Selling Out: It Can Happen to Anyone

Here's How to Prevent It

I'm going to try to be politically correct and selling out is something I've struggled with.  How far is going too far?  For me, I had to discover my voice as a writer and become comfortable in my own skin.  I know what my core principles are and what my mission is.  I have to be able to live with myself.  However, this is a game and the power dynamic is something people of color have to learn to navigate, but there is no way I will sacrifice or compromise my values just to get ahead.  I have no problem with artists playing the game, but when I see tweets or hear statements that disparage black women in particular, the same women who filled theaters when no one knew their name or bought their albums before they fixed themselves up, I have a real problem.  That is the definition of selling out and I have no patience for it. -- Torri R. Oats

Have I sold out? Have I totally gained so much that I let the purpose slip away? Have I become so preoccupied with earning a check that I managed to go back on all the idealistic vows I made to always be about the art? More importantly, if I have sold out - when did my betrayal begin? Was it when I started to enjoy the fame and easy recognition so much I became complacent and lazy, or when I noticed how quickly I got over the injustices that used to anger me so much? Selling out is something we accuse many people of because some people reek of it, but it’s something we often don’t smell on ourselves because we can’t handle admitting that we threw our principles away in favor of the trappings of success and fortune.

How many times have we said “money changed him/her” and now “he/she doesn’t care about his people or the message they started with”? Selling out is heavily judged and frowned upon but it’s more widespread than we think, because it doesn’t just rear its head when someone does something as big as jumping on a commercial project because the money’s so good.

Selling out can be seen in smaller acts like changing a tweet or a few lines in blog post because you don’t want to sound like an activist for fear of alienating an advertiser or sponsor. Selling out can be seen in laughing at your manager’s lame jokes because you want them to like you, and it can even be the motivation when someone rejects certain friends because they don’t fit in with the popular crowd or A-list image. You will find that it’s more common than you think, and that it usually starts with us giving an inch and this inch turning into miles of rope we can’t get back.

Authenticity is so important in creative spaces because that’s what makes you stand out and ultimately build a brand people are loyal to. Sometimes to speed up the process, we take on personas that conflict with our principles. In this process - we often have to fit into certain expectations, speak out less and basically water down certain aspects of our identity so that we’re more acceptable. It could stem from wanting to gain the approval of the people that butter the bread - who would think standing up for your principles makes you a loose cannon. It’s something we commonly notice in musicians or even actors who begin with a specific idea of what they want to achieve through their craft. Sometimes records labels and studios turn you into a stencil and package you for commercial gain. Soon the money starts rolling in, but one can’t help but feel like they are a phony because they abandoned the vision that made them get into the business in the first place. We can also observe this in politicians who start off with the vision to make a real change but soon sell out because they want endorsements, support and votes. It’s not uncommon to sell-out thinking that you’ve found a way to temporarily keep you going until you have the power to stand up for your ideals. It’s also not uncommon to just end up corrupted by the process as it turns hopeful idealists into disappointed cynics.

No one is immune selling out because ultimately it cuts too close to things most of us crave - success, material wealth, fame, recognition and adoration. Selling out becomes the path of least resistance to these things and we can all admit coming to a point where we could have everything but not on terms that sat well with us. What separates us is how we respond to the pressure to sell out - a) give in, gain the fame but lose our purpose or, b) strive harder to succeed on your own terms - possibly creating opportunities for ourselves. Many have given in, gaining the world in the process but losing themselves along the way The question is - is it worth it? Is everything you get from giving in enough to silence the voice reminding you that this isn’t what you wanted and that there’s so much more - and by more the voice means fulfillment, meaning, joy and purpose. From experience selling out is never worth it because you’re the one who has to sleep at night without being haunted by your conscience.

And then there’s the belief that selling out is inevitable; that choosing to hold onto certain ideals is a sign of youth, naivety and immaturity. People give weak reasons like priorities changing or seeing things clearer because they “understand how the world works now”. Sure, the inevitable game playing of the business affects us all, because it forces us to pick a side and stick with it - but making selling out an uncontrolled eventuality takes something key out of the equation - choice and the power you ultimately have over the forces that act on you.

I’m reminded of the movie Brown Sugar, starring Taye Diggs and Sanaa Lathan, a story built so brilliantly upon the analogy of hip-hop. After becoming a fancy record company executive, Dre becomes disillusioned with it all and asks his friend whether or not he sold out and left behind the dreams he had for a career that had a deeper purpose. Sidney tells him that he has sold out a little - but adds that it’s something everyone does at some point. My question is, when does it take place? When does one switch lanes and most importantly, do you even know it’s happening to you or do you just wake up one morning and realize that your priorities have shifted and what used to matter doesn’t anymore?

Selling out starts with us giving up on things that seem less important and compromising on positions that seem harmless to the whole cause. We become desensitized and therefore capable of giving up even more. The people we accuse of selling out didn’t just wake up and make giant shifts - they gave a little until it became a lot and by the time they noticed, they had dug themselves too deeply in the whole. In the case of our protagonist, Sandra, selling out came in the form of settling for what didn’t fulfill her, thinking it was temporary - only to realize that temporary had become permanent without her even noticing until it was too late and she was miserable. So what’s the answer then - how does one not sell out? The answer is knowing exactly what you want, standing up for it and refusing to compromise, even on the things that don’t seem as big or important as others. This way you’ll know who you are, you won’t get swayed and if you remain determined in your position - meaningful success will come on your own terms.

"I'd Reached a Point where I had everything, except a career as writer"

Torri Oats, No Lies Told Then writer

The Seeds that Planted No Lies Told Then 

As an African-American woman, I knew it wouldn't be easy for me to achieve my goal of becoming a produced screenwriter.  Let’s be honest, an African-American female protagonist who is not a mammy, Jezebel, crack head, angry, ratchet, or “magical” is a rare sight.  More often than not, black women onscreen are reduced to two-dimensional caricatures who bear little resemblance to the marvelously complex, extraordinary women I am blessed to call my “sisters”.

The journey, I think, is more difficult because of my refusal to write inside a box.  While I have always been up for any and every challenge, I never imagined how difficult realizing my dream would be.  Emotionally, every “no” was a condemnation of me.  I wasn’t good enough.  I wasn’t talented enough.  When managers responded with feedback like, “Boy, you can write,” or “Great dialogue,” I never fully embraced their words of encouragement.  All I saw was their rejection and the words after the “but…”.  It slowly chipped away at my confidence until I began to wonder if I was meant to be a writer after all.  

Several years ago, I wrote the first draft of a script, “No Lies Told Then,” and I thought it would be my first screenwriting credit.  After letting a director friend read an early draft and feeding off of each other’s excitement, we decided to make it together, bucking the Hollywood system altogether.  We knew we had something special, but we were so young and naive, we had no idea what we were doing.  

We decided casting should come first, so we hired an experienced casting director and gave her a wish list of actors.  One by one we heard the refrain, “Without funding, we won't look at it.”  Funders said, “Without attachments, we won't look at it.”  Our wide-eyed innocence was soon replaced with the cold, hard reality of this cruel business and the project faded into the background of our lives.

Over the years, that script, those characters, particularly the protagonist, “Sandra," haunted me.  She was an incredible woman whose story deserved to be told.  I found myself going back to it again and again, tinkering with dialogue, re-writing scenes, trying to pinpoint why certain parts just weren’t working.  Although I was writing other things, it was “No Lies Told Then” that grabbed hold of me and refused to let me go.

Then, something happened.  Maybe I matured, which is doubtful.  Maybe I started thinking about my own mortality and questioned whether I was truly living, which is probably a bit closer to the truth.  Or maybe I was just at that crossroads in my life when I knew I had to do something with my talent, or risk becoming one of those people who spoke wistfully about what could have been.  I think the most likely scenario is a combination of all three, along with the fact that I’d reached a point in my life where I literally had everything I needed, except a career as a writer. As full as my life appeared, I was empty.

Life’s road is winding and littered with obstacles and opportunities, and sometimes when you are at your lowest, fate steps in.  Quite by accident, my paths crossed with a director who loved the same films as I, with such vision, watching his work is akin to watching poetry brought to life.  During one of our early conversations, he shared with me the story of his professor who told him he’d never be an auteur.  He suggested my friend would be better off adapting the works of others, rather than trying to write something original to direct.  For my part, I’ve always wanted to be a director, but I know I lack the skill and vision at this point in my life.  It was as though some greater force wanted us to meet to fill each other’s creative void. 

I decided to share my script and the story resonated with him the way it resonated with me.  We spent three years reading every scene aloud, analyzing its purpose, asking ourselves tough questions and I would go home to write.  It was his process, one I absolutely loathed because I prefer e-mails and notes, not sitting in a coffee shop reading to each other.  

Over the course of our time working together, I began to understand the meaning of collaboration.  As I writer, I sit hunched over my computer creating a skeleton.  When he and I began working together, we added muscle, tendons, veins and skin; those layers that I couldn’t necessarily see when I worked alone.  With an actor, in the ideal experience, we’ll work together to give the character the heartbeat, the breath, the soul.  

Here we are, nearly four years later, passionately pursuing the dream.  “No Lies Told Then” after countless rewrites and feedback, is finally the story “Sandra” always wanted to tell.  I am no longer plagued by that gnawing sensation in the back of my mind that “something just isn’t right”.  

It is only the beginning of the journey.  While there will be many more bumps and vats of tears as we chase money and await word from the actress we want to play our lead, this story will have a happy ending.  Had it not been for the trials that I'd endured, from the false starts with this project and others, had it not been for the rejection that came often by “experts” who said this could not be done, I would not have had the steely spine required to fulfill my purpose.  Each “no” gave me strength; each “I can't sell it” was fuel to the raging fire.  Just as “Sandra” is the fully realized human being of a character I always envisioned, there’s a hungry audience out there just waiting to see someone onscreen who doesn’t only look like them, but is them. 

Ava DuVernay to POC and women: "Don't Ask, Just Take."

“Please”, “may I” and “is it okay?” These are society’s hallmarks of how well mannered individuals are expected to articulate themselves. If we explore it further, being good mannered in this way is especially expected of women. Any deviation from this so-called script, results in words like angry, aggressive and unladylike being thrown – because it’s seen as going against that prescribed gentleness, patience and permission asking that fits into the expectation of femininity. On the other hand, modern society also favors phrases like “grow a pair” when they require someone to make a bold move and “you have no balls” if you’re seen as acting in a manner that reads as gentle and in other words cowardly. People with so-called “balls” are celebrated for taking chances, championing fear, not wanting or waiting for approval or permission. They stand up for themselves and push through when faced with challenges and uphill battles. Considering that the one side refers to male anatomy, the two poles are highly gendered and being “ballsy” is linked to been manly. Women who climb corporate ladders are described as ballsy and in the process, they are seen as less feminine. They dared to have the ambition to achieve so much, and this level of ambition is often viewed as unnatural for a woman. We are so conditioned to play the role of approval seekers; we even find ourselves begging to be as ambitious as our male counterparts. We’re so used to being applicants that we don’t even realize how often we hold ourselves back from voicing a valid opinion, or change the questions we form to things that are more likely to get a “yes” response.

A necessary tool for empowering a group long oppressed/suppressed by society and culture, is doing away with the need for approval before making something happen. Empowering them comes down to revealing that this world and the successes and opportunities within it are as much for their taking as they are for privileged groups. It’s more than saying what they have can also be ours, it means realizing that we all have a claim to it and as a result, the need for permission is null and void. Claiming this truth, that the pie belongs to whoever wants it, works for it and deserves it based on merit, and these factors alone, has a great impact. As Ava Duvernay points out, for women and people of color the conversation around getting a slice of the pie has put a considerable amount of emphasis on saying ‘please allow us” instead of “we did it because we wanted to.”

In spaces that exist to shift the conversation towards equality, the mission isn’t to take away from men in the industry – it’s about redistributing the rights to make them what they should have always been – equal, because we are all owners. What Ava DuVernay says must end is the deeply ingrained belief that we only get things after we ask for them, wait for considerations to be made and hope for an answer that catapults us into the shining approval that will get us the jobs, opportunities and respect.

POC and women have as much a right to “grow a pair” and create their own opportunities while that permission paperwork is “still pending.” We have as much of a right to take, and not just wait to be given. It’s not enough to adhere to rules not created by us – we can make rules for ourselves without a green light. Not needing approval doesn’t make you forceful, difficult and bad mannered – it’s simply an act of reinforcing the fact that we’re all equal players, owing each other nothing. We don’t have to ask someone to kindly move up on the bench to make space. We also don’t have to wait for a pat on the back when we do something, because sometimes that pat doesn’t even come.

The first step isn’t asking someone to let you in – the first step is deciding that you want to go in whether you’re given permission or not. Recognize the power you already have and unleash it – instead of waiting for it to be given. This applies to POC and women alike, who have for generations lived under the code of “please” and “may I”. To truly shift the culture, we have to put ourselves in the driver’s seat, fully aware of the destination and draw our own maps to get there, without asking for the keys, the directions or the stationary.