The Creative One

The problem with labels: they don’t just tell you what you are—they also tell you what you aren’t.

When I was a child, my sister was always referred to as “the smart one.” I, by virtue of my struggle to grasp the academic fundamentals, became “the creative one.” It wasn’t a title I chose, but one that seemed to fill the space left behind. What appeared to be a casual label—harmless, even flattering, turned out not to be the compliment I had always thought it was.

My sister, a child of the blissful early-80s to early-90s transition of shedding conformity, was the more academically inclined. She was the first in our family to break the mould of leaving education at 16 years old and go to university, later becoming Dr Clarke, the psychologist. But I can’t shake the feeling that if she hadn’t been labelled “the smart one,” her life might have taken a very different path, or at least allowed for more diversions along her journey. It’s not that her talents and potential haven’t been realised, it’s just before she was categorised, she was a cocktail of poetry and self-expression, punctuated by ever-changing hair colours. She was, by definition, creative beyond measure. Yet as she was funnelled through an education system, inside a family whose own working-class struggles (in their eyes) rightly prioritised traditional smarts, the value of her creativity was slowly eroded.

Because “smart” was a superpower. It meant capability, reliability, potential. “Creative,” on the other hand, was just a polite way of saying “a bit silly.” Creativity wasn’t serious. It wasn’t strategic. It was whimsical, eccentric—a sidekick trait, not a main character one. And I’ve now come to realise that stigma lingers.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about this more as I watch my own children approach that formative age where every word I say imprints on them like ink soaking into a sponge. When we call children creative without teaching them the value of creativity, are we, in some way, complicit in its continued devaluation? Let me explain.

In my upbringing, creativity was seen as playful, free-spirited, a passion, not a profession. My parents encouraged it, my teachers celebrated it, but somewhere along the way, the familiar shift happens. “That’s great, but when are you getting a job?” Suddenly, creativity is demoted to a side gig, a weekend hobby, a thing you do “for the love of it” while you get a “real” occupation.

The Labels That Linger

Having a Psychologist as a Sister has its benefits—she once explained to me that this thorny topic has a name: “labelling theory,” the idea that the words assigned to us as children don’t just describe us; they define us. Research shows that children internalise these labels, shaping their self-perception and ultimately influencing the paths they take.

For example, if you’re “the athletic one,” you might never push yourself academically. If you’re “the responsible one,” you might struggle to ask for help, and by extension, if you’re “the creative one,” you might spend a lifetime secretly wondering if you’re just playing dress-up whenever you step outside your artistic lane.

Because here’s the problem with labels: they don’t just tell you what you are—they also tell you what you aren’t.

If my sister was smart, did that mean I wasn’t? If I was creative, did that mean she wasn’t? We both knew it was more complicated than that, but childhood labels are sticky. And their residue clings to the soles of your feet long after you’ve stumbled into adulthood.

Perhaps it wasn’t all bad? The mere fact that I was defined as “creative” meant my parents took their eye off the ball when it came to pushing me into an academic route. It meant I could spend a lot of time creatively engaged in hobbies with no constraints or guardrails. There was no pressure to conform to a structure, no expectation to follow a mapped-out path. My creativity was mine to explore, my curiosity was mine to nurture—freely, without the weight of expectation. And honestly, that freedom was a gift.

The Myth of the “Gift”

Learning the value of creativity is imperative for both the industry as a whole and your success within it. Often, from an early age, creativity is framed as a kind of magic—a gift. You either have it, or you don’t. While we can all subjectively admire creativity, we often fail to respect the craft behind it.

Think of it this way: no one tells a future doctor, “Wow, you’re so naturally good at memorising anatomy!” and then expects them to operate on a heart without training. Yet for creatives in all fields, society often treats talent as if it should be enough, no need for years of learning, refining, or understanding the business of creativity.

And that’s where the trouble begins. Because when creative work is seen as an effortless gift rather than a cultivated skill, it becomes easy to undervalue. If it’s just something people are “naturally good at,” why should they be paid well for it?

My father was a plumber before he retired. He would never dream of working on a boiler for “recognition”, and he certainly would never consult on a repair for free. He is a professional; he has a skill that is valued. Yet we often fail to grasp this as creatives, selling ourselves short to industries that treat creativity as a pastime rather than a profession. In other words, creativity isn’t a gift; it’s an economic disadvantage.

The Oversaturation Problem

Many creative children grow up without learning how to charge for their work, or understanding it’s true business value beyond the art. Like it or not, we’re all bound to a capitalist structure, where pushing against the prevailing winds often doesn’t turn a passion into a sustainable career. We enter an industry where “exposure” is offered instead of money, where freelance rates are laughably low, and where businesses assume that because someone enjoys their work, they don’t need to be paid fairly for it.

Because creativity is so encouraged (but not financially supported), we end up with an industry overflowing with talent but starving for stability. There are more artists, writers, musicians, and designers than there are well-paid jobs for them, which unfortunately makes it easier for companies to unfairly pay less, knowing that someone else—someone hungrier, more desperate—will take the work for a lower rate.

And so the cycle continues, and yet the world keeps consuming books, films, music and design as if they appear out of thin air.

This is echoed with the latest threat to our creative livelihood—AI—where the discipline of design is so undervalued it’s seen as a task rather than a talent. I read recently that A World Economic Forum report ranks graphic design among the fastest-declining professions, predicting significant job losses over the next five years as AI continues to automate creative roles. Meanwhile, UX and UI design are projected to thrive, reinforcing the idea that creativity, when paired with measurable business value, is worth keeping.

It’s no wonder, then, that in the UK (At time of writing this) the professional-level employment rate for creative arts graduates is 58.6%, significantly lower than the 74.9% average across all fields. Proof that creative talent exists in abundance, but the infrastructure to support it does not.

So, should we stop calling children creative? No, but we should redefine what it means. Instead of simply celebrating their imagination, we should teach them that creativity is a skill, not just a gift. Something that deserves attention and nurturing to be great at. It is in this redefinition of its value that we begin to change the perception of the creative industries for generations to come.

We should introduce them to the economics of art, the business of branding, the reality that creativity has worth, and that they should never have to apologise for demanding fair pay for it.

Breaking the Cycle

Fast forward to this chair where I sit writing to you today. By title I’m a professional creative director. I’ve spent over fifteen years working in design, strategy, and storytelling. By all logical measures, I should feel established, assured—an expert, even. But logic rarely gets the final say.

One might expect to feel emboldened, secure in such a profession. Instead, I often enter situations feeling like an imposter, as if wearing a borrowed suit of competence that doesn’t quite fit. As I uncomfortably write this Substack, i’m reminded i’m not alone in feeling this; studies indicate that the creative arts has the highest rate of imposter syndrome across all sectors, affecting nearly 87% of respondents, and I can’t help but wonder if this staggering number is rooted in how we’re taught to perceive the value of creativity from an early age. An early environment where creativity was always the bridge rather than the destination.

Now i’m fortunate that the company I work with does value creativity. I’m proud to stand on the shoulders of giants who have long established the significance of design in driving business success and cementing its role as more than decoration.

In the exorcism of these thoughts, I’ve come to realise: I am supposed to be here. And if you’ve ever been confined by a label, so are you. Creativity isn’t just about craft; it’s about innovation, problem-solving, and original thinking, and one that I have found to be a vital force behind progress.

As for my sister, now in her forties, she’s endeavouring to reintegrate creativity into a life framework that previously left no room for it. It’s wonderful to witness, because, much like being academically bright, no one should deny their curiosity. Who knows what might emerge when we shed constraints and allow one to inform the other?

So yes, I was “the creative one.” But I’ve chosen to rewrite the subtext for my children. Not as the head-in-the-clouds one, nor the impractical one, but as someone who sees things differently and leverages that perspective to effect change. Because creativity isn’t just play; it’s work. And its value is magnificent. It’s time we started treating it that way. And honestly, what could be smarter than that?
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