Should I Get a “Real” Job?
Or: how I learned to stop worrying and love financial stability
There’s a question that keeps popping up in my DMs, at studio visits, and in those late-night group chats with other artists: “Should I just get a real job?” It’s usually followed by the kind of laugh you do when you’re half-joking but also spiralling inside.
But lately I’ve been wondering if this question isn’t a sign of failure. Maybe it’s actually the most practical thing we could be asking ourselves in 2025.
The Reality Check
I’ve been working as a professional illustrator since 2019, after dipping into freelancing back in 2017. I’ve had some genuinely amazing projects - a Raya and the Last Dragon activity book for Disney, Lucky Charms, D&D, and Little Golden Books.
On paper, I’m living the artist’s dream. Except that the paper is probably an overdue invoice.
Because the reality is: I’m still hustling to stay afloat. Rates get squeezed while rent, groceries, and even a humble cappuccino are suddenly priced like luxury items. My ADHD brain actually thrives on juggling multiple streams (illustration, teaching, content), but at some point, my “job” expanded into every waking moment. I’m planning work, chasing work, thinking about work, doing work - on an endless loop - just to keep things going.
And I know I’m not the only one.
One of my many hats is going to conventions and engaging with fandoms - here I’m tabling my stand while breastfeeding - you can’t get more multitasking than this.
The Great Monetisation Experiment
We were sold a dream: turn your passion into your paycheck. Follow your bliss and the money will follow.
Enter the “passion economy,” which promised we could all make a living by monetising every quirky little thing about ourselves. Morning coffee? Monetise it. Sketchbook doodle? Monetise it. Your entire identity? Monetise that too.
But somewhere along the way, we turned our art into factory work. Content calendars, algorithms, deadlines - our creativity packaged and shipped like any other commodity. Basically, we’ve turned our brains into little content factories, and honestly? I’d like to fire myself.
And here’s the kicker: this isn’t the story of a hobby I tried to monetise - I went all in on making art my career. And yet, even from the “inside,” it sometimes feels like the system is built to burn us out. Which makes me wonder: maybe keeping art separate from survival isn’t a cop-out, but a way to protect it.
When the Industry Shifts Beneath Your Feet
Every generation of artists has had its dragon. My animation teacher in Italy told me she could buy a car with her first few paychecks as a traditional animator. By the time she was teaching me? She was struggling to adapt to digital. Before that, photography “threatened” portrait painters. Industrial shifts always hit the arts first.
Right now, our dragons are AI, industry consolidation, algorithmic gatekeeping, and a creator economy so oversaturated that standing out feels like a full-time marketing degree. Even veteran artists I admire are scrambling as gigs get outsourced, automated, or just vanish.
Burnout isn’t just an artist problem - it’s a labour problem. When your survival depends on your imagination, the pressure can choke the very creativity you’re trying to sell.
The Liberation of the Day Job
Okay, hot take: what if getting a day job isn’t selling out, but actually buying back your sanity?
When you stop needing every sketch to be rent money, your art gets to be art again. Risky, weird, tender, unmarketable - whatever you want. You can say no to insulting offers. You can make the thing you actually want to make instead of what the algorithm “rewards.”
I’m not saying everyone should quit the art grind. If you’re thriving - great! Keep going. But if you’re one burnout spiral away from hating the thing you love, maybe it’s worth asking: what if a steady paycheck is what lets you keep making art at all?
I recently poked fun at the ‘artist cycle’ on Instagram - you can check out the original post here
What Does This Actually Look Like?
A “real” job doesn’t mean abandoning your art. It can mean:
• Financial breathing room. No more commissions you hate just to cover rent.
• Mental space. You actually have bandwidth for playful, innovative ideas.
• The luxury of choice. Pick projects because they excite you, not because they’re your only option.
• A sustainable pace. Steady income = no more feast-or-famine panic cycles.
• Community. Coworkers who aren’t artists might give you the social balance (and reality checks) you’re missing.
The Permission to Rest
Maybe the real question isn’t “Should I get a real job?” but “Why do I feel like I need permission to live sustainably?”
Creative industries have been selling us the myth that passion should equal profession - and if you step off that track, you’re a failure. But that’s nonsense. It’s perfectly reasonable to want healthcare, paid time off, or the right to close your laptop at 5 PM.
Your worth as an artist isn’t measured by whether your rent money comes from commissions. Wallace Stevens was writing poetry while working at an insurance company, and history is full of artists who only made their best work because they weren’t forced to monetise every brushstroke.
A Different Kind of Success
What if we redefined success?
Not follower counts, not gallery shows, not how many clients you squeezed into one month. But instead: art that feels true to you. Financial stability. Enough energy to actually enjoy life outside work. A practice that inspires rather than drains.
I’m not sure yet if I’ll take my own advice and get a “real job.” But I am done pretending that financial stability = failure. Maybe the most radical thing we can do right now is refuse to martyr ourselves for the illusion that suffering is what makes us “real artists.”
Because honestly? Aunty Barbara might have been onto something (though for all the wrong reasons). Sometimes, the most creative thing you can do is make sure you can actually afford to keep creating.
What about you? Are you considering a day job, or have you already made the switch? Drop me a comment or DM - I’d love to hear how you’re navigating this too.
