A note from the founder
I built a $50-a-month subscription that gives you nothing
Here is everything a Vanar membership includes: a monthly bill.
No coaching. No app to check. No course, no community feed, no streaks, no badges, no guarantee. You pick one goal you keep putting off, you choose monthly dues you would genuinely rather not lose, and then you go and do the work. We don't do it for you. We don't even check.
People's first reaction is to laugh. The second reaction, from the people this is actually for, is a longer pause.
The problem isn't information
Most of the people I know who are stuck are not stuck because they don't know what to do. They know. They have known for a while.
The person who wants to write the book has read the books about writing books. The person who wants to launch the startup has a logo, a domain, and a Notion workspace so organised it could be framed. The person who wants to be less glued to their phone has, somewhere on that phone, three apps that promise to help.
The advice is free and infinite. The planning is enjoyable. The starting is the part that never quite happens.
I wanted to build something for a specific person: someone who has already done a lot right. The career is moving, the wins are real. And there is a next chapter they have been meaning to write for years: the book, the company, the half marathon. They don't need a stranger on the internet to motivate them. They are ready to start it.
Why charge for nothing?
Because the things that are free are the easiest things to ignore.
A free app costs nothing to abandon. A motivational video costs nothing to forget. Even the things we pay for once, like the course or the planner or the annual subscription, fade quickly, because the money is already gone and nothing reminds us of it.
A monthly bill is different. It arrives. It is specific. It asks, every month, a slightly rude question: is this still worth it?
That question is the entire product.
I want to be precise here, because I dislike products that overclaim. I am not telling you that paying Vanar will make you finish your book. There is decent evidence that money on the line changes some people's behaviour some of the time. I will write about that research separately soon, including where it cuts against us. Vanar is built on a reasonable hypothesis: a named goal, a cost you notice, and a bit of dry honesty make it harder to keep postponing. It is not a promise.
What you actually do
- Name one goal. One. Not a vision board. Write the damn book. Launch the startup. Put the phone away at dinner.
- Set your dues by how much it matters. Anywhere from $20 to $5,000 a month. Let the amount match the goal: the bigger the promise, the bigger the dues can be. The thing you will regret at seventy might be worth a lot more. It should feel meaningful, never painful: if an amount would cause you real hardship, it is the wrong amount. (Dues are charged in rupees, at a fixed $1 = ₹100.)
- Decide who sees it. Members are listed on our public board as “Vanar member”, with a seat number and their dues. Add your name if you want it there. Your goal stays private unless you choose Public. You can leave the board anytime.
- Do the work. That's it. That's the membership.
You can cancel future renewals from your account whenever you like. The bill is meant to be a nudge, not a trap.
Who it is for (and who it isn't)
Vanar is for people with a track record they are proud of and a next chapter they are ready to start. People who find hustle culture exhausting and self-help a bit embarrassing, but who know exactly what that chapter is.
It is not for anyone looking for treatment, a cure, crisis support, or a guarantee. If what you are dealing with is heavier than procrastination, please talk to someone qualified. A subscription is the wrong tool for that, and I would rather lose the sale than pretend otherwise.
Why the tone?
Because earnestness has been done. Everyone selling self-improvement sounds like a sunrise with a voice-over. I would rather make you laugh at the excuse than lecture you about the dream. The jokes are aimed at the machinery of procrastination (the "I'll start Monday", the tenth productivity app), never at you.
Our line is: Pay. Then do the f*cking work. It is blunt because the idea is blunt. The payment isn't the work. It just makes the work harder to keep avoiding.
The letters on our crest
Look closely at the ring around our crest. It isn’t a slogan. It is the first letter of sixteen alphabets: अ for Hindi and Sanskrit, అ for Telugu, അ for Malayalam, அ for Tamil, ಅ for Kannada, অ for Bengali, ਅ for Punjabi, અ for Gujarati and ଅ for Odia; A for English and Spanish, Α for Greek, А for Russian, א for Hebrew, ا for Arabic, あ for Japanese and 가 for Korean.
Every language starts with a first letter. Every goal starts with a first step. And the people starting their next chapter aren’t in one city or one country. The club is for them wherever they are, in whatever language they make their excuses.
The part I find hopeful
When you claim your spot on our site, the page slowly turns from night to morning, and the Concierge says, a little sarcastically: The sun came up. Annoyingly, so did your to-do list.
But I mean it more than the joke suggests. Most of us don't need a new plan. We need a first morning.
— Founder, Vanar