I was considering making you pay for this

But I decided not to. Thoughts on affiliate links, monetization & what feels right

Since starting this newsletter, I’ve ignored the paid model. When I started in 2020, the idea of charging people to read my digital journal entries felt absurd. But these last few weeks, as I’ve watched my Substack climb to #13 in the Parenting charts and my Instagram hit 10k followers, I’ve been having a different debate in my head.

I work as a brand and creative strategist through my consultancy Studio la Madre. My job is literally helping companies figure out how to market and make people want to invest in their product or service. And as I look at my own projects, both professional and personal, the lines get blurry. Speaking of work, two projects I’ve spent time on in their early stages are finally coming to life. Please go visit Mowe Beauty and Dimwit to see some of the fantastic female-founded brands I get to support.

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So why wouldn’t I monetize every possible opportunity? Why wouldn’t I slap affiliate links on my Worth Mentioning posts? Why wouldn’t I turn my Instagram into a shopping channel? It’s completely normalized now. Every content creator, every newsletter with a “favorites” section, even just regular people use them.

I could do this. I should do this, by industry standards. I share my favorite things all the time and when it feels right, I’ve shared shoppable links. People ask me where my sandals are from, what Pilates studio I go to, what pool towels we have at Casa Madre.

But here’s where I get stuck: I don’t want to convince you to click on a link. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to go out of my way to convince you to click on a link.

And I know, I know—”Lydia, just recommend things you actually love! That’s authentic!”

But is it? Because the moment there’s money involved, the moment I get a cut every time you click through, doesn’t that change the recommendation? Even subconsciously? Even if I swear it doesn’t? Won’t each newsletter slowly shift into a shopping list for ROI disguised as favorites?

I attribute this shift in some part to living outside the United States. When we’re in our small town in Mexico, I still see targeted ads and sponsored posts about the “perfect summer dress” or “cure-all face creams.” But the barrier to actually add to cart and navigating international shipping and fees is such a hassle that I’ve simply fallen out of practice. And in doing so, lost that desire.

Sure, I pine after items I see and I’m aware of trends. But something shifted. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s motherhood. Maybe it’s just spending half my life in a place where what is in style or on trend isn’t top of mind. I don’t want more stuff. And I don’t want to be in the business of convincing you that you need more stuff either.

So I choose to participate differently. I shop secondhand as often as possible because it gamifies shopping—I’m not just defaulting to the quickest, most convenient option.

But honestly, this isn’t new for me. Mike and I have never been the type to chase the newest thing or keep up with the Joneses. We drive old cars that we bought used. We don't upgrade our phones every year. My phone is held together with hope and a cracked screen protector—it's probably a safety hazard at this point, honestly. This is how we were able to save up and buy a house in Mexico, after all.

I’ve wanted a Goyard bag since 2013 when I was a Brand Specialist at Nike and a chic Brand Manager had one. Still haven’t pulled the trigger. There’s a Baggu toiletry bag I keep eyeing, it costs $38, which isn’t even that much but I can’t justify it right now. I have a toiletry bag that works great. Do I want the Baggu? Sure. Do I need it? Absolutely not.

This is just how I’m wired. Or maybe it’s how we’ve chosen to be wired—prioritizing experiences and space and flexibility over accumulation. It’s what allowed us to build Casa Madre. It’s what lets us split our year between two countries. It’s what gives us the freedom to pull our kid out of school two months early for travel.

So when I think about turning my newsletter into a shopping channel, it feels fundamentally at odds with how I actually live.

But here’s what makes this complicated: my actual job is helping brands sell things. As a strategist I help companies figure out their story, their positioning, how to connect with consumers. I’ve worked recently with the WNBA, Samsung and Sonos, and loads more to develop marketing strategies and creative campaigns. I’m good at this work. And I like to believe there’s a difference between helping a company tell their story authentically and participating in the constant churn of affiliate marketing and influencer commerce.

But the lines do get blurry. When does “sharing what I love” become “selling you things”? When does “building a platform” become “monetizing an audience”?

So here’s what I’ve decided to do, in a way that feels right for me:

I turned on paid subscriptions in mid-April. But not in a typical way. You won’t be paywalled from new content. You won’t miss posts. You won’t get teased with “subscribe to read the rest of this.” Everything I write moving forward stays free.

But if you want to access the archives, six months back or more, that’s paid. If you’ve been here from the beginning and want to support this work continuing, you can. If you just started reading and this resonates, welcome. It’s all free for you.

Maybe I’m overthinking it. But it’s the model that lets me sleep at night. It feels like the difference between direct support vs. transactional commerce. My writing is personal, sometimes intimate, and I hope it provides value to people in the midst of career transition, motherhood transition, or place transition.

I wrote about this a couple years ago here, but it feels even more relevant now. I personally feel like I am drowning in recommendations. In affiliate links. In “must-haves” and “holy grails” and “game-changers.”

And I get it, if you’re a fashion creator, a stylist, a decorator, or another type of expert where product recommendations ARE your expertise, I fully support you monetizing those links. That’s authentic to what you do. Just like I’d rather be paid for my ideas and expertise in brand and marketing—invited to panels, discussions, summits, and events. (Manifesting this right now!) But I’ll keep figuring this out as I go.

But I also think we’re reaching a breaking point. Consumer fatigue is real. People are tired of being sold to constantly. What if we just shared things we loved because we loved them? What if we recommended products because they genuinely made our lives better, not because we’d make $3.47 if you clicked through?

So what does this mean for you?

I’ll still share what I’m loving in my Worth Mentioning posts. I’ll still recommend restaurants, products, places, and people I want you to know. I’ll continue to write about my life, my work, my kids, and home. Everything remains free to read.

If this newsletter adds value to your life and if it makes you think, or laugh, or feel less alone in the messy middle of reinvention and figuring it all out, consider supporting it directly with a paid subscription. Not because you’ll get exclusive content, but because you want this work to continue.

And if you can’t or don’t want to pay, that’s completely fine too. Keep reading. Keep engaging. That matters just as much.

I don’t have this figured out. I’m making it up as I go, trying to find a model that feels authentic to how I want to show up in the world. Maybe I’m being naive. Maybe I’m leaving too much money on the table. Maybe in six months I’ll change my mind and you’ll see Shop.My links everywhere (though I doubt it).

But for now, this is where I land: I’d rather recommend things because I love them than because I’ll profit from them. I’d rather you trust that when I share something, it’s genuinely because I think it’s worth your attention, not your credit card.

Living in Mexico has taught me that less really can be more. That you don’t need constant consumption to live a full life. That space and simplicity and intentionality matter more than accumulation. I’m trying to carry that lesson into how I build this newsletter.

Thanks for being here. Thanks for reading. And if you want to support this work, I’m grateful. But I don’t need you to buy anything to be part of this community.

Now I’m curious: How do you navigate this? If you use affiliate links or run a paid newsletter, what’s your philosophy? I am genuinely curious and even open to being convinced to start monetizing my life! If you’re a reader who’s tired of being sold to, what kind of support feels good to you? Let’s talk about it in the comments.

xx Ly