The Working Class Creatives Database is a platform dedicated to addressing class-based inequality in the creative industries. It champions working-class artists by providing a space for connection, conversation, and the exchange of skills, opportunities, and knowledge. The database aims to amplify underrepresented voices and break down barriers, striving for a creative sector where all backgrounds are equally valued and supported.
Continuing their mission to platform more working-class artists, founder Seren Metcalfe has opened GLORY BOX, the collective’s first exhibition within central London’s commercial gallery scene at The Shop at Sadie Cole HQ. The exhibition space exists on the margins as a storeroom, factory, or church – spaces where working-class labour quietly endures. Featuring Grace Clifford, Harley Roberts, and Kelly Wu, the show explores what it means to inherit and collect outside of traditional notions of wealth and value, using gathered materials as a way to process memory and experience. Taking its name from the Portishead song, GLORY BOX carries a slow, devotional rhythm – honouring grief, language, and the overlooked objects that hold meaning beyond the polished surfaces of the art world. GLORY BOX is showing from 16th July until 2nd August.
Below, Seren shares how working-class creatives juggle survival and success in the art world’s hidden economy. This article was originally published in BRICKS #14 The Resilience Issue which you can order from our online store now.
WORDS Seren Metcalfe
The Facade of Success
On the surface, I look like I’ve “made it.”
I’m the director of the Working Class Creatives Database (WCCD), an artist, a writer, and a curator. I spend my time connecting creatives with studio spaces, residencies, and career opportunities – building a thriving community for those navigating the art world’s many barriers.
People book calls with me for advice on funding and strategy. I’ve spoken on panels, been featured in major publications, and helped shape a vital space for working-class artists. I visit friends working in big galleries, gossiping over wine about industry drama or sitting in meetings that feel like scenes from The Real Housewives of New York.
In reality, most of my income comes from front-of-house roles on zero-hour contracts. One week, I’m being rejected for an ushering job while working a 12-hour shift at another role; the next, I’m being interviewed as a cultural leader shaping the future of the arts. It’s a strange, dual existence – one that’s deeply familiar to working-class creatives, who often find themselves creating opportunities for others while struggling to secure the same stability for themselves.
As an introverted extrovert, I’ve been ‘faking it till I make it’ for as long as I can remember – reading books on body language, practising The Apprentice-style power stances in the mirror and trying to appear confident even when I’m shitting myself inside. But maybe it’s all gone a bit too far. Can I really have the best of both worlds?
As an introverted extrovert, I’ve been ‘faking it till I make it’ for as long as I can remember – reading books on body language, practising The Apprentice-style power stances in the mirror and trying to appear confident even when I’m shitting myself inside. But maybe it’s all gone a bit too far. Can I really have the best of both worlds?
The Working Class Work Ethic
With no funding for WCCD and rejection after rejection for my own art projects and job applications, the life of a Ceo/Curator/Artist/Writer/Theatre Usher has turned out to be more of a nightmare than a dream. Now I understand why this many titles are reserved for nepo babies’ Instagram bios. I’m living a nepo baby lifestyle – except I’m just the baby.
And we’re told – over and over again – that if we just work hard enough, we’ll succeed, but that belief sets us up to be exploited. It makes us more likely to give away our labour for free, more likely to push through exhaustion, more likely to overwork ourselves to the point of breaking because we think that’s what it takes. I’ve seen it in my working-class peers who are running similar initiatives, just one to-do list away from burnout.
The pressure to “prove” ourselves starts young. We’re taught to appear smart, presentable – spotless houses, shoes polished till we can see our own mugs in them. We grow up with a wig already on our heads, not a hair out of place. We were raised to impress – unlike our middle-class peers, who seem to have a much more relaxed attitude. Their homes are hardly hoovered, books scattered across rooms, spaces left as they are – no one worried about appearances, no one needing to prove themselves. Perhaps, success doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone.
And in the arts? The working-class creatives are often the ones picking up the pieces, running the grassroots initiatives, building the infrastructure that keeps the industry alive – all while living on its margins. The arts sector thrives off their labour. The people at the top rely on them to build the infrastructure while shutting them out of the rewards.
Curating Success: The Social Media Illusion
Growing up in the 2000s meant crafting an online persona before you even knew who you were in real life – polishing your Bebo, Myspace, or Facebook profile to present the best version of yourself.
This early immersion in self-curation means our generation is uniquely skilled at constructing a polished, impressive facade; one that often appears more successful than the reality behind it.
Now, scrolling through Instagram, if I saw my own profile from the outside, I’d think I was thriving. Interviews in top magazines, panel discussions, just the right amount of likes. In the creative industries, cultural capital is currency – measured in press coverage and online engagement.
But likes and glossy articles don’t pay the bills.
We’ve been conditioned to curate success and to make it look like we’re winning, because in the art world, perception is currency.
For WCCD, we have to look professional. The second people see “working class” in our name, they assume we’re amateurs, so we make sure our branding is sharp, our website polished. We perform legitimacy.
And for artists? There are galleries that prey on young working-class creatives, charging them up to £500 for the promise of “exposure.” They know we’re desperate to be seen, to have a voice in an industry that so often shuts us out.
We’ve been conditioned to curate success and to make it look like we’re winning, because in the art world, perception is currency.
The Art World’s False Economy
This industry runs on illusion. Artists don’t always make money from their art. The galleries that appear successful are often just performing success, hoping the market catches up. Young designers and gallerists who seem to be thriving? They had the money to begin with.
Inside knowledge from friends working in galleries has confirmed what I suspected – many of them aren’t actually selling anything, they’re just pretending to. It’s a false economy. Faking it until people start believing it, hoping the money follows.
I used to think struggling artists were really struggling – living out of their studios, making ends meet. Turns out, a lot of them were just taking a break from their parents’ country homes. I was focused on making it while they had the freedom to become artists, to take risks, to experiment, to fail.
In today’s financial landscape, it’s only getting harder. The grants that once supported emerging artists have dried up. You can’t rely on dole money the way many artists did back in the day. University isn’t free anymore, and student debt looms large. The arts have the least funding they’ve ever had, making it near impossible for working-class creatives to sustain themselves. The safety nets that allowed previous generations to take their time and build their practice simply don’t exist for us. Instead, we’re expected to work multiple jobs while still producing groundbreaking work. The illusion of success is harder to maintain when the reality is so precarious.
Breaking the Facade
I really started to question everything when I was looking for more work.
On paper, I’m the director of a creative organisation. In reality, I’m somehow both overqualified for some jobs and not qualified enough for others. At one point, I interviewed someone for a board of advisors role at WCCD – only to have them interview me for an ushering job months later. Another night, while ushering at a theatre, I found myself face-to-face with someone I’d met days earlier in a funding meeting. The moment of recognition flickered across their face, quickly followed by confusion.
Then, a few weeks ago, an email landed in my inbox: “You’ve been identified as a potential candidate for the Forbes Under 30 Art & Culture list.” I laughed. Then I opened the application.
They wanted financial details. I stared at the form, knowing I’d have to enter something painfully close to £0. Maybe voluntary hours count for something? The email still sits there, unanswered.
The art world loves a lone success story, but real change happens collectively, through mutual support, through people showing up for one another.
The Best of Both Worlds?
The real success lies in community not clout.
The Working Class Creatives Database is one of the best things I’ve ever been part of. There’s nothing like having a network of people who get it – who share opportunities, uplift each other, and refuse to let the system grind them down. The art world loves a lone success story, but real change happens collectively, through mutual support, through people showing up for one another.
The problem: it shouldn’t be left to unpaid grassroots organisers – burnt out and running on fumes – to hold this infrastructure together. If those with money truly care about culture, they need to invest in the communities that are actually building it.
It’s not enough to admire the resilience of working-class creatives from a distance. It’s time to fund them, support them, and give them the space to thrive. We’ve built something real, something that matters. And maybe, one day, we’ll get to put the limo out front – without having to fake it first.
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