Why We Should Crush the “Starving Artist” Mentality
When I was in high school, a teacher of mine led a lesson about the relevancy of math in everyday life. We each went around the room to describe our future ambitions and discuss how math would help us to achieve our goals. When it was my turn, I said enthusiastically, “I want to be a performer.” And to that, my teacher replied, half-jokingly, “Well, you’ll probably just be counting your tips from waiting tables.”
I know that he meant no harm by that statement – and I do not blame him for believing that performers only do math in survival gigs. We are all familiar with the trope of an exhausted, overworked server counting their tips at the end of the night, sacrificing all comfort to pound the pavement in search of Broadway stardom.
That being said, this interaction has lingered in my head for a myriad of reasons. First, there is absolutely nothing shameful about working for tips or working in the service industry. These jobs require skill and training, they are vital, and they allow many artists to support their passion. Second, there are so many ways that math could be brought into that idealized life – artists actually need to know a lot about budgeting, taxes, healthcare plans, and investments.
Perhaps the most concerning implication, however, was that artists don’t actually get to…well, want things. At no point was it a consideration that I’d have anything specific to budget for. Our image of artists is that they scrape up just enough to get by. They do not live -- they simply survive.
Anyone who plans to pursue a career in the arts is prepared for a life of scarcity. We learn that sacrifice – whether it means forgoing healthcare, living in squalor, or committing to a grocery list of ramen noodles – is the key to success. Often, interactions with peers can feel like a scarcity competition. How much are you willing to give up for your art?
We feel guilty when we have dreams and passions beyond performance, and we feel like imposters when we opt to spend money on luxuries, like a non-shoebox living space or organic produce. Every day, we challenge ourselves to seek even more scarcity – where can I cut back? Where can I be even more frugal? It always feels like there’s never enough.
Spending/saving money with intention is crucial -- but we need to shift our mindsets from scarcity to abundance. Being an actor or a musician or a dancer, etc. does not mean you must always accept the bare minimum for your needs and self-care.
Of course, we always want our training and our passions to be at the forefront, but will all of those pursuits be worth the money if we are not well? How will your voice, your body, and your emotions engage in your creative work if your sleep, nourishment, and mental health are put on the backburner?
This mentality goes beyond finances as well. Performers are often asked to have a “YES” mentality – we audition for everything and take everything we are offered. But “the grind” should not overtake your joy.
Ask yourself -- do you actually want to audition for gigs where you can’t see your family on Christmas? Or are you just auditioning for them because you feel like you “should?” It’s okay to be honest with yourself about what your boundaries are and what really makes you happy. There are many experiences to be enjoyed in life and enjoying them does not make you less of an artist.
That being said, it’s critical to acknowledge that this industry has historically ingrained the “starving artist” mentality – enforcing that if you are not willing to sacrifice your health and well-being, you don’t belong.
We can all agree that a solid work ethic and a healthy amount of sacrifice (ie: not going out drinking the night before an audition or skipping an occasional outing to pay for your voice lesson) is necessary. But we need to dismantle the concept that artists are not deserving of respect and that we are selfish if we demand it. Jobs, especially non-equity, often do not pay adequately. Many do not provide health insurance.
The expectation is that performers should simply “love their craft” enough to need nothing else – but unfortunately, loving something isn’t enough to keep a human being alive. Some might respond to these circumstances with, “Well, that’s why you don’t go into the arts.” My response is: “We have work to do when it comes to valuing employees in the arts.”
In addition, it’s important to recognize that artists are worthy. At times, I certainly use self-deprecating humor toward my degree and my path in life – and in moderation, that’s in good fun. But if you truly believe that your degree is meaningless, your training isn’t useful, your gigs are futile, or that you’re destined to a life of scarcity, then it will become true.
As discussed, there are many external aspects of the industry that are not in our direct control and need restructuring, but the one thing we always have control over is our sense of self-worth and value. Choosing to go into the arts does not make you less worthy of living.
We also need to remove the concept that “survival jobs” in-between/during gigs need to miserable. As I mentioned, many people find joy and pride in the service industry. But if you are not one of those people, do not be afraid to say “No” and seek out other options. There are so many routes to support yourself when you have training in the arts – not to mention the fact that you’re allowed to have passions or interests or skills beyond performance. I encourage you to stop seeing any job as just a route to survival and start seeing value in every moment of your time.
Instead of dreading the fact that you may need other routes to support yourself, get excited about the fact that your life can have so many interesting facets. Of course, there are external factors to this. You may not always be in a job you love at every given moment. But give yourself permission to at least strive for a life of pure joy.
Artists are often trained to fear comfort. Comfort is giving up. Comfort is selling out. But I implore you to restructure your beliefs about what “comfort” really means. Going outside of your comfort zone doesn’t need to look like living in a closet or sleeping three hours per night. The simple act of auditioning is not comfortable. Advocating for equity in this industry is not comfortable. Having pride in your accomplishments, even if they don’t fit the Broadway bill, is not comfortable. Saying “No” to any job, person, or situation that depletes you or does not value you is not comfortable.
Discomfort does not need to equal suffering. At the end of a day’s work, you deserve to not “just” be counting your tips at the end of the night and hoping to get by – but intending to thrive.