The freemium trap that's burning out community builders (and how to avoid it)

Why giving away too much for free might be hurting both you and your members

Photo by Georg Eiermann on Unsplash

Sometimes stepping back is the most strategic move we can make.

If you've been a subscriber to Community Matters for a while, you may have noticed that for the first time since starting, I didn't write to you in May. Normally I wouldn't mention that—but I think the reason matters.

It was an unplanned, but valued timeout. In his book Click: How to Make What People Want, Jake Knapp writes that a clear strategy starts with a clear calendar.

"Figuring out a project's strategy takes intense focus… The normal way of working does not allow for intense focus… The solution is straightforward: call a timeout, drop everything—all the constant emails, meetings, context switching—and come together to think hard, make big decisions, and master the basics."

That space was exactly what I needed.

So I paused. I hosted a member listening session. I surveyed my community. I read books that had been waiting for me for months. I listened to new voices and to my own instincts. And I began to revisit the fundamentals—not just of my own business model, but of what’s working today in our digital gathering spaces.

And the question that kept surfacing was this:

How do we build community that's both generous and sustainable? When is "free" freeing—and when is it quietly depleting everyone involved?

Which brings me to today's topic—and one of the most common dilemmas I hear from clients, members, and creators alike:

Does a community always need a price tag?

This question deserves a nuanced answer.

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Imagine walking into a beautiful gym. The front desk tells you: "You can use the first floor for free—a few machines, the smoothie bar, and two group classes a week. But everything else—the yoga studio, the rooftop track, the personal training suite—is on the second floor. That requires a membership."

So you stay on the first floor. You kind of get a workout. But it's piecemeal. And over time, it feels a little underwhelming.

Meanwhile, the gym's staff isn't investing much in the free floor—because they're not being paid to. The classes feel thin. Some machines sit broken. You get what you paid for. 

But if the free experience feels lackluster, why would you trust that the paid version is better?

Now compare that to platforms that create clear friction. Spotify bombards free users with ads every 15 minutes. Netflix lets you watch trailers, not full shows. Premium newsletters show you the subject line and opening paragraphs, then cut off. 

That kind of friction works. It says: "Here's the value—and here's where it ends." You know exactly what you're missing, and why the upgrade matters.

In communities, creating that same clear friction is much harder.

When your free tier includes access to you—your ideas, your energy, your presence—members often don't upgrade.

Not because they're ungrateful, but because their need already feels met.

I call this the freemium trap in community building. It's the belief that: "If I just give people a taste, they'll want more—and they'll upgrade."

But in community spaces, the upgrade path isn't always clear. If members are already getting resources, facilitation, or support for free…they don't see the need to pay for more of the same, even if your paid space is significantly better. 

It's like serving champagne and charcuterie at the door—and then hoping guests will opt in to the pricey five-course meal. Most guests just fill up on snacks.

Not to mention that it's a double-edged sword.

Members who aren’t paying rarely contribute meaningfully. You've trained people not to invest. 

So, you work harder just to keep the space alive.

And when you try to sell them a "premium" version of that same community, the friction isn't high enough to inspire action.

You end up burned out.

They stay passive.

And no one gets what they actually need.

When Free Works—and When It Gets Tricky

Free works brilliantly for brand communities.

These spaces support products that are already monetized elsewhere. Think LEGO Ideas. Apple Support. Notion Ambassadors.

People aren't paying for the community—they've already bought the product. The community is a value-add.

In these cases, community reduces customer support burden, offers valuable product feedback, nurtures additional sales and referrals, and fuels brand loyalty.

Free works here because the community is not the product.

The business model is already sound.

Things get more complex when you're a founder building community around your own insight or methodology. People join to access your guidance and build peer relationships. They're seeking accountability and shared transformation.In this model, your community is the offer.

And, when you give a version of that away for free, you send a confusing signal: This is valuable—but not worth investing in.

And then you burn out trying to sustain it. You wait (and hope) for people to upgrade. But they rarely do.

Because transformation already happened—without a transaction.

The Reciprocity Principle

Free isn't inherently bad, but free without commitment often leads to drift. And drift is the opposite of belonging.

True community requires mutual investment. When people cross a threshold—through money, time, or intention—they show up differently, with deeper commitment and engagement.

It's basic human psychology - when we put something at stake, we're more committed to making it work. We're more likely to follow through. That commitment is what makes people show up consistently, engage meaningfully, and take action on what they learn. It's also the secret ingredient that inspires member-led co-creation.

This sense of ownership and belonging changes everything about how members engage. I see this clearly in The Hive. What I've learned from our members is that they don't want more content—they want help curating and making sense of the flood of information available. They want connections to each other and a sandbox environment where they can get guidance for how to keep moving forward when they hit inevitable hurdles.

Alternatives to the Freemium Trap

If you've been offering a generous free space with hopes of upgrading people later, here are a few suggestions for what to try instead.

Start by offering generous content—not free access. Keep sharing your thoughts in newsletters, podcasts, or social posts. But reserve your community space—the real container—for those who are invested.

Focus on selling transformation, not content. Your paid space isn't for more, more, more. Rather, you’re inviting members into a space of belonging. It’s where members get unstuck, where they move from idea to action. People pay for outcomes.

And if you want to offer a taste, make it time-bound. Host a sprint, a challenge, or a short workshop. Give people a meaningful experience—but with a clear end.

Don't water it down. Make it your best work. But don't leave the door wide open forever.

The key question isn't "Should my community be free or paid?" but rather: "What business model aligns with the value I'm creating and the transformation I'm promising?"

If your community promises significant growth—helping members increase revenue, advance professionally, improve health outcomes, or build better relationships—that value warrants appropriate investment.

You don’t need to give it all away to prove it matters.

To building spaces worth investing in,

P.S. If you're wrestling with pricing questions for your own community, I'd love to be a thought partner. Sometimes talking through the nuances with someone who's seen hundreds of community models can help clarify your path forward.

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Have you found yourself caught in the freemium trap, or discovered an approach that works beautifully for your audience?

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