A survival guide for artists, makers, and anyone who’s ever whispered “is this too much?” before hitting post.

The Existential Crisis of Pricing

You’re staring at your screen, calculator in one hand, imposter syndrome in the other. You’ve just made something beautiful, honest, raw — a painting, a song, a hand-dyed hoodie, a zine that bleeds a little – you poured yourself into it, twisted your back into that stitch, stayed up too late editing, sanding, printing, packaging, fussing. It wasn’t just labour. It was you.

And now you’re supposed to slap a number on it like it’s just a.. a product?

For a lot of creatives, pricing feels like betrayal. Of community. Of self. Of art. We’re told — explicitly or otherwise — that creative labour isn’t labour. If we loved it, we shouldn’t charge for it. That if it was made from joy, it should be offered for free. That your rate should be “reasonable,” “competitive,” or “what the market will bear.” Besides, loving the work is payment enough, right!?

Spoiler: it’s not.

For others, even the concept can send you spiraling into a crisis of confidence, because who are you to be charging for that thing you made anyway? So-and-so charges this much, but you’re not them so how could you possibly do the same? Or even try to compete?

But here’s the truth: pricing isn’t about greed. It’s about survival. The starving artist myth is not romantic — it’s exploitation dressed up in boho linen.

This article won’t give you “market rates” or tell you to copy what other Etsy sellers are charging (they’re mostly Temu anyway). It’s here to help you price your work without losing your values, your voice, or your damn mind while also respecting your skill, your time, and yourself.

Why Pricing Feels So Gross

Let’s be honest: creative labour has always been undervalued. 

When someone tells you that they’re an artist, is the first thing that pops into your head, “Wow, they must be making a really good living”? Be honest. I am an artist and I’ll tell you right now, I’m still stuck in this mind trap.

We don’t blink at $7 lattes or $200 sneakers, but a $90 handmade necklace? Suddenly it’s “too expensive” and “who do they think they are???” Trust me, it’s not you. It’s a system. One that glorifies mass production and punishes slowness. One that sees art as luxury, not labour.

Many of us — especially women, racialized folks, queer folks, and neurodivergent creators — are taught to apologize for taking up space, let alone charging for it. We’re socialized to be “grateful,” not bold. That messes with your brain when it comes time to price.

Capitalism tells us that creativity isn’t worth much unless it scales. Art is framed as a passion, not a profession. We internalize guilt for needing money at all. And when you combine capitalism with creativity, the lines get blurry. 

Pricing isn’t about greed. It’s about staying in the game. The goal isn’t to be affordable to everyone — it’s to be sustainable for yourself.

The Soulful Pricing Equation (with breakdown)

You deserve more than vibes and guesswork. So let’s build a real formula — one that honours your energy, your expenses, and your emotional labour.

Here’s the Soulful Pricing Equation:

Pricing = (Time × Rate) + Materials + Overhead + Tax + Profit + Value Factor – Burnout Tax

Let’s break that down:

✹ Time

Every hour spent creating, planning, revising, emailing, packing — that counts. Your time isn’t free just because you enjoyed parts of it and the rest is “extra”. Track your hours honestly, including the “invisible” ones. 

You’re not charging for the hour it took. You’re charging for the years it took to make it look that easy.

✹ Rate

This is your hourly value. We’ll break it down in the next section, but spoiler: it’s not minimum wage. It’s your bare minimum worth — calculated to keep you healthy, paid, and making more work.

✹ Materials

Every brush, button, software subscription, or email platform. Include what you use and what you had to buy to get here. Materials don’t have to be expensive to be real.

✹ Overhead

Your rent. Your internet. Your phone. Your Spotify Premium so you can work in flow state. Even if you work from home, you still have overhead.

✹ Tax

In Canada, assume 15–30% of your income will go to taxes. Build it in now so you’re not panic-selling in April.

✹ Profit

Yes, profit. You don’t just cover costs — you add more. This is the wiggle room, the savings, the future you’re funding.

✹ Value Factor

Did you make something totally custom? Is it part of a limited edition? Is it infused with meaning, rarity, or cultural relevance? Don’t be shy — add 10–100% based on uniqueness.

✹ Burnout Tax

This one’s spicy. If something is draining, difficult, or dealing with a difficult client — charge more. It’s not petty. You earned it.

• +10% for unclear expectations
• +15% for rude communication
• +20% for scope creep
• +25% for rush jobs or weekend work
• +30% for existential dread

Yes, you can make ethical pricing decisions. You can reserve space for trades, discounts, or community support — but only after your needs are met.

This isn’t just math — it’s a boundary.

Let’s Talk About Your Rate

So what’s your rate? Not what your competitors charge. Not what a content mill pays. What’s your actual, non-starving, burnout-proof rate?

Let’s reverse engineer it.

         Step 1: Set Your Income Goal

What do you want to actually earn this year — after expenses?

Say you want to take home $60,000/year.

Step 2: Add Business Expenses

Add everything you’ll spend on your creative work: gear, website hosting, materials, subscriptions, workspace, shipping.

Say that adds up to $15,000/year.

Total needed = $75,000/year

Step 3: Estimate Your Real Working Hours

✹ “What Counts as Work?”
(Spoiler: admin time, idea generation, and crying in the shower all count.)

Not 40 hours/week. That’s a lie (unless it isn’t). Try 25–30 billable hours/week × 46 weeks/year = ~1,200–1,380 hours

Note: If you are working 40+ hours a week, you might want to reconsider. The 40-hour standard is often unrealistic for creatives — especially freelancers, especially women, especially anyone juggling burnout, ADHD, caregiving, or life in general. You don’t need to suffer to prove your passion.

Step 4: Do the Math

$75,000 ÷ 1,380 hours = ~$54.35/hour

Round up to $60/hour to give yourself a cushion.

If you don’t want to do all that, start with this shortcut:

Base Rate = 3× minimum wage in your area

In Ontario, that’s $17.60 × 3 = $52.80/hour

Round up. Because your work is not minimum effort.

Sliding Scales, Trades & Ethics Without Exploiting Yourself

You can build generosity into your model without destroying your boundaries.

Here’s how:

• Sliding Scales: Set a range, not a fixed price. Define what each tier includes.
• Community Rates: Offer discounts for marginalized groups only if, and when, you can afford to.
• Trades: Barter for things you’d genuinely buy. Massage for branding? Cool. Exposure for a 10-hour project? Absolutely not.
• Giveaways/Donations: Set a monthly or quarterly cap. Give freely, not resentfully.

Think of it like this: Your full rate funds your flexibility. If you don’t charge what you need, you can’t afford to be generous.

What If No One Buys?

This fear is valid. What if you raise your prices and nobody bites?

First, ask yourself:

• Have I explained the value of my work?
• Am I targeting the right audience?
• Is this about the price — or is it about visibility?

If the only people engaging with your work are broke creatives like you, it might be time to adjust your reach — not your worth.

Also: people will always exist who say “it’s too expensive.” They’re not your people. Let them go.

Don’t Outsource Your Worth

Here’s the sneaky truth: no one else can tell you what your work is worth. Not your mom. Not Instagram. Not the customer who “could just buy one cheaper on AliExpress.”

Pricing is not just business — it’s emotional labour. It asks you to confront your fear, your scarcity mindset, your desire to be liked. And that’s hard.

But it’s also a chance to choose integrity. To build a creative practice that lasts. To keep doing what you love without resentment.

You can’t build a revolutionary, creative life while resenting every invoice you send and feeling ripped off when people pay you in full because you’re undercharging. You can’t sustain a DIY movement if you’re drowning in underpaid commissions. You can’t keep showing up with full spirit if you’re depleted.

And that’s what pricing is about. 

Not profit for profit’s sake. But because you want to keep creating. You need energy for the next idea. Momentum for your movement. A roof over your head so you can keep sewing, writing, photographing, dreaming.

You are not a hobby. You are not a brand. You are a person. And your work deserves to be treated like it has weight, not just whimsy.

Price Like You Plan to Keep Going

This isn’t about one sale. It’s about your future self — the one who still loves making, because she didn’t burn out. The one who feels proud to charge what she’s worth. The one who stuck around because she stopped playing small.

Your work is not a hobby.

Your rate is not negotiable.

Your value is not up for debate.

So price your work like your survival depends on it. Because it does.

Now that you know how pricing work, ask yourself:

If you doubled your current prices, what would change?
Who would leave? Who would stay? Who might finally respect the work?

Did you find this piece helpful?

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