup conflict. In W. G. Austin & S. Worchel (Eds.), The social psychology of intergroup relations (pp. 33–47). Brooks/Cole.
Tukachinsky, R. (2011). Para-social relationships with media figures. In R. L. Nabi & M. B. Oliver (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of media processes and effects (pp. 131–144). SAGE.