How the Sunk Cost Fallacy Applies to Creative People

Over at Kevin’s place quite a little discussion has been stirred up over just how the modern-day artist should comport themselves in a business-like matter to market themselves to their potential customers and employers and well, why explain when you can take a look for yourselves at the hornet’s nest buzzing.

Now, I’ve obviously rushed the stage and tried to wrestle the microphone away the rather genteel host over there (It’s a secret but he’s got a stash in the back that he’ll loan out to anyone who’s feeling like they need to find their voice, in my experience, anyway, so I needn’t have bothered.) so I could get a nice, front row seat. So, I’ve already commented on this, if only by abstention from the ongoing meme warfare going on, but I hope I’m not being to bold by taking an idea and weaving it into my own little present for everyone. Because the issue’s come up – and if you don’t believe me go read the thread for yourself – that creators, writers in this case, shouldn’t get so wrapped up in their works. That, in some way, the point of working is to get better at it, not so much to be innately greatly free from all criticism. And that’s, of course, a powerful, powerful idea. It’s the one that lets, say, an art class step back from their easels and offer each other some constructive criticism. But those are artists talking to artists and Mr. Church was really talking about the relationship between author and audience – or at least, I was, while he was speaking – and that’s a bit different. Because we can jokingly call that the peanut gallery but the truth is, especially out here on the digital frontier, the audience can be a bit…unruly at times. And, I’m sorry to say it because I’m not trying to say people shouldn’t express themselves, but let’s face it, when you slit open your wrists and pour it all over the page the last thing you want to hear people say is, “Yeah, so what?”.

That’s because the little people are people. And writers, creators, are people, too. People who think about making things deliberately. Who, from their own unique perspective expect others to do likewise and do things on purpose, at least on some level. Like, hurt their feelings by insulting their work. An artist’s work is somehow a part of them, after all, and if there’s blood on the page it’s a precious, precious thing.

But, here’s the thing. Most artists, if they’re anything like me, are horrible with money. The coin they trade in is respect and innovation. Paying the bills – so to speak - is what they do when they can’t make “real art”. And they’re said to “sell out” and “go corporate” and be “in it only for the money” among other things. I’m sure no one means to harm these rather strange and exotic birds but, well, you keep hearing that kind of thing over and over again long enough and it can’t help but affect you, somehow. And it hurts, because they’re just trying to make some art. Well, that’s a completely pigheaded attitude on the part of our artist friends, I’m sad to say, but we’ll leave that for another time – the past, the future, or the never was, we’re in the present right now. My point, if I have one and I’m sure I did when I started this, is that artists don’t think about money the way, say, economists do. Which is a shame because if they did an artist might hear about something called the sunk cost fallacy.

Now, obviously, I’ve brought it up before because it’s been on my mind. For any number of reasons, it’s helping me explain things somehow. I’ll get over it eventually because I’m no economist. But I’m going to use it to unravel this little riddle and I’m doing it here rather than there because, in part, it might take me a while and I like to hear what other people have to say sometimes. It’s just I like to have my say from time to time, myself. Now, before I’m swallowed up by self-doubt again, I could use my favorite hobby horse of evolution to explain things, again. But, nope, let’s forget biology and follow the money for a bit.

The sunk cost fallacy states, simply put, that when you spend money on something – make what’s called an “investment” – with some sort of resource – let’s say we’ll call this “money” – and some time passes and you have to make a decision about what you’ve spent your money on already that you should consider things as if the money you’ve spent doesn’t even matter. That as far as logic is concerned you could have sunk $1 or $1,000,000 into your business to build up, somehow, but when considering whether to, say, re-invest yet more money or to cut your losses then it doesn’t matter. That cost is gone, irretrievable, you might as well have flushed it down the toilet because you’re never getting it back. So, you take a look at your current financial situation. And at how you expect that to change based on the potential outcomes of your choice (And we’ll have to talk about game theory and probabilities and risk management here to explain just how you can do that, logically speaking, of course, so just let’s take it for granted that you can’t know the future but you can make an informed guess about it, alright?). Change “money” back to “resource”, if you please. And realize the inherent fungibility of a commodity as liquid as an idea.

That’s a powerful, powerful idea. Because it means a lot of things. It means, for one, that businesses that invest a lot of money into something don't have to feel bad that their investments have soured. It's more important to protect what they still have left. The logical thing to do, the smart thing to do, the responsible thing to do is to just ignore whatever's just happened and concentrate on what's going to happen. Good business people know this. And, of course, this theory can be applied to more than just economics. In politics it means that Mr. Bush is being downright maliciously wrong-headed by not ending the flow of blood in Iraq - I'm sure he has his reasons, I'm just waiting to hear them. In your personal life it means if you buy a ticket in advance you don’t have to go to theater at all to feel good about yourself. Or that you don't have to give another seconds thought to that person you spent two or three years with who suddenly turned crazy. And that artists shouldn’t get too wrapped up in their works. Because it says the past doesn’t matter. The future’s too hazy to really apply. It’s only your present choice that you need to worry about. Mistakes don’t matter. Only getting better does.

If you plug away and away at becoming a writer or a singer or a dancer or whatever else you might care to then it doesn’t matter if you are completely horrid at it. Because you’re not, as long as you can bear the risks of continuing. You’re just someone who hasn’t succeeded yet. And all your past work is cost sunk towards coming up with your next one, somehow. Because if you can trade ideas with other people – and, let’s face it, the text isn’t restricted to the pages in a book any longer and, for writers, they might be buying the book but you’re really trading on your ideas, somehow – you can also trade them with yourself. Your past works, your failures, your flaws, your missteps are only you investing your ideas in the hopes of making them better, somehow, for the next time you trot them down to the market stall. Or the butcher’s block if you happen to have a problem with people trying to help you make money by strengthening your skills as an artist. Pick it up, put it down, walk away. It’s in the past, then, and if it was a mistake then it doesn’t matter. Ah, but if it wasn’t, then it can matter quite a great deal, can’t it? Because a million dollar idea can be worth quite a lot to some people if you can find the right way of getting them to buy it. And, me, I’m just giving it away. Or am I? Well, that’s something for another time, I guess.

In short, because I’m working on getting better at that; that they’re talking about you at all is an accomplishment. Pissing off the audience will hurt your bottom line (Unless, you know, you’re good at it. Don Rickles stacked cheese, you know.) and if you’re trying to be a professional That. Is. Not. A. Good. Thing.

Don’t get so mad that they don’t like your work, go out and prove that you’re not as bad as they say you are. But do it the next time around. Prove it. On the page where you’ve just gotten better. Then go out and prove it again. And again. And again. And again for however many times it takes to get things right. Stay the course, change the course, spin around in a circle, the sunk cost fallacy says it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before just what you’ve done next. Each decision you’ve made in the past is just an investment in becoming the person, somehow, capable of making your current decision and you are not bound by those past decisions only your present situation. So take a chance and roll the dice because, no matter what, you’ll be surprised at what will happen.