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This issue is presented by Honeyblocks → |
Hey honeys and hustlers,
When I first started freelancing as a photographer and filmmaker, I treated feedback like gold. I collected it, I applied it, I improved. After years of creating photos, videos, podcasts, newsletters, and now products, I’ve learned that not all feedback is useful (or even necessary). Some of it is outdated. Some of it is someone else’s fear dressed up as advice. And some of it is “helpful” only if your goal is to make the safest possible work.
So many people contact me and they're like, 'I have this idea for a show. I have this idea for a show.' I go, 'Go.' What's your advice? My advice is go do it. They're like, 'Would love to get your thoughts.' Guess who I never get thoughts from? Anyone. Literally, there's no need for thoughts. There's actually no need for thoughts ‘cause actually the world will tell you if [it works].
I’ve received feedback I once took seriously that I no longer agree with. Things like:
Transcripts belong in podcast episode blogs/articles.
Don’t talk about politics.
Don’t talk about money.
If clients or audience members don’t give you feedback, assume they like it.
Create for your audience.
Some of these ideas sound reasonable on the surface. But “reasonable” isn’t the same as “right.” And it definitely isn’t the same as “right for you.” What I care about now is creating the conditions for feedback that actually improves the work that’s already been created, not work I want to do next.
The most common kind of feedback creators receive is broad and nonspecific:
“It’s good.”
“I like it!”
“It’s not really for me.”
“Maybe you should add more…”
“Have you thought about doing it this way instead?”
That kind of feedback rarely helps you make a clear decision—because it doesn’t tell you what to adjust or why it matters. And then there’s the other category: advice that’s treated like a universal standard. The kind that implies there’s one correct way to create, and that deviating from it is unprofessional, risky, or “too much.” Those rules often come from people optimizing for comfort, not truth. For neutrality, not resonance. For broad appeal, not actual connection.
If you want useful feedback, you have to ask for it in a useful way. Context matters. Instead of: “What do you think of my podcast?” Try:
Does the pace feel too slow, too fast, or just right?
What would you take out to make this episode shorter?
Is there a point in the episode where I lost your attention because the conversation felt off-topic?
Which recent episode held your attention the most, and why?
If you could only keep one section of the episode, what would it be?
Specific questions give people something concrete to respond to—and give you actionable information instead of vibes. One of my favorite tricks is to remove the neutral option. Ask for a rating from 1–10, but tell them they can’t pick 7. (Tim Ferris reveals he does this when he asks his audience for feedback on potential brand partners who reach out to him.) Then follow up. If they say 6: “What would make it an 8?” If they say 8: “What would make it a 10?” This forces clarity. People either articulate what’s missing or name what’s working—both are valuable.
“Transcripts belong in blog posts” (and other advice that isn’t actually about you)
I asked for a podcast audit in this newsletter's early days because I was looking for ways to leverage it to grow Honey & Hustle. One piece of feedback I received was: every article should link to the full transcript. That suggestion sounded logical. It even sounded “best practice.” And sure—transcripts can be a form of accessibility support.
But I noticed that most podcast platforms already let listeners access transcripts and captions (including YouTube). And when I did link to transcripts, I could see the clicks. People weren’t reading them. I also had to be honest: I can’t name a single blog post with a full transcript that I’ve sat down and read end-to-end.
So I asked myself a question that matters more than any rule: Is it worth doing the extra lift… or should I spend that time making the best possible episodes I can? I chose the latter. And that decision paid off in spades. When you have so many options for what you can do, you have to commit to what you know is the best use of your time and capacity.
That’s not laziness or disrespectful to your audience. That’s leadership and the emotional maturity to recognize your boundaries and what’s best for you to focus on.
Sometimes you don’t need feedback—you need to publish
I’ve asked for feedback on past products—like CommunityOS and a newsletter resource bundle I built in Notion—and it was genuinely helpful at the time. But this time around, I’m not doing beta users. I’m creating the product, adding the payment link, and publishing. Because people’s willingness to pay will tell me what I need to know: whether there’s usefulness and demand. Feedback is only one form of validation. Behavior is another.
Talking about money will always be controversial—and still necessary. “Don’t talk about politics” is usually a request for silence. Silence isn’t always approval. The standard I use now when generating new ideas usually boils down to one question: “What is my good enough?” At the end of the day, you still have to like the work you produce. You have to feel like it’s adding to a body of work you’re proud of; otherwise, you’ll stop creating. Not because you “failed,” but because the joy disappears.
The most valuable feedback isn’t the kind that keeps you safe. It’s the kind that helps you tell the truth and make better decisions—more clearly than you could before.
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