Digital Marketing for Creatives

Okay. Let’s talk about the thing that keeps you up at 2:47 AM, staring at the ceiling, questioning every choice you’ve ever made.

Pricing.

You made a thing. A painting, a print, a handmade chair, a poem you put on a nice coaster. It’s good. You know it’s good. But now comes the part where you have to slap a number on it and shove it into the cold, judgmental maw of the internet. And suddenly you’re not an artist anymore. You’re a sweaty-palmed impostor whispering, “Is… is fifty dollars too much? Is five hundred too little? What if they laugh? What if my mom thinks I’m greedy?”

Take a breath. I’ve been there. We’ve all been there. That existential nausea you feel? That’s not your intuition. That’s fear dressed up in a beret. And we’re gonna burn that beret.

Here’s the thing: you are not your price tag. Your worth is not a Shopify listing. But you do need to eat. So let’s walk through a simple, slightly-irritated-but-loving framework to price your work online without melting down every single time.

Step one: Stop guessing. Run a social poll.

I know, I know. Social media feels like yelling into a dumpster fire. But here’s a hack: use your Instagram Stories. Post two versions of a similar piece: one at $75, one at $125. No captions about your childhood trauma. Just: “Which feels more fair?” Watch what happens. People love voting. They love feeling helpful. And you get raw, anonymous data from actual humans who owe you nothing. That’s gold. That’s cheaper than therapy.

Step two: Write product descriptions that justify the price without begging.

Don’t just say “original oil painting, 8×10.” That’s an obituary. You want a story. Say: “This took fourteen hours. The blue pigment is from a mine in Afghanistan. I cried twice while painting the sky.” Okay, maybe not the crying part. But tell them the labour, the materials, the weird obsession that went into it. When you name the effort, the price stops being a number and starts being a receipt for meaning.

Step three: Retarget the ghosts who almost bought.

Here’s the dirty secret of digital marketing: most people will stare at your work, click “add to cart,” get to checkout, and then suddenly remember they need to alphabetize their spice rack. It’s not you. It’s their own anxiety. But here’s where you get smart. Use a simple Facebook or Instagram retargeting ad (yes, ads, stop flinching) that says: “Hey. You left this in your cart. No judgment. Here’s 10% off if you’re still scared. Or just come back and pay full price. Either way, it’s waiting for you.”

It works. Because it’s gentle. It’s not a cop. It’s just a reminder that your work has a home, and that home could be their living room.

Look. Pricing will never feel totally comfortable. That’s the curse of making things with your soul. But you can stop having a full-blown identity crisis every time you hit “publish.” Use the poll. Tell the story. Remind the runners. And then get out of your own way.

Now go sell your stuff. And for the love of God, charge more than you think you’re worth.

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Here you go—one paragraph, pure Maron, to slap at the end of that blog post:

So you made it this far. You sat through the polling strategy, the storytelling lecture, the retargeting guilt trip. And you’re still here, which means either you actually liked this, or you’re avoiding doing the real work. I’m guessing both. Look, this blog post is fine, it’s a good little buddy, a warm cup of coffee on a anxious morning. But if you want the whole toolbox? The actual techniques that go beyond a Monday morning rant? That’s in the book. Digital Marketing for Creatives. It’s got the frameworks, the email scripts, the weird psychological tricks that actually move prints and paintings and poems off your hard drive and onto someone’s wall. So do yourself a favour. Buy the book, stop pricing your work like you’re apologizing for existing, and let’s get you out of survival mode. Alright? Alright.