“In a world where 70,000 fricking tracks a day are going up on Spotify… where you’re getting paid 0.0007 of a cent per stream… where, if you say no to a tips-only café gig, 50 others will take your place— you might want to figure out where money can come from… and figure out the monetization—when you’re not coming from a place of sheer desperation.” — Ariel Hyatt, founder of Cyber PR (on Tapasya Loading)
Something is brewing in the arts. You can feel it in the language we use, the bios we write, the number of hats we wear just to justify our existence.
Producer-DJ-Yogi-Coach.
Musician-Podcast Host-Designer-Entrepreneur.
The more slashes, the better—right?
We call this “multi-hyphenate identity.”
But too often, it’s a branding strategy camouflaging an existential crisis.
Let’s be clear: there’s nothing wrong with wearing multiple hats.
There is something wrong with forgetting why you picked them up in the first place.
So… What Is a Multi-Hyphenate?
A multi-hyphenate creative is someone who straddles multiple creative or professional identities.
Musician–Producer–Coach.
Writer–Healer–Speaker.
Dancer–Designer–DJ.
The hyphens are meant to celebrate fluidity.
But more often than not, they reveal fragmentation.
Originally, this archetype emerged in response to changing work culture—the collapse of single-discipline careers, the rise of digital gig economies, the algorithmic imperative to “do more, show more, be more.”
And sure, for some, it’s a conscious choice—rooted in polymath curiosity and integrated practice.
But for many, it’s just what happened when survival met branding.
When art had to be monetized before it was metabolized.
The Mirage of the Multi-Hyphenate
In theory, the multi-hyphenate artist is a renaissance soul—fluid, liberated, adaptable.
But in practice, it’s often a response to economic precarity masked as empowerment.
The streaming economy is broken.
Spotify pays roughly $0.003–$0.005 per stream (Digital Music News, 2023).
Touring is financially and emotionally taxing.
Grants are rare, saturated, and politicized.
So artists diversify.
And then fragment.
And then wonder why their work feels hollow, their careers directionless.
What began as a survival tactic often becomes a spiritual distraction.
Depth vs Breadth: The Unspoken Tradeoff
Here’s the part no one wants to admit:
Depth and breadth are inversely proportionate.
It's not just poetic. It's physics.
Daniel Kahneman and Herbert Simon—foundational voices in cognitive psychology—both emphasized that attention is a limited resource.
When split across too many tasks (or identities), depth of focus—and therefore mastery—declines (Kahneman, 1973; Simon, 1971).
To go deep, you have to say no to a thousand things.
To go wide, you risk never touching the marrow.
That’s not elitism. That’s mechanics.
The Problem Isn’t the Day Job—It’s the Narrative
Let’s de-stigmatize something right now:
Having a day job doesn't make you less of an artist.
According to a 2023 Censuswide survey for Pirate.com, 88% of musicians do not earn their full-time living from music alone.
The “transitory stage” is real—and often necessary.
But here’s the caveat: most never move beyond it.
Not because they lack talent.
But because they’ve absorbed a myth: that if you love something, it should hurt.
Or that asking to be paid compromises the work’s purity.
Or that being “too professional” makes you a sellout.
These are not spiritual truths.
They are inherited scripts from systems designed to keep artists broke and obedient.
“I Don’t Want to Sell”
I hear this often.
From artists I coach.
From peers I respect.
And I get it.
We’ve been conditioned to believe that selling our art taints it.
But let’s get honest about the definitions:
Selling means offering your work to those who need it.
Selling out means compromising your values to be liked or paid.
They’re not the same.
Refusing to sell your work because of internalized shame is not integrity.
It’s self-sabotage in noble disguise.
The Artist’s Trap: When Transition Becomes a Lifestyle
“I’ll just keep this job until my music takes off.”
You blink, and it’s been ten years.
What started as a bridge becomes a trap.
Most artists never received training in how to cross the bridge—how to build sustainable systems, price their services, or grow audiences without burning out.
The result?
An entire generation caught between devotion and survival, haunted by the illusion that they must choose one or the other.
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So What’s the Way Out?
There is no formula.
But there is a framework.
And it begins with asking the harder, braver questions:
* Am I creating from clarity or from compensation?
* Do I know the difference between practice and performance?
* Am I living as an artist—or cosplaying one on the weekends?
It’s not about purity. It’s about alignment.
It’s not about asceticism. It’s about awareness.
If you want to walk the artist’s path with integrity—yes, you’ll need craft.
But you’ll also need contracts. Pricing sheets. Calendars. Boundaries. Infrastructure.
Final Thoughts
Not everyone who plays a few chords is an artist.
And that’s not a criticism—it’s an invitation.
To slow down.
To go deep.
To question what you're building—and who it's for.
Because this isn’t about gatekeeping.
It’s about root-keeping.
And those of us who’ve chosen this life full-time—sometimes at great cost—aren’t interested in protecting an elite club.
We’re just trying to keep the fire alive.
References
* Ariel Hyatt (2022). Tapasya Loading Podcast,
* Kahneman, D. (1973). Attention and Effort. Prentice-Hall.
* Simon, H.A. (1971). Designing Organizations for an Information-Rich World.
* Digital Music News (2023). Spotify Royalty Rate Report.
* Censuswide x Pirate.com (2023). The State of the Musician Economy Survey Report.
* Hyde, L. (2007). The Gift: Creativity and the Artist in the Modern World.
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