Why We Chose a Membership Model (Instead of Substack)

I’ll grant you, the way we’ve done things is pretty weird — and it’s something I go back and forth on a lot. So before I explain why we’ve structured things the way we have, let me just lay out what the structure actually is, for those who aren’t familiar.

The Studio Membership is a programme we introduced in November 2023. You pay a monthly fee and get access to a private section of the website, along with some member perks. These include access to physical products that aren’t available to the public — namely refill kits and one-off items like limited editions, seconds, or ex-display pieces.

You also get access to our members-only content: articles, guides, behind-the-scenes deep dives into creative or small business life, and more recently, multi-week creative challenges hosted on a dedicated platform. These can be written or video-based, and they’re all designed to encourage creativity and build confidence. There’s also a bi-weekly newsletter delivered straight to your inbox — part inspiration, part thoughtful ramble — and a full archive of all previous content.

Now, this isn’t standard. And at £8.99 a month or £90 a year, it’s something people understandably give some thought to — especially if they’re only interested in one part of it. Maybe they just want to read the articles and aren’t fussed about trying new crafts or buying refills. So let me explain why we’ve set it up the way we have.

The Studio is designed for people who want to go deeper — who want to explore their creativity properly. Whilst it of course is suited to people who want to fill the odd hour with something to read, it’s largely geared to those who want to try new things, explore their creativity, build their own designs, and develop confidence.

So if I recommend a craft or run a creative challenge, I want to make sure you can easily get the materials. I want you to have access to tutorials, events, videos — all in one place. Some of it might feel a bit beyond the beginner kits we sell to first-time stitchers, but that’s kind of the point. It’s the next step. A space to stretch your creativity.

Which means the membership can’t just be about content. Or just about product. It has to be both.

When we put something out, I want to do it properly. If it’s a craft guide, we test it. We try all the fiddly bits, work out the kinks, find the easy workarounds — so when you try it, it’s simple. We want all the mistakes so you don’t have to. If it’s a research piece, we talk to the experts, we go out and buy the books, we visit the places. We don’t just Google and get ChatGPT to summarise it.

That means that the creative exercises take weeks to get right. We map them out, work out how things all tie together, refine them, film them, edit them, and build the structure around them.

That’s why Meg joined me six months ago — because it’s a huge amount of work, and I physically couldn’t do it all on my own anymore. Whilst I could limit the amount of content we were creating, I absolutely love this part of the business. There is nothing better than going down a totally niche rabbit hole. You could say this is a passion project – that’s okay.

Now, people can easily see the value of the product perks — 15% off refill kits is a tangible saving. You can do the maths. You can see the discount at checkout. It feels immediate, and measurable, and easy to justify.

But the content side? That’s harder to quantify. It’s more intangible. You don’t always know the value of an article or a guide until you’ve read it, or tried the project, or had a little creative lightbulb moment three weeks later because something stuck with you. And that makes it trickier to explain why it’s worth paying for — because, in a way, it’s not a transaction. It’s an investment of time, attention, and trust.

But from our side, it’s very real work. And so, if we’re going to continue creating that kind of content with the care and depth we want to, it has to be behind a paywall. It’s the only way it makes sense. It’s the only way it becomes sustainable.

This is where platforms like Substack come in — and where I start to feel uneasy.

Now, I completely understand the appeal. Substack is easy to use, it’s beautifully designed, and it’s popular — lots of people are there already. Believe me, it would be so much easier if I could just say to people “sign up to our Substack” than having to explain our silly complicated structure all the time. But it also comes with a long list of trade-offs that don’t really sit right with me.

The biggest one? When you publish on a platform like that, you’re building their website, not yours. Any traffic that comes from your writing ends up benefitting their SEO — not ours. You’re sending people away from your shop, away from your brand, and into someone else’s ecosystem. Which, if you’re trying to run a small business, just isn’t ideal.

And then there’s the integration headache. Substack doesn’t really want to play nicely with your own systems — your website, your shop, your email list. Because it’s not in their interest to make it easy for you to connect the dots. Their goal is to keep people on their platform, not yours.

And that’s before we get into the unpredictable side of things. They can change their rules, their fees, their algorithm, their policies — and you don’t really get a say. That’s the risk of any third-party platform: you don’t own the space you’re building in. You’re just renting it. And the landlord can change the terms at any time.

So yes, I know it’s more technically complicated (and a lot more expensive) to host everything ourselves. But in the long run, it means we’re building something we actually own. Something that lives on our site, under our name, with our values running all the way through it. That might not be the quick route, but it feels like the right one.

We know some people only really want access to the products, and others are just there for the writing. So wouldn’t it make sense to let people pick and choose?

The thing is, we genuinely believe that the price we’ve set is fair, whether you choose to use every part of the membership or just dip into the one bit that speaks to you. There’s no expectation you have to do it all — we’re not trying to bring you into a cult — but we’ve worked really hard to make sure the value is there, regardless of what you choose to engage with.

And yes, technically you could sign up for a month, binge the archive, download everything, and disappear — and that’s totally fine. We’re not going to chase you down with guilt-laced emails – you can unsubscribe as easily as you joined.

And while it might seem like a couple of pounds’ difference — £8.99 versus £6.99 — that small shift has a big knock-on effect for us. That extra £2 might be the difference between being able to dedicate time to another article that month or not. Multiply that across a few 100 members, and suddenly we’re talking about actual capacity — more hours to plan, write, film, edit, test, design.

And honestly — if someone doesn’t see the value at £8.99, are they really going to change their mind at £6.99? I don’t think so. If you’re on the fence about the cost, it’s probably not the right fit for you just now — and that’s completely fine. But for those who do find value in it, that £2 is meaningful. It makes a real, tangible difference to what we’re able to do.

And then there’s the technical side — which is far less romantic but no less real. Creating a tiered membership structure on a custom website like ours isn’t just ticking a box in settings. It’s a significant development job — new paywall layers, new integrations, new systems — and that comes with a price tag. Thousands, not hundreds. And we’d need to feel confident that the difference it made to you would actually outweigh the cost and complexity of building it.

So yes, we’ve thought about it. But for now, one simple membership — fair, generous, and straightforward — feels like the right thing.

Believe me, I’ve asked myself this many, many times. There are real, tangible downsides to hiding content behind a paywall — and I don’t pretend otherwise.

The most obvious one? You lose the SEO benefit. When we write a long, considered article, Google can’t see most of it because it’s not publicly viewable. That means fewer people find it. It doesn’t pull in new visitors. It doesn’t help our search rankings. And that’s a big thing for a small business like ours.

Then there’s the emotional bit. You spend weeks researching and writing something — something you’re really proud of — and only a few hundred people ever get to see it. That can be tough. You think, “Wouldn’t it be lovely if more people read this?” And yes, it probably would.

But then I come back to the reason we put it behind a paywall in the first place: because the only way we can justify the time and energy we put into making that content is if it contributes to the business. If it helps keep the lights on, rather than just being a nice extra. And the stronger the archive of content gets, the bigger the pull to people on the fence about joining. So we have to have our best writing and best articles behind the paywall, or it does defeat the entire point.

There’s also a question of tone — I can write very differently behind a paywall. I can be more open, more personal, more honest — especially about the commercial realities of running a creative business. I don’t have to worry quite so much about how it lands, because I know the people reading it are already invested in what we’re doing. It creates a bit of breathing room — and that’s rare and valuable.

And then there’s the issue of intellectual property. Once you make something fully public, it’s out there. And while I’m not precious about people being inspired by our work (I mean, that’s sort of the whole point), I don’t want to hand over carefully thought-out exercises, frameworks or designs to be lifted wholesale by someone else. It’s happened before. It doesn’t feel great.

So yes, a paywall limits reach. It limits visibility. But it also protects the depth, the honesty, the sustainability — and the long-term integrity — of what we’re trying to build.

Substack (and similar platforms) love to talk about numbers — about writers with sometimes tens of thousands of subscribers. But even they admit that only around 2–5% of those people ever convert into paid members. That’s just how it works.

The truth is, very few people are making a living from being read by the masses. It might look like it from the outside, but behind most of those big newsletters are tiny handfuls of paying readers.

Paying for someone’s writing is — and probably always will be — a discretionary act. It’s not something most people feel compelled to do, even if they love the work. Only once I started writing did I really start appreciating the value in the newsletter I pay for. And so you’re never really writing for the masses. None of us are. You’re writing for the people who, for whatever reason, choose to care and think you are worth it. And that group will always be smaller than the visible audience.

So no, we’re not aiming for 10,000 subscribers. We’re not chasing rapid growth or immense scale. We’re focused on the hundreds of people who come back. That stability of income coming in every month really is hugely impactful – it helps us deal with the seasonal highs and lows of a small business.

And those people — the ones who genuinely value what we’re trying to build with our Studio membership — they’re not questioning the value.