“In fashion, prestige and precariousness are often hard to disentangle,” writes Giulia Mensitieri in her book, The Most Beautiful Job in the World. When released in 2020, Mensitieri perfectly demystified the ‘a million girls would kill for your job’ myth. In the four years that have passed since, fashion work, editorial in particular, has only become more precarious. Those writers who appeared to be living the dream? Those on staff at Vice Media, Paper Magazine or Condé Nast? They just got laid off. It’s a media crisis, and glitzy in-house jobs are nearly impossible to come by.
“Coming from a low-income family, getting access to these opportunities has been really laborious; relentlessly pitching, hustling and free labour all-around.” – Ağri Ibrahim
When asked about his advice for aspiring writers starting today, Arnau Salvadó, Metal Magazine’s online content editor, simply replied: “Don’t become writers!” He’s joking… partially. But still, if you are one, you’ll likely be part of a growing pool of freelancers, pitching publications with increasingly shrinking editorial budgets. “Coming from a low-income family, getting access to these opportunities has been really laborious,” admits Ağri Ibrahim, a freelance fashion, culture and music writer who started under two years ago. He describes his journey as: “relentlessly pitching, hustling and free labour all-around,” before finally getting some paid work and commissions.
“I’d have nightmares that someone like Giorgio Armani would die when I was on vacation.” – Emilia Petrarca
That’s not to say that going freelance can’t be a conscious or strategic choice. Some writers enjoy the freedom it brings, in hours, subject matter, publications… “You can take advantage of this freedom to throw stuff at the wall and see what sticks,” says Emilia Petrarca, who decided to go freelance over a year ago. The Cut’s former senior fashion writer also enjoys her freedom from constantly being on call: “I’d have nightmares that someone like Giorgio Armani would die when I was on vacation,” she laughs. But even an experienced writer like Petrarca occasionally struggles to transform her writing into a sustainable freelance business; one that includes setting personal boundaries, filing taxes, chasing invoices and the pressures of keeping up a public profile.
“Your business isn’t just your creative output, but also your finances, taxes, networking, self-reflection and creating new opportunities for yourself.” -Lesley Winterbach
Whether self-employed by choice or necessity, most freelance writers know how to write. The adjacent tasks are challenging: those fashion education didn’t prepare you for. How do you pitch? Invoice? Network? Prevent ChatGPT from taking your job? After all, when polled, 85% of our followers said their education dropped the ball in these departments. “It’s hard, but you’ve got to run yourself as a business from day one,” says Lesley Winterbach, founder of The GOODList, connecting freelance creatives to companies like Nike or Calvin Klein. She continues: “Your business isn’t just your creative output, but also your finances, taxes, networking, self-reflection and creating new opportunities for yourself.”
“With freelance, half the battle is being top-of-mind for people.” – Emilia Petrarca
In an industry as exclusive and predicated on access as fashion, the latter is an essential ingredient to success. To get commissions, freelance fashion writers rely on pitching, sure, but also on blog-like endeavours, event attendance and regular contact with other professionals. 84% of our followers attested to using Instagram for this, but TikTok, Twitter, Behance, LinkedIn, Medium, academic journals and Substack popped up too. “With freelance, half the battle is being top-of-mind for people,” agrees Petrarca. “Luckily, the internet allows you to get into people’s faces without actually having to meet them. That’s part of the reason why I started the newsletter.”
Fashion Substacks are soaring in popularity, with (paid) subscriptions in that category growing 80% year-on-year and open rates towering far above brand or magazine standards.
She’s referring to Shop Rat, a Substack-based newsletter spotlighting the outfits and IRL shopping habits of what she calls: “middle-of-the-day New Yorkers.” Even as a personal practice, writing newsletters can be rewarding. “It’s a routine, a reason to get out of the house and speak to people,” explains Petrarca. There’s an element of fun to it too, allowing her to write the type of witty, conversational pieces usually reserved for in-house staff. And, since her subscriber base includes commissioning editors too, a sent newsletter often results in an assignment.
Moreover, fashion Substacks are soaring in popularity, with (paid) subscriptions in that category growing 80% year-on-year and open rates towering far above brand or magazine standards. Petrarca, who charges $5 monthly for Shop Rat, was surprised by its engagement. “I feel like, for the first time, people – friends – are reading what I’m writing. To which I realised they hadn’t really read my writing before,” she laughs. “There’s something more intimate about a newsletter, readers feel like they know me better.”
This is all in line with a general Web3-adjacent shift in how people consume content, which is more decentralised, user-generated and personalised to the reader’s specific tastes. Publications feel this shift too. After temporarily shutting down its website, i-D now communicates exclusively via newsletters and social posts. Vice-owned Refinery 29 seems to be forced down a similar route too, with an in-house memo stating the platform would focus on: “engaging, social-first content.” For (aspiring) fashion writers, investing time into a newsletter or social media account might pay off in the long run; partially because the project itself can become lucrative, and partially because it can imbue you with demonstrable skills that are increasingly relevant to publications.
But what’s the difference between starting a social media account or Substack? And when is the right time for that? In contrast to Instagram and TikTok, Substacks invoke a certain blog-era nostalgia, unencumbered by algorithms or paid content. In many ways, this is an advantage. But some say they’re more likely to succeed (as in, accumulate a readership) if you already have a following elsewhere. According to Petrarca, you mainly need something to say – which, admittedly, is harder than it sounds. “If you’re interested in whatever you’re writing about, others will be too,” she says. “And if your audience is 100 people, that’s great! That means 100 people are hanging onto your every word.”
“It sucks how precarious our industries are. I mean, have you ever asked the plumber to fix your house in exchange for exposure?” – Arnau Salvadó
“But, maybe don’t quit your full-time job just yet,” she adds cautiously. These personal projects – newsletters, socials, blogs, even the pieces you write ‘for exposure’ – float in limbo between work and non-work. They’re not just a hobby. But they’re hardly ever lucrative enough to qualify as real work, especially in their early stages. Unpaid work (in its myriad forms) is considered a necessary step in fashion’s career ladder. To illustrate: 68% of our followers said they write for exposure. “It’s kind of elitist. There’s this idea that you need to pay your dues,” says Jessica Gerardi, a stylist and contributing Vogue editor who recently went freelance. Salvadó agrees: “It sucks how precarious our industries are. I mean, have you ever asked the plumber to fix your house in exchange for exposure?” Their opinion mirrors that of many fashion professionals. Yes, everyone should be paid for their output. But we all started with unpaid work (Gerardi with styling assistance, Salvadó and Petrarca with editorial internships). And without it, we wouldn’t be where we are now.
Even after graduating from unpaid work, the financial reality of fashion professionals isn’t great. Here’s a confronting maths exercise for freelance writers: divide your rates per article by the hours put into said article. In her newsletter, Opportunities of the Week, writer Sonia Weiser links to a Google doc titled #FreelancerPayGap, in which writers anonymously share their fees. It includes rates for several digital fashion outlets, like British Vogue (£150 – £250 for 700 – 800-word features), Dazed (£100 – £180 for 600 – 1200-word opinion pieces, features and interviews) and i-D (a consistent £200 for ~1000 word pieces). Although the answers are timestamped between 2020 and 2021 and can’t be fully corroborated, these rates seem to align with the experiences of writers today. Ibrahim, for example, makes about £215 – £300 (calculated from euros) for lengthy, 2000-word pieces, which often take him: “at least a full work week.”
So, how are freelance fashion writers supposed to navigate this landscape, financially? “People sometimes forget that they can negotiate rates,” says Ibrahim. He admits that negotiation isn’t always fortuitous, but might add an extra £50 or so. It’s worth a try. Salvadó adds: “It’s different to accept a three-paragraph text about an ‘easy’ topic than a full investigative article.” Whereas most gigs pay you for your input (hours or days), editorial outlets tend to pay for your output (rates per article). If you can’t increase your rate per article, you can at least ensure your hourly input somewhat matches your pay; by staying critical of the article’s word target, level of research and how the article’s topic aligns with your pre-existing knowledge, tone or interests.
“The entry-level into these industries is really hard for people of colour, queer people and those from a low-income background.” – Ağri Ibrahim
For many writers, though, these financial band-aids are far too small; akin to holding a seam together with a safety pin. According to a 2021 study by Vogue Business, two-thirds of creative freelancers need supplementary income to make ends meet. Only 7% of our followers paid the bills with writing alone, 60% supplemented with a side job. Of course, this perpetuates a system of privilege. “The entry-level into these industries is really hard for people of colour, queer people and those from a low-income background,” confirms Ibrahim, who paired his freelance editorial work with a full-time agency job. “I was probably working 70 to 80 hours per week,” he admits. Now, he is at home recovering from a burnout, which raises the question: can anyone manoeuvre their way to the top of a system that is so flawed?
Because what are your options? Burning out? Dropping your dream of becoming a writer, at least temporarily? Supplementing your income part-time or freelance might be a way to go. In her early career, Gerardi paired freelance editorial styling with freelance e-commerce work: “I’d do a couple of days in the e-com studio, have the money to live and the rest of my time to assist, to break into the magazine world.” Salvadó did something similar, pairing his part-time editorial work with part-time gallery work. He also worked briefly in copywriting, creating anything: “from press releases to social media copy, email marketing and some basic UX writing.” In fashion’s more commercial spheres (e-commerce or high-street brands) or adjacent industries (beauty, design or advertising), part-time or freelance copy, content creation and PR gigs might offer some supplemental income to editorial writers. Some proof of that can be found in Winterbach’s Freelance Rates Report, through which freelance creatives can compare their rates to the industry average. Copywriter rates are respectively higher than the editorial rates per article mentioned above. For example, junior to mid-level copy gigs in London pay about £150 to £400 per day.
For creative freelancers, there’s often no industry standard rate.
Still, financial precariousness and opaqueness proliferate outside the fashion industry, in all creative industries. That’s why Winterbach published her report in the first place. “For creative freelancers, there’s often no industry standard rate,” she explains. “When that information is locked behind closed doors, employers can take advantage of creatives and underpay them, which I see happening all the time.” Ibrahim has similar experiences in the magazine world: “There’s no formal union that supports freelance writers, making for an advocacy gap that allows us to be exploited. But dare I say, we give way to it as well. This industry can make us feel isolated and competitive.”
In an industry that pits freelancers against each other, as individuals all competing over the same tiny budgets, it’s appealing to keep certain things to yourself: like your magazine contacts, how much you get paid for your work (if anything), or the fact that you’re not living the dream. These are things most fashion writers deal with. But obscuring this information only serves an exploitative system; it doesn’t help any writer, just those capitalising on our un(der)paid work. So sure, the reality isn’t all that fashionable. But it’s worth sharing.
