I'm launching a company that makes physical books with soundtracks, and I’m building it in Omaha, Nebraska.
Not audiobooks. Not ebooks with sound effects. Not augmented reality books. Actual paper books—the kind you hold in your hands, with ink on matte paper stock—that play synchronized audio as you turn the pages. From a technology standpoint, we use computer vision and rely on your phone (which you already own) to play the corresponding audio. No buttons, no expensive hardware embedded in the spine, and no tapping to scan every page as you turn. It is an ambient experience merging audio with ink, rather than just adding more pixels.
It's called Radioposter, and building it in the Midwest, where I grew up, feels right in a way I'm still figuring out how to articulate.
It seems like it would make more sense to launch from Brooklyn or London—cities with centuries of publishing infrastructure and access to the largest media sources. But the Midwest is particularly good at niche publishing and making physical things. Also, we make paper here. A lot of it. We understand materials, production processes, and supply chains. Minneapolis and Chicago already host some of the nation's most vibrant independent publishing houses. The infrastructure and talent are here; what's missing is the experimental R&D layer that merges our manufacturing of paper and publishing with emerging technology.
So, here's my admittedly audacious pitch: the Midwest should become the global capital of tech-integrated paper media. Or what I've been calling Paper-Fi, because every niche movement needs a good name.
Yes, this is a niche market. Maybe a very niche market. But I think we're entering an era where specialized fanbases are how culture actually works now—not lowest-common-denominator content algorithmically optimized for maximum engagement. If we can have the "pinball capital of the world" in Chicago, why not have the "Paper-Fi capital of the world" in Omaha?
I'm banking on the digital-to-analog movement, but with a twist.
A quick Google search for "digital to analog 2026" reveals a wealth of opinion pieces declaring this the year of analog. Independent bookstores are reporting sales growth, influencers are marketing Bluetooth landline phones, and IRL social clubs dedicated to deleting your social profiles and celebrating are popping up. People are tired of screens—not in a Luddite sense, but out of a desire for physical objects they can touch and truly own. This digital-to-analog shift isn't about rejecting technology; it is about making technology ambient, moving it to the background so we can focus our attention on the material world.
Meanwhile, "Dead Internet Theory" and AI slop have made it clear that open web content, as we knew it, is over. More people are craving human-made things, artistically built experiences, and the kind of depth that doesn't optimize for engagement metrics. I believe that 2026 is the year of analog but here's the twist: I believe this movement isn't just digital or just analog. It's a hybrid, with digital communities fueling the creation of new physical objects, and physical objects embedding invisible powers from the internet into their design to challenge the screentime overlords.
Radioposter is my attempt to give print media one of the superpowers internet media has: the ability to merge visuals and sound in real-time. But I want to do it in a way that keeps you off the screen, doesn't require hardware in the paper, and doesn't require you to buy $800 AR glasses (though we support those too). I want the experience to be as accessible as buying a physical book. And that's what I've solved in the prototype stage.
The Midwest and this movement.
There's something clarifying about working on this far from the traditional publishing capitals—it forces you to think differently about what paper media can become. It forces you to try weird things.
I'm not naive about the challenges. This is a prototype-stage company with 30,000 copies of our first book available for pre-order. We're in the phase of gathering feedback from the pilot book, building the library, and proving there's significant demand for this new medium. We are also proving our hypothesis that this is a new, economically viable canvas for real journalists, designers, musicians, and other artists to create on.
If the Midwest can become a place where artists, engineers, printers, and publishers collaborate on experimental R&D projects that merge paper and technology, we might create something that doesn't exist anywhere else in the world. It will be niche, but it will be ours. And the timing seems right.
Maybe Paper-Fi is too specific a category to claim. Maybe I'm overestimating how many people want books with soundtracks. Maybe the analog movement will be a fleeting trend. But 2026 seems like the right time to aim for something tangible and strange instead of building another app optimizing for screentime attention.
The web gave us infinite content. The Midwest can give us finite, beautifully crafted paper stories and audio soundtracks worth holding onto.