Selling Isn’t Gross. Begging Is. Here’s the Difference.

Alright. Let’s talk about the thing that makes you want to crawl under your thrifted wool blanket and never emerge.

Selling.

I can feel you tensing up already. You’re an artist. A creator. You make things that come from the soft, tender underbelly of your soul. And now some marketing ghoul wants you to put a price tag on it? To promote it? To do a little dance on Instagram Reels?

Disgusting. I agree. Sort of.

But here’s the thing nobody tells you in your little ceramic studio or your poetry workshop: You already sell every single day. You sell your time to a day job. You sell your emotional labour to friends who don’t text back. You sell the idea of yourself at every dinner party.

So stop pretending you’re above it. You’re not above it. You’re just bad at it. And that’s fine. I was bad at it too.

The Bathroom Confession

I used to hide. Seriously. Early in my music career, after a show, I would literally hide in the green room bathroom until the audience left. Why? Because I didn’t want to go out there and sell my CD. My own CD. That had my face on it. I’d rather stare at a cinderblock wall for twenty minutes than walk up to a drunk person and say, “Hey, I have a CD for ten quid.”

That’s not being an artist. That’s being a coward with good music.

And I convinced myself it was noble. “I don’t want to bother people.” “The work should speak for itself.” “I’m not a salesman.”

Nonsense. I was just afraid of hearing the word “no.”

The Reframe: You Are Not a Used Car Salesman

Here’s the distinction that saved my career, and it might save yours.

Gross selling is begging. It’s pressure. It’s fake urgency. It’s “buy now before this opportunity disappears forever!” It’s lying about how many copies are left. It’s tricking people. It’s treating humans like wallets with legs.

Clean selling is pointing. You built a table. Someone needs a table. You point at the table and say, “Hey, I built this. It’s sturdy. It’ll hold your coffee and your existential dread. It costs this much.” Then you shut up.

That’s it.

Selling is just helping someone find the thing they already want. You didn’t invent their desire. You just made the thing that answers it.

If you write sad novels about divorce? There are people starving for sad novels about divorce because their own divorce made them feel crazy and your book makes them feel seen. You are not selling them a book. You are selling them less loneliness.

That’s not gross. That’s actually kind of beautiful. Don’t ruin it by being too proud to tell them it exists.

The “Icky” Test

Here’s a simple gut check. Before you post about your thing, ask yourself one question:

Am I helping someone solve a problem? Or am I trying to trick them?

Problem can mean “I need to laugh because my dad has cancer.” Problem can mean “I need to stare at a painting that understands my rage.” Problem can mean “I need a soundtrack for cleaning the kitchen without crying.”

If you made a thing that solves a real problem, even an emotional one, you have a responsibility to tell people. Hoarding your art is not humility. It’s a weird form of selfishness. You’re denying someone the solution they’ve been looking for.

Now, if you’re just trying to trick people? If you’re selling a $47 PDF that promises “overnight success” and you’ve never had success yourself? Yeah. That’s gross. Don’t do that. You’ll feel like a ghost.

How to Sell Without Becoming a Monster

One simple rule. I stole it from a ceramic artist I spoke to once. She said:

“State the price. Say why it’s worth it. Then shut your mouth.”

That’s it. No exclamation points. No “limited time!” No “DM for price!” (Just put the damn price. If you make me ask, I’m leaving.)

Example:

Gross: “🔥🔥 MY NEW POETRY COLLECTION IS FINALLY HERE!!! LINK IN BIO!!! DON’T SLEEP ON THIS!!! 🔥🔥”
Clean: “My new poetry collection is about the three years I spent caregiving for my mom. It’s 78 pages. It costs $16. If you’ve been there, these poems will make you feel less alone. Link below.”

See the difference? One is a panic attack. One is a handshake.

I trust the handshake. I block the panic attack.

One Tiny Action (Do This Today)

Stop reading. Seriously. Close this tab. Open your notes app.

Write one sentence. Just one. Answer this:

“My [book/painting/album/class] is for someone who feels [one specific emotion] and wants [one specific relief].”

Not for “everyone.” Your art should never be for everyone. Not for “art lovers.” For the person who feels stuck. Or grieving. Or rageful at their HOA.

That sentence is your hook. That sentence is your permission slip to sell without shame.

Now go post it somewhere. Not aggressively. Just… honestly.

And for the love of god, stop hiding in the bathroom.

Listen, this marketing thing can be hard at times, and that was the motivation for my book: Digital Marketing for Creatives. If you want to spend less time marketing, and more time creating and then selling your art, then this book is definitely for you.