Starfleet puts Lt. Commander Data on trial in the “Star Trek: The Next Generation” episode “The Measure of a Man,” arguing that the android is property, not a person.
The case is about autonomy: who gets to control the fruits of someone’s mind and labour — and who gets paid?
Back in the early days of the web, a shared belief united dot-com entrepreneurs: every artist deserves an equal chance. A teenager in Kapuskasing could build an audience just like an elite Manhattan magazine. Media pundits like me got knocked down a peg. We needed that.
The internet was supposed to make us all potential creators who could earn real money.
That promise didn’t vanish. It got punched around by black-box Big Tech algorithms, ad dependency, and later, streaming empires that rebuilt the digital economy in their own image.
Now, 30 years after Bill Gates declared that “content is king,” we’re in a new era.
Great content, like “Star Trek” spinoffs and films, still matters. But the creator is today’s captain.
In 2026, I see artists quitting ad-driven platforms rapidly, building direct-to-audience businesses at scale. They get back autonomy, time, and money. AI tools have slashed production costs to cents on the dollar and cut turnaround times from weeks to days. Fintech has made it far easier to charge, collect, and get paid across borders.
Say goodbye to Hollywood, hello Creatorhood.
Consider what artists can now spin up.
Filmmakers TzuJung Lin, Jiaze Li, and Zhetao Huang, known collectively as DiDi_OK, used AI tools — Nano Banana, Veo3, Runway, and Suno — to craft a clever seven-minute, simulation-themed film “Arrow.” It cost next to nothing and reportedly went viral across China.
AI now democratizes scripting, visuals, music, and editing in solo mode. It’s also pushing creators to ditch platforms that throttle reach, take hefty cuts, or bury work behind opaque rules.
This shift is arriving just as consumer irritation with the peak-platform model hits a wall: double-digit price hikes, password crackdowns, sneaky bundling, and relentless ad creep. Subscribers are fed up. Young viewers, especially, see through the consolidation racket.
The more the giants merge, the narrower the choice and the higher the bill. Somewhere between the fourth login and the sixth price hike, audiences rediscover the beauty of patronage: pay the creator directly.
Canada sits at the coal face of this shift.
Ottawa’s Online Streaming Act, passed in 2023, triggered a creative and commercial reckoning. The CRTC’s implementation tries to compel foreign platforms to fund Canadian storytelling, but it has met pushback from the very creators it was meant to help.
Whether Netflix or YouTube foots the bill, their pricing and product strategies still land on consumers. That ripple effect squeezes domestic streamers like Crave, whose cost structures can’t easily absorb regulatory whiplash or foreign pricing shocks.
“It remains incredibly difficult for Canadian podcasts to earn an income from traditional advertising models,” says Kattie Laur, principal and executive producer at Pod the North, a podcasting service and newsletter. “So Canadian podcasters have really been relying on direct-to-audience revenue models like Patreon and Substack to keep them afloat.”
South of the border, Paramount Skydance recently bought The Free Press, launched as a Substack newsletter in 2021, for $150 million (U.S.). Thanks to Stripe-enabled paywalls, course memberships, and micro-payments, creator “solopreneurs” are popping up everywhere.
Payout cycles are shrinking. As more of the compliance, onboarding, and payout logic gets automated, creator businesses can earn near-daily payouts — and split revenue programmatically among collaborators. And they can treat each film, episode, or class like its own small storefront: set pricing, access, and splits; sell directly; and keep the relationship and the data.
The winners in 2026 will be those creators whose brand is intimacy and trust.
The losers? Bloated intermediaries clinging to legacy economics. As audiences tire of all-you-can-watch bundles and recommender fatigue, the middle hollows out. As streamers keep chasing global consolidation, their margins and cultural resonance inexorably shrink.
For Canadian artists, this augurs well. Our tradition of public storytelling and smaller-scale media craft could thrive anew if creators seize their independence.
If the 1990s were about democratizing publication, 2026 may be the year we finally democratize the economics of creativity. The pendulum swings back toward the producer and away from the algorithm-ad-tech colossus.
Now the tools, the payment rails, and the audience mood have aligned to break the platform’s grip.
In 2026, creators stop playing by someone else’s rules.
