How to determine your own value
On money, accolades, disrespect and who gets to say what has worth
My first thought when I sat down to write this newsletter was to let ‘the academy’ have both barrels over the snubbing of Greta Gerwig and Margot Robbie for Barbie. (I bet they were quaking in their boots.) Then I realised that – of course! – the internet had already spent the best part of 24 hours venting its spleen over these omissions and my own spleen would add precisely nothing to the argument. Added to which, I can imagine that much as I’m sure the outpouring of support is heartening, Gerwig might like to stop seeing her own name and snub in the same sentence every time she checks her socials. What I will say is this: eight female directors have been nominated for an Oscar in 95 years. Eight. I think that says it all.
All of which I didn’t think had much to do with this piece, until I finished it. As you’ll see.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about money this week, in as much as it’s the physical embodiment of value. I know. Who doesn’t? It’s the bain of most of our lives. Particularly at this time of year when we’re all skint and have tax and credit card bills up the wazoo. But in this instance, I was thinking about it largely, but not exclusively, because of something I overheard when I was with a group of friends and colleagues last week. And what I overheard was this:
“Surely nobody bothers to claim £150!”
I’m sorry, what?
You, like me, might want to read that again before I go on.
I’ll wait while you do.
This happened amongst a group of people I know, largely through work, of various ages, backgrounds and incomes. We were discussing a subject I know will be close to many of your hearts: the appalling fees paid to experienced and accomplished event chairs (and authors) by the publishing industry and many (not all!) festivals. The person who had come up with the above gem then expressed surprise when someone else politely informed them that, yes, in fact, most people do “bother to claim” £150.
I’m afraid I’ve got one of those faces – the sort of face that makes it impossible for me to play poker – so I dread to think what my face was saying while this exchange was going on, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t repeatable in polite company.
I did manage, uncharacteristically, to keep my gob shut at the time, but I was still marinating on this a few days later when a second thing happened.
I was chatting to a friend about her wife. As an extremely talented, experienced professional at the top of her field she makes a tidy living, and then some, from a host of well-paid consultancies. But at some point between coffee one and coffee two, my friend described her wife as “being expected to do it for love”. Now I happen to know that the love in question is invoiced out at approximately six figures a pop. Fortunately I was able to bury my troublesome face in a grande black americano and swallow the sharp retort just before it left my mouth. But had it escaped, it would have gone something along the lines of, “No, doing it for love usually involves being asked/expected to give your time for free, frowned at if you ask what the fee is and having to fight for travel expenses”. And I would have been one friend down. Probably. And I don’t have so many I can afford to discard them so easily.
Maybe that’s just me. (The being expected to share my expertise gratis, not the shortage of friends.) But I know it isn’t. Because very many people I know who a) work in the creative, media or fashion industries, b) are self-employed and c) are often but not exclusively female are routinely expected to “do it for love”.