I never expected to make a million doing what I now do, but I did think I would be able to make enough to pay my bills even if I never really had enough for holidays or a social life. I didn't need those things to survive. It would be okay. If you find yourself in this situation, don't worry. You are not alone. I am going to tell you a story about the price of doing what you love.
I am often reminded that historically, our greatest artists lived poverty-stricken lives for their art. They often died poor, their creations only making millions years, sometimes hundreds of years, after their deaths. Even today the notion of the struggling artist is a standard image of creative people, that we never really make enough because art and creativity and 'made things' which don't roll off a factory line are a frippery, unnecessary extras, and not worth a living wage price tag. Yes I do know the mantra 'do a job you love, and you will never work a day in your life', but it isn't that simple.
I started my business as a knee-jerk reaction to my desperation to get out of the monotony of the 9 - 5 working in offices with appalling office politics, soulless boring work and no possibility of ever feeling like I was doing something worth the effort. I wanted to make clothes, I didn't want to become a household name and have lots of shops. I just wanted to make stuff, sell stuff and pay my dues. I would have been happy doing that on the side if the day job hadn't been such a miserable existence. So 13 years ago, I took a leap of faith and put everything on the line, because I knew that if I didn't give it a go, I would never know.
It wasn't quite that simple, and I sporadically held down other jobs, which I did whilst building my little empire. I mostly stuck to short contract and part-time office work (at least the misery had an end date). I also dabbled in building management, which dovetailed well with my running my business. It meant that my own business felt like a side hustle, but a worthwhile one, and the creative outlet I needed to stay sane.
Four years ago, that rug was pulled out from under my feet at spectacular speed and regular employment ceased. I took it as a sign that it was time to turn my business into a full time concern. It looked like the stars had aligned. Things began to improve over the next 12 months. I felt like this was the next stage of my journey. This was it! I sustained my basic life with savings whilst I nurtured and grew my business, and I learned how to go without and downscale. It was a worthy sacrifice. It felt satisfying.
Then Covid hit. To be fair, I did quite well during 2020 because I sell online. I was working from home full time by then, so my routine didn't really change. I pivoted to provide what people wanted, and I worked hard to make the most of the trapped at home consumer market. In some respects, Covid is now over and things have become a struggle, although that may be because like many people I made the mistake of using 2020 as a benchmark. I am not the only one. There are enormous challenges going forward and as the cost of living rises and the country seems to swing from one economic crisis to another, like many, I am no longer able to pay my bills.
I am always flexible about my options, and I am currently nurturing some new side hustles which fit with my work pattern and buy me some time as well as an income. They may turn out to be enough to tip the balance, but as the cost of life continues to rise, I'm not so sure my faith in my abilities is worth staying true to. But if I quit, where do I go? Back to the office life I hated which pays easy money, to find myself in a few years making another escape plan? Because that is ultimately where I will end up - going round in long-winded circles.
It has left me wondering what the point is of doing what I love if it can't keep a roof over my head. Yes, this is a calling, but there is no point in a calling if it prevents you from doing 'life'.
I have always accepted that you pay the price for doing what you love, for not toeing the line, knuckling down and living for work rather than working to live. And maybe that's a fault in me. I shouldn't follow this mantra, but it's a stereotype that is hard to shake off. I never had the luxury of a 9-5 that was the career I wanted. Work was always there to fill a financial gap which that enabled me to do what I really loved in my spare time.
I got fed up with office life 2009, after 17 years. In my last job, I worked with people approaching retirement who hated their 9-5 life. They were bitter and twisted by it, and had been there for years. I didn't get why you would spend two thirds of your life in perpetual misery just for the weekend, or the guarantee of a few years of retirement. I worked with resentful people caught up in an office politics mentality. It was my snapping point, and I walked away with a plan.
A job in the industry I wanted to be in was an even worse option. Fashion is a miserable career unless you are at the top of your game. I don't have the right personality for it. I didn't want to be someone's dogsbody, tea maker or underpaid slave just for the privilege of having a fashion house name on my CV and I couldn't align with the ethics of the industry. I listened to other people's experiences and knew I couldn't go down that route. I had a taste of what that would be like just from being at University, and I already knew I didn't want it. The mindset was toxic.
But when it comes to the bottom line and the 9-5 you hate puts food on the table and a roof over your head and at least gives you some sense of financial security and dependability, what do you do? Making things, being creative and keeping your own hours might seem idyllic, but it needs to feel successful beyond creation to keep you in the moment. The rose-tinted notion of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood - the new romantics - doesn't really work in 2022, if it ever did at all.
Is selling out the wrong thing to do, or a necessary evil to retain, at least in part, a lifestyle where I already want for so little?
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