I've Never Really Understood What to Do with Prestige

Reflections on recognition and emotional disconnect, from state-level art medals to Oscar-adjacent projects

Prestige Ecology — Rendered by the author in DALL-E

So, technically speaking, I guess I can say I contributed to an Oscar-nominated documentary. Not really something I’ve thought much about since I realized this, though, as it hasn’t had much of an impact on my everyday life.

Nobody appeared at my door carrying a velvet robe and a fruit tray while whispering, “You are one of them now.” I didn’t levitate six inches above the kitchen floor, either, buoyed aloft by sheer glee. And that’s really only partially because my contributions were more or less anonymous, as is usually the case for ghostwriters and consultants.

As far as how that even happened, MasterClass approached me a while back to see if I’d be interested in being part of one of their feedback panels for an original documentary they were producing. I’ve done this in the past with a couple of their courses and truly enjoyed the experience. Plus, I usually score… like… a year of free MasterClass membership for my trouble, so I said yes, of course.

I was given a dedicated login and tool dashboard to work with, plus access to an unfinished rough version of the documentary (Diane Warren: Relentless). I watched it and submitted the requested feedback and suggestions via their system. Then I promptly forgot all about it.

Then this past March, I found out the final cut of the documentary had been nominated for an Oscar while watching the televised ceremony. (Pretty cool beans!) But I didn’t do much more than point it out at the time to my husband and go, “Hey, neat. That’s that one I worked on a while back. You should watch it. You’d like it.”

After a discussion about accolades the other day, it occurred to me that maybe I should have taken the fact that I contributed to something like that a little more to heart.

But then, I’ve always reacted that way to stuff like this, even when we’re talking about actual awards handed directly to me with my name attached and everything. For example, back in high school, I won a California Art Scholar medal and responded with all the emotional intensity of somebody receiving updated printer instructions.

All that got me wondering whether some creators simply experience prestige differently from everyone else.

Sometimes Creativity Is More About Identity Than Achievement

Making things is just something I do and have always done, like breathing or emotionally reorganizing reality through increasingly odd metaphors

I never personally dreamed of plaques or even of earning a living making things one day. I certainly didn’t make art because I hoped somebody official would eventually stamp a document confirming I had successfully “arted.”

In other words, I’ve never had much of a relationship with the concept of formal recognition, and I’m realizing that a lot of other creatives are the same.

When creativity functions as part of your identity instead of a ladder to climb, awards can start feeling oddly separate from the actual experience of making the work. Somebody hands you a certificate acknowledging the thing you were already planning to continue doing tomorrow anyway.

To me, it always felt a little like presenting a fish with an award for successful swimming. Whether or not the fish appreciates the honor, it still intends to swim some more later.

Sometimes Impact Matters More Than Authority

I’ve also realized I care much more about whether my work resonates with other people (or with myself) than I do about “winning stuff.”

A thoughtful message from someone who genuinely connected with something I made tends to stay with me a lot longer than formal recognition does. Knowing a piece helped somebody laugh, think differently, feel less isolated, or spiral pleasantly into some wild existential reflection hits harder than institutional approval ever has.

I definitely still enjoy money, actual opportunities, and real visibility as much as the next exhausted internet goblin trying to survive late-stage capitalism (especially money). But emotional connection is still largely where it’s at for me.

Plus, I’m not really sure traditional accolades mean the same thing, now that the internet and social media are part of the chat. Something like contributing to a documentary’s Oscar nom now shares timeline space with:

• Somebody earning six figures reviewing gas station mozzarella sticks on TikTok

• A creator building a loyal following by ranking haunted horror movie dolls

• An Etsy seller paying their mortgage via spiritually supportive frog stickers

And it does so for a very short time at that.

All of it lives together inside the same glowing rectangle where people also spend hours arguing about whether cereal counts as soup. I suppose that means I sometimes don’t really know what creative success even means anymore, but that’s a whole other conversation altogether.

Sometimes Prestige Feels Uncomfortably Abstract

In most cases, the lived experience of creating feels messy, immersive, occasionally repetitive, and sometimes even oddly domestic. But I associate formal recognition with things like impressively constructed bios, announcements, certificates, nominations, and the like. (A viral LinkedIn post might count under the right circumstances.)

Creative work happens while sitting at cluttered desks in old t-shirts, eating crackers out of my desk and cussing under my breath about software updates that come through at the worst possible time. Prestige arrives later, wearing shiny formal shoes and speaking in complete sentences.

Achievements have never felt like proper finish lines for me.

I guess it’s hard to feel that way when you always still wake up the next morning feeling like yourself. You still have a phone full of email notifications to deal with once you get some coffee in you. There will always still be that one specific houseplant that remains spiritually committed to dying, no matter what interventions you attempt.

Even very cool realities evaporate and segue back into real life pretty quickly.

Naturally, that doesn’t make achievements meaningless. It does mean external recognition rarely transforms people as drastically as the movies would have us believe.

For Creators Who Experience This, Too

Because even though I always feel like I must be the only “weirdo” in the pool, experience has taught me that that’s rarely actually the case. So on that note…

Don’t assume your emotional wiring is wrong

Some creators just plain operate from a place governed by internal motivation systems more than they do external validation loops. I should know, because I’ve been one of them since I was a small child.

That doesn’t make you arrogant, ungrateful, or someone who thinks they’re “too good” to care about things other people care about (regardless of what anyone tries to tell you). It simply means recognition may never hit your nervous system with the same intensity it seems to hit other people.

If anything, that’s healthier than constructing your entire identity around applause you may or may not ever get.

Let recognition help your career without letting it define you

Awards and visibility definitely still matter professionally, even if they don’t trigger a full-on spiritual awakening on a personal level.

Because recognition opens doors, prestige creates opportunities, and accolades help people discover your work. Those things do count in practical, career-boosting ways, even when they don’t also emotionally rearrange your soul.

In other words, don’t be like me and keep forgetting to add them to your resume (or your LinkedIn profile). In an increasingly competitive professional world, they can really help.

Pay attention to what actually lights you up inside

For some creators, the truly meaningful moments look surprisingly small. Some of my own greatest hits include:

• Finishing an emotionally difficult piece

• Nailing the perfect sentence

• Making somebody laugh (or even just feel better about life for a second)

• Creating something emotionally authentic

• Losing myself inside the process for a few blissfully uninterrupted hours

Those moments count for a lot. Sometimes they count more than the shiny milestones everybody else notices first.

Stop waiting for recognition to make you feel significant

I get that a shocking number of creators these days assume legitimacy will descend from the heavens the second they successfully publish something, win something, go viral, or otherwise receive some sort of institutionally approved recognition.

But then that milestone arrives, and they discover they still feel suspiciously “the same” afterward. Usually because they are.

Seriously, I’ve gone viral before. I’ve won writing contests. I’ve received medals. Sometimes it’s cool, especially if it comes alongside any sort of monetary reward or promising future opportunity. In most cases, though, it doesn’t change much on a permanent level.

The Act of Creating Changed Me More Than Any Recognition Ever Did

When I really think about it, the things that shaped me creatively over the years had very little to do with any prestige I ever might have rubbed elbows with. That came from years of:

• Making things

• Experimenting

• Surviving obscurity

• Developing a voice

• Paying attention

• Continuing anyway

That said, the Oscar-adjacent documentary story is objectively cool, and the California Art Scholars medal was objectively impressive. I do genuinely appreciate both experiences and others like them. But neither altered me nearly as much as all the ordinary accumulated years spent creating and sharing things for the sheer sake of it did.

To me, that’s what actually makes a creative a creative. Whether you still feel compelled to keep making things after the applause fades (if it ever came in the first place) and somebody else becomes internet-famous for two seconds for selling weird raccoon tote bags on Etsy.