Why Longform content matters
The case for depth
Writing about something, even if you think you know it well, often reveals how much more there is to learn. It’s one thing to hold an idea in your head, but when you try to put it into words, you realize there are gaps you hadn’t noticed. That’s why long-form content matters. The process of writing forces you to confront the edges of your understanding, and in doing so, you refine it. It’s the same for the reader—when you engage with long-form writing, you gain more than just the surface-level insight. You pick up on the nuances that only emerge when an idea is worked over and reiterated.
That’s one reason I gravitate toward long-form content. By the end of this article, I’ll probably have a clearer idea of why I’m drawn to it. The act of writing forces me to grapple with thoughts that would’ve remained fuzzy otherwise.
But let me be clear: not all long-form content is worth your time. The value depends a lot on who’s writing it. Over time, I’ve developed a kind of filter for choosing what’s worth reading, writing, or listening to. It’s similar to understanding a product—if you don’t know the story behind it, you’re likely missing the full picture. The same goes for art. You can’t fully appreciate a piece without understanding the artist’s journey. Take Van Gogh—you can’t separate his work from the fact that he cut off his ear, struggled with depression, and was largely rejected in his time. Or Nirvana—you don’t fully grasp their music without knowing Kurt Cobain’s battles. Understanding the context makes the experience richer.
Long-form content allows for that depth. It lets you engage with an idea through repetition and example, which helps you internalize it in a way a tweet or a caption never could. Take Atomic Habits by James Clear. Sure, you could summarize the book in one line—"Stack a new habit on top of an existing one"—but that misses the point. The value of the book isn’t just in that one sentence, but in how it walks you through the process, over and over, with examples and explanations. Without that depth, when you’re struggling to build a habit in real life, that surface-level understanding won’t hold up. Long-form content gives you the tools to make ideas stick.
Short-form content is a hook. It pulls you in, but it rarely shows the full depth of an idea. When we consume short-form content—like a tweet—without any reference to a larger context, we’re often just fishing for catchy phrases that give us an instant hit of gratification. But that kind of content is less likely to stick with us or become part of our value system.
Take Substack, for example. The platform was created to let people subscribe to their favorite writers and dive deep into their thinking, as envisioned by Chris Best and the founders. It came from a need to give great writers an audience and readers access to high-quality, long-form content—something that wasn’t easily found elsewhere. Yet, the most popular platforms remain Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, LinkedIn, and Facebook, where quick, viral content reigns. Even on YouTube, shorts tend to capture more attention than full-length videos. However, here the hook leads to something. We can easily consume short-form content and trick ourselves into feeling like we’ve learned something, but it’s often just surface-level knowledge. True understanding requires depth, which is something short-form content rarely provides.
Our brain has a finite capacity to process and retain information. It’s one thing to consume a wide range of shallow, unrelated bits of information, but without a deeper understanding, where does all that data go? If the information lacks depth, it doesn’t form strong neural connections, so we either forget it quickly or store it in a fragmented way, with weak links that don’t really integrate into our broader knowledge.
Research in neuroscience supports this. Studies show that deeper learning—when we focus on a subject with sustained attention and engage with it repeatedly—helps form stronger, more durable neural pathways. This concept, known as synaptic plasticity, explains how repeated exposure and understanding at a deeper level leads to stronger connections between neurons. In contrast, when we skim or briefly engage with surface-level information, the connections formed are weak and more likely to decay over time .
Long-form content doesn’t necessarily have to be writing ofcourse, but writing provides a structured way to represent thoughts. Even when you look at good content on YouTube, the best creators are still engaging in the writing process—they create scripts, rewrite, and refine their message to communicate with clarity. Behind those well-made videos is the same effort to organize and express ideas that goes into any form of quality long-form content. It’s about taking the time to dig deeper, whether through written words or spoken ones.
Look at how apps are evolving. Instagram started with pictures and captions, then we shifted to two-sentence catchphrases on Threads and Twitter. Even platforms like Medium have gained traction for longer, more thoughtful articles. Take Reddit, for instance—it may not be traditional long-form content, but the way comments build on the original post often turns it into one. The comments aren’t just reactions; they’re extensions of the conversation, unlike the simple "love" or "hate" responses you see on Instagram or Facebook. On Reddit, the discussion becomes part of the essay, deepening the content in a way that’s rare on other platforms.
For me, moving toward platforms like Reddit and Substack, alongside watching thoughtful YouTube videos and reading books, has been a shift in the right direction. It’s not just about consuming content anymore; it’s about seeking depth and understanding. Long-form content forces you to slow down and wrestle with ideas in a way that quick, bite-sized posts never will. You don’t just skim and move on—you have to sit with the ideas, think about them, let them marinate. That’s why long-form content matters. The process of digging deeper changes how you think, and in the end, that’s what sticks with you. If you want to actually understand something, there’s no shortcut for time and effort.