Everyone’s Watching, Everyone’s Posting: The Blurred Lines of Peer-Creator Spaces

Earlier this week, I was scrolling through Substack Notes—the part of the platform where you see posts from people you don’t really know—and noticed a pattern. Post after post offered easy praise to creators simply for “showing up,” applauding anyone who wrote consistently or had only just started posting. It was less about the content and more about the fact that content existed at all. It felt like there was an undercurrent of process worship—celebrating the mere act of “doing the thing,” regardless of what that thing actually was.

I found myself wondering: What’s going on here? Who are they even talking to? These messages didn’t seem aimed at future readers who might actually need these ideas—or, let’s be honest, pay for them. Instead, it seemed like creators were performing for one another, reassuring their peers that just existing in this space deserved applause.

It reminded me of certain Instagram communities I’d seen, where impressing peers mattered more than reaching the actual paying audience. That same dynamic now seemed to appear here—a loop of insiders cheering each other on, rather than speaking to real readers. Once I thought about it that way, it began to make sense. Maybe this isn’t random. Maybe this is what happens when everyone is both producing content and reacting to each other’s posts—creators and audiences blending into one self-conscious crowd.

We’re used to a world where audiences and creators occupy distinct roles:

• Books, Films, Music: Creators produce; audiences consume. Readers aren’t usually novelists, viewers aren’t filmmakers.

• Art Galleries or Exhibitions: The artist creates, and viewers observe without the expectation that they’re also making art.

• Traditional Journalism or Publishing: A journalist writes, an editor refines, a reader reads. While readers might respond, they’re typically not writing articles right alongside the journalist.

But in today’s digital spaces—Substack, Instagram, TikTok, and beyond—the old boundaries blur. Everyone’s posting, everyone’s reacting, everyone’s trying to look “supportive.” Instead of a neat creator-to-consumer flow, we have a tangled web of peers, rivals, mentors, and students all in one place. The “audience” isn’t just some separate mass—it’s a crowd of people who, like you, have their own newsletters, yoga videos, or political podcasts to grow.

In other words, what happens to the creative process when your potential audience might also be a competitor or collaborator, all seeking attention? If the default response is to hand out participation ribbons instead of wrestling with the actual ideas, what do we lose? Let’s step into this strange world, where creators and consumers overlap, and see how it shapes how we create, connect, and collaborate.

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The Cheerleader Economy

In these peer-creator ecosystems—Substack Notes, certain Instagram threads, corners of Twitter—something emerges that I’ll call the “cheerleader economy.” It’s not just an audience cheering a performer from a distance. Here, everyone’s both producer and consumer, resulting in a steady chorus of broad, encouraging gestures. “If you’re writing today, you’re amazing!” “To all the small accounts: I see you—keep going!” It’s less about the work’s substance and more about the fact that it exists at all.

In older models, most of the audience isn’t also making something similar. Critiques and reviews focus on the art. But in these newer spaces, everyone stands on both sides of the stage—posting their own thoughts one moment and applauding someone else the next. The easiest common denominator is the quick nod: a simple emoji (🔥), a vague “Love this!,” a reflexive compliment. It signals “I see you” without demanding deeper engagement.

Why does it play out this way? The platforms make it easy. Short, affirming responses cost little effort and yield quick social credit—no messy debates, no stepping on toes. This isn’t necessarily cynical. It can comfort newcomers and soothe anxieties, fostering a sense of belonging. Yet it also reshapes the environment. Over time, when applause for merely showing up becomes standard, the idea of asking tougher questions or challenging assumptions starts to feel like extra work.

This isn’t a conspiracy or malicious ploy. It emerges naturally in a structure where everyone’s juggling their image among peers. In a space where visibility and goodwill are social currency, a quick “👏👏👏” floats to the top. Support becomes plentiful but skims the surface, shaping how we participate and who we imagine we’re performing for.

To be fair, I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve left my share of “good stuff bruh” comments after watching only a few seconds of a video, just to signal I was there. I’m not claiming to have a better way figured out. I’m not sure anyone does.

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When Creators Are the Audience

This cheerleader economy arises from the fact that the “audience” here isn’t just consumers—it’s other creators. Unlike traditional scenarios—where a novelist doesn’t expect most readers to be novelists—these online communities are packed with people who share your craft. Everyone’s both broadcasting and tuning in, and everyone’s attention becomes a precious resource.

Think of a podcaster promoting a new episode. On one level, they hope potential listeners tune in and get hooked. But they also know other podcasters are watching. Maybe they phrase the post to show off their editing chops or highlight a guest who adds credibility. That’s peer-oriented engagement at its best: constructive, knowledge-sharing interaction. But it can slide into showing off for peers, using insider jargon or prioritizing complexity that wows other creators but might lose actual listeners.

Are we building connections that actually push our work forward, or just performing so we look like we belong? If we’re more interested in impressing each other than in making something that matters beyond our circle, we risk losing what made it worth doing at all.

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The Cost of Low-Friction Interaction

If the cheerleader economy sets the tone and the audience is also a crowd of creators, what does this mean for the ideas themselves?

In theory, these platforms could spark genuine intellectual exchange—bold claims meeting tough questions, everyone growing sharper. But when easy applause dominates, the creative landscape subtly shifts. Instead of pushing toward complex or challenging work, creators may lean toward material that’s easily praised, no matter the depth.

Think of it this way: if posting something quick and palatable reliably earns a flood of friendly reactions, there’s less incentive to experiment with more demanding or nuanced content. In a space where a simple “🔥🔥🔥” is as accessible as any thoughtful critique, it’s natural for participants to gravitate toward the simpler route. Over time, the norm settles around lighter, safer expressions—work that’s less likely to provoke genuine dialogue or sustained inquiry.

This isn’t about malice or laziness. It’s just what happens when short bursts of affirmation are easier to come by than considered responses. When everyone is both performer and spectator, the environment can start feeling more like a constant show-and-tell than a setting for collaborative growth.

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Adjusting Our Approach

We’ve outlined how easy applause and shallow praise become standard fare when everyone’s both creating and consuming. It’s a comfortable pattern—no one’s forcing it, and it’s not evil. But if you’re craving something more than empty high-fives, you might need to break the pattern.

Instead of always opting for the quick nod, consider leaving a real question next time. When something doesn’t quite add up, nudge a bit. Not to start drama, but to see if anyone’s up for actual conversation.

It probably won’t catch on. And it might feel awkward, even thankless. But if you ever wonder what else these peer-creator spaces can offer besides polite nods, that’s where to start. Leave one comment that’s at least 10% more thoughtful than “🔥,” or ask a question that can’t be answered with a GIF. It won’t overhaul the system, but it might carve out a corner for deeper conversation.