“You’re not losing sales to another illustrator. You’re losing them to someone deciding to watch three episodes of The Bear.”
That sentence annoyed me the first time it popped into my head.
Because it felt unfair.
You spend months writing a novel. Or painting something that consumed entire weekends and a disturbing amount of expensive paint. You obsess over typography, edit your portfolio, tweak your website until the buttons are exactly the right shade of whatever colour the internet tells you converts best…
…and then somebody doesn’t buy your work because they decided to order sushi and binge-watch The Bear instead.
Seriously?
Yeah. Seriously. That’s the game.
The mistake creatives make, and I’ve watched it happen over and over, is believing they’re standing in an arena full of other painters, writers, photographers and musicians. Like there’s some giant creative gladiator pit where customers walk around comparing everyone’s work before making a carefully considered decision.
That isn’t what’s happening.
Most people aren’t comparing your novel to another indie novel.
They’re comparing your novel to doing absolutely nothing.
Or scrolling Instagram.
Or watching YouTube.
Or booking a weekend away.
Or convincing themselves they’ll “treat themselves next month.”
Or buying another bloody air fryer because apparently that one makes chips with less guilt.
Welcome to the attention economy.
It’s brutal.
You’re Selling Time, Not Art
Here’s the uncomfortable bit. Money isn’t actually your customer’s rarest resource. Time is.
Buying your novel means committing eight or ten hours they’ll never get back.
Buying your painting means mentally redesigning a room.
Buying your online course means weekends they’ll no longer spend watching documentaries about abandoned Soviet bunkers.
Every purchase is a tiny life decision.
That’s why people hesitate. Not because your work isn’t good. Because saying yes to you means saying no to something else. And that something else usually has a billion-dollar marketing budget.
Netflix doesn’t need to convince people to stay home.
Amazon doesn’t need to explain why buying another gadget feels rewarding.
Spotify already owns the commute.
TikTok owns the queue in Tesco.
You’re walking into a battlefield where everyone else has tanks. You’ve brought a sketchbook.
The “I’ll Buy It Later” Lie
Here’s one of the greatest marketing myths ever invented.
“I’ll come back later.”
No they won’t. Not because they’re lying. Because life happens.
They get distracted. The dog throws up. The washing machine explodes. Someone texts. Another creator launches something. An email arrives. A sale pops up.
The moment disappears.
Every creator has watched someone comment…
“Love this! I’ll definitely grab one next payday.”
Six months later?
Nothing.
Not because they hated your work. Because buying creative work is almost never urgent. Food is urgent. Fuel is urgent. Insurance is urgent.
Books? Paintings? Prints? Not usually.
Which means you have to create momentum, not manipulation.
There’s a difference.
Urgency Doesn’t Mean Becoming One of Those Marketing Goblins
We’ve all seen it.
“ONLY THREE HOURS LEFT!!!”
Countdown timer. Flashing red text. Twenty-seven popup windows. Some guy in sunglasses shouting about seven-figure secrets.
No.
Please don’t. Real urgency comes from reality. Maybe you only paint six originals a year. Say that.
Maybe your book launches this week and signed copies disappear once they’re gone.
Tell people.
Maybe commissions close because you physically can’t produce fifty paintings every month. Explain it.
People understand honest limitations. They resent fake ones.
If everything is “last chance”… Nothing is.
Tip #1: Give people a genuine reason to act now.
Instead of saying:
“Limited edition!”
Explain why it’s limited.
People trust reasons. Not slogans.
You’re Not Selling a Product. You’re Selling a Story They’ll Live Inside.
Think about concerts. You don’t leave saying… “The audio reproduction was acceptable.”
You leave talking about the atmosphere. The lights. That one song. The crowd. The memory.
Creative work works exactly the same way.
Nobody hangs a painting because the canvas dimensions were mathematically satisfying.
They hang it because every time they walk past it…
…they feel something.
Your job isn’t simply to photograph the product.
Photograph the life around it.
Show the print above the reading chair.
Show the novel in someone’s backpack before a train journey.
Show the sketchbook covered in coffee stains because somebody actually used it.
Sell the future memory.
Not the object.
Tip #2: Stop posting products.
Start posting moments.
Competing Against Takeaways
This one hurts.
Imagine someone finishes work on Friday.
They’ve got forty quid (dollars, Euros etc).
What happens?
Your art print?
Or pizza and a bottle of wine?
That’s the real competition.
You’re fighting comfort.
Convenience.
Habit.
Entertainment.
Impulse.
And here’s the strange thing…
People rarely regret buying meaningful creative work.
They regret not buying it.
How many times have you heard…
“I wish I’d bought that original.”
“I should have ordered the signed edition.”
“I can’t believe it’s sold out.”
Creative purchases become stories.
Nobody reminisces about that takeaway from eighteen months ago.
Make Buying Feel Like Joining Something
People don’t just buy things.
They join identities.
Someone doesn’t buy a vinyl record.
They’re “someone who collects vinyl.”
Someone doesn’t buy indie books.
They’re “someone who supports independent authors.”
Someone doesn’t buy handmade ceramics.
They’re “the kind of person who fills their home with things made by real people.”
Your marketing should reflect that.
Invite people behind the scenes.
Share sketches.
Share failures.
Share the first terrible draft.
Show the fingerprints.
The coffee rings.
The crossed-out pages.
People fall in love with process long before they buy the finished work.
Tip #3: Document more than you advertise.
Your audience wants to witness creation.
Not just checkout pages.
Don’t Be Easy to Forget
Here’s another uncomfortable truth.
Being liked isn’t enough.
People forget things they like all the time.
How many tabs are open in your browser right now?
Exactly.
You have to keep appearing.
Not every five minutes.
But consistently enough that your audience remembers you’re still making work.
Email newsletters.
Blogs.
Instagram.
YouTube.
Pinterest.
Threads.
Whatever suits you.
Marketing isn’t shouting.
It’s simply refusing to disappear.
Tip #4: Assume nobody remembers you.
Not because they don’t care.
Because they’re busy.
There’s a difference.
Make Buying the Beginning
Too many creatives treat the sale as the finish line.
It isn’t.
It’s chapter one.
Follow up.
Thank people.
Invite them into your newsletter.
Tell them what you’re making next.
Give them early access.
Reward them for sticking around.
Collectors aren’t born.
They’re nurtured.
One great experience becomes five purchases.
Five purchases become someone who tells everyone else.
So… Who’s Really Winning?
The strange thing is this:
Netflix isn’t actually your enemy.
Neither is gaming.
Neither are holidays.
Neither is pizza.
The enemy is invisibility.
It’s forgettable marketing.
It’s assuming people understand why your work matters without you ever explaining it.
Because if your audience can genuinely imagine how your work fits into their lives…
You’ll stop competing on price.
You’ll stop worrying about what the artist down the road is doing.
You’ll stop chasing algorithms like they’re mystical woodland creatures.
You’ll start building relationships.
And relationships outlast trends.
So the next time sales are slow, don’t ask yourself:
“Who’s making better art than me?”
Ask yourself:
“Why should someone spend an evening with my work instead of another episode on Netflix?”
If you can answer that honestly, and keep answering it consistently, you’ll discover something that most creatives miss.
Your biggest competitor was never another artist.
It was always whatever people were going to do instead.
So here’s the thing. You can spend another year tweaking your website, arguing with the algorithm, and convincing yourself that the next painting, the next novel, or the next project will somehow market itself. Or you can accept the slightly uncomfortable truth: making great work is only half the job.
The other half is making sure the right people know it exists. That’s not selling out: it’s showing up. If this article hit a nerve, then Digital Marketing for Creatives goes a whole lot deeper. It strips away the marketing nonsense and gives you practical, no-fluff strategies for finding your audience, creating content people actually care about, building an email list that works, planning campaigns that don’t feel sleazy, and, ultimately, selling more of the work you love making. Your art deserves more than being buried under another night of streaming. Give it the audience it’s been waiting for.
Digital Marketing for Creatives 
Leave a comment