Momentum, Pressure

Softening against the machine.

A Médecins Sans Frontières charity person knocked on my door. He was… annoying. Every hesitation I gave him was smoothly redirected into another reason I should say yes. I told him I already support other charities and he effortlessly pivoted into, “Well, think of this as a top-up to the amazing generosity you already give [insert earnest smile with twinkle in eye here]!”

He said other neighbours had joined that day too, and he just knew I wanted to do the right thing by supporting this amazing cause. I could feel exactly what he was doing. Pressure, momentum, pressure, momentum. YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON WHEN YOU GIVE US YOUR BANK DETAILS! YOU ARE A TERRIBLE HUMAN IF YOU DO NOT.

It worked on me, at least emotionally. Not enough to sign up, but enough that I closed the door feeling like a total piece of shit, and that everyone knew I was a piece of shit…like now I was wearing a t-shirt with the words “HATES SAVING CHILDREN” printed in big neon green text across my tits.

In the late 2000s, I worked at the Perth CBD branch of a very well-known plus size clothing company. I tried to take a holistic approach to selling clothes there, creating a trusting relationship with people who came in. If something didn’t look good on them, I’d encourage them to try something else. If they looked good in something but didn’t believe it, I’d be their hype-bitch. And if they didn’t LOVE the fit with their entire being, I wasn’t going to argue.

But our individual UPC (units per customer) goal was a minimum average of 1.8, which meant UPSELL UPSELL UPSELL! PRESSURE, MOMENTUM!!! I fucking hated the culture.

My manager’s UPC was regularly 3+.

Was she a good salesperson?

“Yes,” answers Capitalism.
“No,” answers my nervous system.

She had this knack for sniffing out the not-so-confident people who came to shop with us, using their meekness to make them spend so much money on clothes and accessories they didn’t even like. They walked out the door with bags and bags and bags, and the company patted her on the back for it.

It didn’t matter that these customers went to a different branch a couple days later to return most of it (which negatively affected that branch's UPC but kept ours looking sterling).

I’ve also never ever admitted this… but there were times when I was working on my own where I would sometimes buy 2 cheap items—usually sale jewellery—just to up my own UPC because HQ would call you up and ask you why you weren’t working harder.

So… I have more than a slight distaste for salespeople who use pressure tactics to take my money.

And yet… this aggressive culture is still what my brain tells me successful money-making looks like. Not just selling something, but performing confidence in this very specific way. Being persistent past the point of comfort… perhaps theirs and mine. Staying cheerful while nudging people toward a commitment they don’t really mean, or, worse—can’t afford. Knowing exactly how to position themself so people trust them, admire them, want to give them attention, money, time.

I don’t see softness in those visions of success. I see control… people who know how to take up space without apologising for it, who have the salesperson script memorised and can pivot without breaking a sweat or cringing at the yuckiness of it. And when someone is brave enough to reject them, they don’t have time to be affected. They already have their eyes focused on the next weakling.

Momentum, pressure, momentum, pressure.

Somewhere along the line, I started believing that if I wanted my creative work to support me financially, I would have to become harder too. More strategic. Less emotionally transparent. More willing to push and pivot. To become mean.

And fuck that. I don’t want to build a life where I have to turn myself into a brand-safe, emotionally bulletproof version of a person just to deserve stability.

The phrase “hard sell,” is a bit on the nose, isn’t it? Reveals how we treat hardness like a virtue. Like the ability to override another person’s discomfort is evidence of confidence when, really, it’s disconnection.

I am not a brand. I am not a monolith. I don’t want to become untouchable. I don’t want a nervous system optimised for conversion rates. I am a little messy creative human. I have ideas, offerings, and projects I want to share with people, but I only want to invite people who see value in my work. Who are excited to collaborate—whose bodies fizz with delight when they think about playing and creating with me.

I’m also so capable of hearing “no” without treating myself like a failure or you as a puzzle to solve. A no is a no. No pressure. The only momentum is us giving each other a spiritual high-five and going our separate ways. For now, or forever. Either is fine.

No idea what ethical financial success looks like yet. But what I have learned is the more I follow the joy, the more money I make. And since I consider myself a professional collaborator, your joy during our work together is integral.