Why Monetising Your Creativity Isn't Always the Dream

 The Pressure to Monetise

“It’s become so common now it’s like a reflex — whenever anybody does anything creative, someone says, ‘Have you ever thought of selling that?’ or ‘You should really do something with that.’ I got it all the time. ‘You should go on Bake Off!’ they’d say — and then stop paying attention when I replied, ‘I’m actually a professional chef, so that’s not exactly allowed.’

Every hobby is expected to become a side hustle, and every side hustle is expected to become a full-time job — because apparently, enjoying something isn’t allowed unless it has a price tag. Even influencers now monetise going shopping or visiting restaurants. Just being has to generate income.

We live in a world where joy is only considered valid if it earns money. But turning your passion into profit isn’t always the dream it’s sold as. Sometimes, it can quietly kill the very joy it came from.”

When Passion Turns into Product

I first started my business during lockdown — cookies and brownies, online orders only. Not exactly a unique concept; plenty of people were doing the same thing. But it felt good. I started selling at farmers markets, mostly through pre-orders and collections, and at the time, it was fun. There was excitement. Momentum. People were engaged.

But then things reopened. The hype faded. I was left with piles of packaging, stacks of branded stickers, and far fewer orders.

Later, I began supplying a café with large batches of brownies — just four flavours, made again and again. It brought in some money, but the routine wore me down. I started to hate it. I got bored. I’d experiment with new ideas and post them online, and no one seemed to care. I wasn’t chasing sales — I was chasing creativity — but the silence made it feel like a waste.

So I pivoted. I ran some supper clubs, and the high at the end of the night — when everyone had enjoyed the food — was incredible. But the lead-up was agonising. Trying to sell tickets felt like pulling teeth. Still, it wasn’t about money. It was about doing the kind of food I wanted to make.

Eventually, I took a break. And for the first time in a long time, I felt content. But then came the spark — the thought that maybe I could make this my full-time thing. I could open a place, bring life back to my dying high street. That’s when it all became real.

And hard.

Working every day, alone. Getting myself into trouble with HMRC. Not making enough money. Because yes, I was making the food I loved. The food I believed in. But that’s not how businesses work. It doesn’t matter what you enjoy — it matters what sells.

Even then, while doing exactly what they told me to do — turning my passion into a business — the comments didn’t stop. “You should make this.” “Have you tried doing that?”

What started as play became planning. Creativity turned into content. Every moment I wasn’t monetising felt like a missed opportunity — and that’s exhausting.

The Myth of ‘Success’

We treat business like the final form of creativity — like if you're really good, you’ll turn pro. But sometimes, the truest sign of being in love with what you do is choosing not to sell it.

There was a point where I felt like I didn’t have value unless I was running a business. I couldn’t separate myself from it. People were impressed, encouraging, even jealous — and I felt on top of the world. Idolised. Almost famous.

But you have to really stop and ask: What does success actually mean to you?

We’ve been taught that running a business is the highest expression of talent. But maybe that’s not true. Maybe the real measure of talent is doing something well — just because you love it.

Just because someone asks for money in exchange for their creativity doesn’t make it more valuable than someone who creates for joy in their spare time. A home baker isn’t less talented than a professional pastry chef. A sketchbook filled in quiet moments isn’t lesser than a gallery show.

Success might look like running your own company — or it might look like working a 9–5, coming home, knitting on the sofa, cooking a good meal, or saving up for a lovely holiday.

Success is what makes you happy.

The Invisible Cost

The emotional toll became too much. I found myself growing bitter — not just tired, but resentful. I was putting everything I had into this, and still, people walked past my little shop to queue outside the chains. People would step inside, say “That smells amazing,” and then leave without buying a thing. Online, I’d get likes and comments, but never see those faces in real life.

I wasn’t posting pictures for fun anymore. I was posting for likes, engagement, traction. And when it didn’t come, I felt empty. The joy of baking — of experimenting, crafting, playing — vanished. It became about what would sell, what people would click on, what might trend.

Even worse, I had to start compromising. Using cheaper ingredients, altering recipes I once loved just to stretch margins a little further. Everything became a performance. Carefully curated, always “on.” And the worst part? I was doing it all alone. No team. No support. Just me, going through the motions, trying to hold everything together.

I completely forgot what I ever did this for. The spark was gone. The spontaneity that used to drive me was buried under algorithms, customer preferences, and a desperate need to make it work.

Let It Be a Joy, Not a Job

How many people do you really know who love their job? And how many of those people run their own business — and are actually making good money? Enough to take a step back, take days off, breathe?

Every boss or owner I’ve ever known has been stretched thin, juggling too much, constantly stressed. And the advice they’ve given me? It’s the same advice I’d give you now: Don’t turn your joy into a commodity.

Running a business is a thankless job. Every day, there are more barriers — taxes, rising ingredient costs, dying high streets, competition from chains, unemployment. The list never ends. And here’s the truth no one wants to say: There are only so many people in the world. Only so much demand. Not everyone can run a business. Not everything can be monetised. And that’s okay.

Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just enjoy something. Let it be yours. Not everything has to scale. Not every cake needs a logo. Not every sketch needs a store. Sometimes, the most powerful thing is to make something beautiful — and let it stay that way.

A note of respect

I want to be clear: this isn’t a dig at people who do run successful hospitality businesses. I have deep respect for those who make it work — because it’s hard. It takes grit, sacrifice, vision, and a kind of resilience that deserves credit.

But the truth is, not everyone can — or should — go it alone. There are only so many customers, so much demand, and so many hours in the day. Sometimes, it’s not about proving you can do everything yourself — it’s about joining forces. Collaborating instead of competing. Because at the end of the day, we’re all trying to make something meaningful. And we’ll go further if we stop pretending we’re in this alone.