The Ask That Changed Everything
💲Financial Management: The entertainment industry loves a martyr. But your career will only grow when you stop shrinking yourself to fit the budget.
The email about coming on board to produce a new project had barely hit my inbox, and already I knew it would be a grind. Too many cooks. Chaotic timeline. Fragile financing. Big egos.
The kind of job where you’re already exhausted and all you’ve done is skim the script.
But like so many gigs in this industry, it came wrapped in that familiar blend of urgency, flattery and implied opportunity. It looked like it might be important. And I really didn’t want to fall off the fickle industry radar.
So instead of walking away, I made a bet.
I quoted them a rate that was three times what I had been charging. I picked the number that would let me hate the job in peace, if it came to that.
I simultaneously thought they’d laugh. I thought they’d run.
Well, they didn’t. Without missing a beat, they replied, “Sounds good. Send over the contract.”
And I sat there, stunned.
That moment cracked something open in me.
I realized that for years I’d been undervaluing my work, thinking that if I just proved myself enough, the money would catch up later. I told myself that it was professionally savvy to accept the financial limitations of showbiz. That I was being realistic. That low budgets were a badge of artistic integrity.
But the truth was simpler: I didn’t believe I could ask for more. And because I didn’t believe it, no one felt required to pay me more. Why would they? There’s no employer on earth who will raise an initial offer unless you ask or walk away.
That one reply—“send over the contract”—showed me that the gap between starving and thriving wasn’t talent, or timing or even who you knew. It was how willing you were to stake a claim for your own value.
You Can’t Step Into a Bigger Career While Shrinking Yourself to Fit the Budget
The entertainment industry loves a martyr.
It loves the artist who pulls all-nighters for passion projects. Who accepts low rates for the credit. Who proves their worth by how little they need, how much they can endure and how grateful they are just to be in the room.
I lived that story for years.
I thought that if I could just keep the budget lean enough, stretch every resource and work myself to the bone, the project would reward me with higher paying gigs. I thought I could starve a project and myself into good health.
But that’s not how creative ecosystems thrive.
What actually happened? I built productions on budgets that left no room for rest or risk or the inevitable curveball. I praised my ability to survive, even as I burned out the people around me.
There is a cost to undercharging and overextending. It shows up in your team’s morale, your body’s exhaustion and your quiet (?) resentment at being endlessly applauded for doing “so much with so little.”
At some point, you have to decide: are you here to be impressive in your scarcity or impactful in your strength?
Because if you want a bigger career—a more stable one, a better-paid one, a respected one—you have to start behaving like someone who already lives in that future.
And that begins with the bold ask.
The uncomfortable quote.
The “what if they walk away?” number.
Every time you underprice yourself just to get the job, you reinforce a truth you know you want to leave behind: that you are disposable. That you can be swapped out for someone cheaper. That your work is valuable, but not that valuable.
Sometimes the most powerful moment in your creative career isn’t landing the job. It’s realizing that the job isn’t the prize. You are.
I love what you share here! Thanks for shining a light. It encourages me to be even more bold.