Considering cost per joy
I spent my childhood in the countryside and my parents are keen gardeners. So when I was growing up there were always flowers around and flowers didn’t cost money. Occasionally, a guest would bring my mother a bouquet and she would treat this like a huge indulgence. I have memories too of her tutting at the price of cut flowers. She obviously thought is was wasteful to spend on something that was going to die in a few short days.
As an adult I carried this inherited attitude for years. As a reaction to my extremely frugal childhood, I sometimes overspent on clothes and shoes, cocktails and meals out, club entries and gig tickets and, of course, the much reviled “fancy coffees”. I didn’t buy myself flowers.
Sometimes a romantic partner would buy me flowers and I would be overwhelmed and almost resistant. It seemed an extraordinary act. Over time this feeling lessened but it never disappeared. If someone else wanted to throw silly money at flowers for me then that was their choice. To buy my own would be ridiculous. I was someone who would unthinkingly spend £35 on a forgettable lunch, but wouldn’t pay £10 for a bouquet that would make me smile for a week.
I remember the moment I realised how foolish this was. My then boyfriend, now husband, and I had braved drizzly weather and gone to Columbia Road Flower Market for a Sunday afternoon out*. I had chosen an array of blooms and foliage; some scented, some merely elegantly shaped. I was clutching them against my chest, almost up to my face, as a I walked to the train home. My mind was on which vase would suit them best for arranging.
I love London, but grey streets under grey skies can bring you down. Having this armful of living colour with me brought me so much joy. As a noticed my joy, I had a flash of insight. The flowers had cost the same amount as the tea and cake for two we had bought in a chichi independent café at one end of the market. I hadn’t thought twice about the refreshments. I was revelling in my flowers.
That was a defining moment in how I think about my non-essential spending. It stopped just being about whether something was cheap or expensive within its category of expenses (food, event tickets, clothing and accessories etc). I started to compare across categories and to think about how much joy each purchase would bring me for the price. This changed my appreciation of value and means I spend more wisely and get more from my purchases of all kinds.
I’m still more likely to buy coffee than flowers, because catching up with a friend is joyful too. (More than ever after months of lockdown.) However, I no longer rule out a whole type of spending without considering it first, and I suggest you don’t either.
Did this blog post make you think? You will probably enjoy the episode of my podcast, Squanderlust, where we talked about ‘mental accounting’ and the weird tricks our minds play on us about prices. Listen here.
*For those not in the know, Columbia Road stall-holders discount their plants and flowers after about 1pm, so they can pack up and leave with minimal waste.
Hey freelancers! Your pricing is not about you
Wait what? How is my pricing not about me? I am the one who made the sale. I am the one doing the work. I am the one who needs the money. How is not about me? Read on.
I was reading a Facebook discussion about figuring out pricing as a new freelancer. There were some great resources mentioned, like this Google Sheet for creative freelancers, so they can compare their rates with people with similar experience and skills (including adding their own, so others can benchmark against them).
There were also comments about how pricing links to confidence level and how struggles with confidence can affect your rates. This is absolutely true, the questions that freelancers ask themselves can be painful and undermine their ability to charge appropriately.
Am I qualified enough to charge this much?
Do I have enough experience to charge this much?
Will they think I’m greedy charging this much?
Am I greedy charging this much?
If I charge this much, will my clients think I only care about the money and not about the work?
Do I work hard enough to charge this much?
How many hours do I have to work to charge for a day?
Do I really deserve to charge this much?
Do I really need to charge this much, if I can cover my costs and live on less?
This kind of worry often comes from a place of seeing your prices relating to your effort and your needs. These questions are all about you.
These are the wrong questions. Some better questions are:
What problem(s) will I solve for my clients?
How easy is it for my clients to communicate with me?
How careful am I to ensure I know how to give clients what they really need by listening carefully and asking clarifying questions?
How much money/time/inconvenience/stress will I save my clients?
How much growth will my clients get (income/new customers/brand awareness/whatever) because of my work for them?
Do I demonstrated to my clients that I’ve done this? How?
The good questions are all about your clients, their needs and how well you meet those needs. The more you can answer these questions, the easier it will be to answer the most important question:
How much value am I providing my clients?
Because this is key: you should be paid based on the value of your work to your clients. It’s not about how you feel about your work, how long it took you, how much effort you put in, your past experience or qualifications. It’s about whether you meet your clients needs and what that is worth to them.
Provide a high value service? Charge accordingly.
Answer the good questions and you’ll automatically develop the confidence you need to set the right price.
If you found this useful, you might enjoy this episode of my podcast, Squanderlust, where we talked about valuing your time with start-up mentor Jasper Lyons.
You can also pre-order my book on freelance finances for a special launch price of £8.99.