What happens when a culture built around selection and belonging, like tattooing, meets companies that discover they can monetise our desire to be among the selected few?
Modern Life Is Doing Someone Else’s Job For Free
I was driving home late the other night and decided to stop off. I made my way into the deserted services and headed towards the only open shop in search of coffee.
I selected my cup, poured my drink and put a lid on it. On my way to the till I grabbed a chocolate bar and then started the process of selecting the products I had and paying for them.
On my way out I realised that, during my entire stop, I hadn’t interacted with a single human being.
And that I’d done all the things that staff used to be paid to do.
I’d done it all myself and yet I’d still paid the same price — if not more — for a coffee and a chocolate bar.
My general irritation of being expected to perform tasks that used to be somebody else’s responsibility, I think, is a symptom of our modern world.
This symptom is called shadow work. Shadow work on Wikipedia
Now, I don’t object to doing things myself. I object to being quietly transferred somebody else’s work and being told it’s an improvement.
This is happening everywhere around us. Self checkouts. Separating your recycling. All these little jobs that used to be somebody else’s responsibility are increasingly being handed back to us.
Now, automation is not new and replacing humans with machines isn’t either. But transferring the work to the consumer is and it’s changing how businesses do business.
And, quite honestly, I dislike it intensely.
Then I Realised I’d Volunteered
The more I think about how ridiculous doing other people’s work for free actually is, the more it grinds my gears.
And like anything, when you suddenly pay attention to something you start to realise that you’ve been doing it longer than you think, in areas that, at first, you may not even recognise as shadow work.
It wasn’t until I thought about tattooing that I thought:
Hang on. I’ve done exactly this.
In tattooing.
I’ve had sponsors. I still have sponsors. I’ve had good sponsorships and I’ve had bad sponsorships.
I’m lucky enough to have experienced genuinely useful exchanges where both sides brought something valuable to the party. And I’ve experienced arrangements where, looking back, I was essentially expected to become part of a street team.
In the olden days, being asked to join a pro-team was a big deal. Only a very special few artists were offered this opportunity. So if you got asked it was, kind of, an accolade.
This, of course, created an ‘arms race’. Companies trying to secure the best artists for their teams and artists clamouring to get picked, by anyone.
Artists began proudly displaying their many sponsors on their Instagram and in their booths. It’s now got so bad that convention organisers are having to ban company logos in artist booths that look more like banner shops than a place to display art.
The deals have evolved. Pro-teams that were, for a very short time, a sign of legacy and quality became ambassador programmes. The ‘whatever you need in return for telling people how you use the product’ deal became a 20% discount in return for access to your audience and a weekly schedule of posts for the ‘sponsor’.
This is shadow work.
But, you’re not just doing someone else’s job for free. You’re also giving away something you’ve spent years building for a few magic beans. And, just like Jack, you’re not getting as good deal as you think you are.
Now, you may be listening to this and hear me describing a deal you have. I’m not calling you stupid, I’ve been there myself.
The truth is that being selected feels valuable. Right?
“Pro team.”
“Sponsor.”
“Ambassador.”
“Supported artist.”
You might be forgiven for thinking these words carry status. And they might.
But why does being selected matter so much to tattooists?
Tattooing Was Built Around Being Selected
But why does being selected matter so much to tattooists? Well, historically, being selected actually meant something. If an established tattooist accepted you as an apprentice, you weren’t receiving a badge.
You were being given access to:
- knowledge
- equipment
- professional networks
- reputation
- opportunity
- a route into the profession
And, once you were no longer an apprentice, lineage could provide credibility. So, quite naturally, tattooing developed a cultural association between being accepted, belonging, legitimacy and professional value.
Now, even though this could be a perfectly valid argument, honestly I don’t think that’s it. Yes, Tattoo culture taught us that selection mattered. In the early days of sponsorships I think a sponsorship could have been seen as a simple extension of that cultural norm. But the modern sponsorship idea, in my opinion, doesn’t come from there.
When Brands Learned the Same Language
Relatively recently commercial companies entered a culture that already understand selection as a marker of professional worth. The company didn’t have to invent the desire. It’s was already there. They just had to start using the same language.
- Join our team.
- Become a pro.
- Be a sponsored artists.
- Represent us.
The brands discovered that they could attach themselves to an existing cultural currency and simply started offering a status that more career orientated tattooist had used to make themselves look a bit ‘extra’ to clients. These are the same tattooists that put how many awards they’ve won in their bios etc.
And, for the record, there’s nothing wrong with any of this. Artists used sponsorships and awards as a signal to potential clients. “I’ve won all these awards and I’m sponsored by these companies” essentially says “so I must be good”, right?
And the companies that first created the sponsorships were simply saying “look at how many great artists use and recommend our product” essentially saying “so It must be good”, right?
All of this is perfectly reasonable behaviour and it happens in lots of other creative fields. When I played a guitar for a living I was given free guitars and strings in return for them being visible on stage and/or credited on the back of the albums.
Tattoo Artist Sponsorship: The Exchange Has Changed
Historically, selection often meant being given something you couldn’t easily obtain elsewhere.
- Knowledge.
- Access.
- Opportunity.
- Mentorship.
- Professional credibility.
But, the modern commercial version has become ‘You give us credibility, visibility, content and endorsement and We give you a discount’.
We, the artists, are the people trading something brands can’t easily obtain. A brands success is largely made by the users. Us. Giving the brand the kind of credibility it just can’t build without well respected, professionals endorsing it’s use.
And that’s where the problem lies. Not because discounts are bad and not because sponsorships are bad.
But because the cultural language of professional selection can disguise the economic reality of the exchange. When a commercial company borrows the cultural language of professional selection but changes the economic exchange the balance shifts.
Artists want to be sponsored by anyone just so they can say that they are. Even though the extra ‘cred’ that came with a pro-team deal is long gone.
Take the infamous blue tick as an example. When you had to qualify to get one, everyone wants one. But now you can just pay for one? No-one cares.
For more context on how a contemporary tattoo artist sponsorship can work in practice, this tattoo artist sponsorship guide from Killer Ink describes discounts or free products alongside expectations around tagging, promotion and content.
Shadow Work for Creatives
My local supermarket gets me to scan my own shopping. The brands that hit me up every week with deals want me to do their marketing.
There’s a difference.
A tattooist entering into a brand deal isn’t simply doing somebody else’s labour. They’re contributing something they have spent years building.
- Their reputation.
- Their audience.
- Their credibility.
- Their taste.
- Their influence.
- Their professional identity.
And often they don’t recognise those things as assets because they don’t look like products. So they give the most valuable thing they have away for cheap. Sometimes for free.
What Have You Actually Built?
You’ve spent years becoming somebody whose recommendation matters, to fellow artists and brands. You’ve built an audience. Developed expertise. Earned trust.
You’ve built a reputation.
Those things have economic value and companies understand that. But, the uncomfortable question is:
If a company is willing to give me something in exchange for access to those things, why do I think those things are worth less than what they’re offering?
And this feeling that everything that’s not your art is worthless is incredibly common amongst artists in all fields. We all suffer from imposter syndrome and are desperate for validation whether we like to admit it or not. So when a brand or company comes along and offers a quick fix that will give you a bit of self confidence in return for something that you see as a by product of your art, who wouldn’t jump at the chance?
This is how musicians lose the rights to their songs and commercial artists lose the rights to their own work. I know this because I’ve been both of those people in my life. I learnt this lesson the hard way and I’m trying to help you avoid it.
I’m Not Saying Don’t Do It
Now, I don’t want you takeaway from this to become: “Never work for free.”
That’s not my philosophy. Creatives can absolutely give things away.
- You can collaborate.
- You can support companies.
- You can accept discounts.
- You can work with brands.
I do all of these things on a regular basis but I’m very careful to make sure that I fully understand the exchange and then, and only then, I chose it deliberately.
Put simply, there’s a huge difference between:
“I’m giving this away because I want to.”
and:
“I don’t realise I’m giving anything away.”
There are perfectly legitimate exchanges. There are artists who deliberately choose to give things away. There are brands that genuinely benefit artists. The problem isn’t the deal.
It’s not knowing the value of your side of the deal.
The Philosophy of Creative Ownership
Creative ownership isn’t just owning the copyright to something you’ve made. It’s recognising the value of everything you’ve accumulated Who Owns What You’re Building? on the journey to who you are.
- Your reputation.
- Your audience.
- Your knowledge.
- Your credibility.
- Your taste.
- Your attention.
- Your ability to influence.
You don’t have to charge for everything you have built. But you should know what you’re giving away.
Maybe the reason I hate the self-checkout isn’t simply that I have to do the work. Maybe it’s that somebody has convinced me that doing their work is somehow better for me. When it’s clearly better for them.
I, like everyone else in the queue, have traded something that I simply don’t know the value of. We’ve been convinced to value the thing we’re receiving while barely considering the thing we’re giving up.