Would a male counterpart just name their number and be done with it? According to, well, the entire world of data that has ever collected on the different ways men and women approach remuneration, the answer is yes. Brooke Le Poer Trench explores the ways in which women talk about salaries - and what needs to change.

All freelancers will understand this conundrum. You get approached by a brand for a job. Fantastic! Then comes the dreaded question: what’s your day/word/project rate? This one is so so tricky, because it changes job to job. Brand to brand. There isn’t just one set price for taking a picture, styling a set or writing the words. And that’s because, say in my case, creatives are often willing to accept a much lower rate for editorial work (you know, because of the prestige) than they would if doing the exact same work for a brand, which should pay significantly more.

Having worn both hats - commissioner and freelancer - I understand both sides. Only it doesn’t always help. In fact, sometimes I think it might hinder me. I know the person commissioning me has a budget for my part of the project—a number they are willing to pay me. And now comes the hard part… by asking me to name a price, they may be able to save on that number if I come in lower. As a freelancer, I’m sitting at home and thinking, if I charge too little it seems as though I’m not worth it. If I charge too much, they go somewhere else.

I’m wondering if all the angst is also a female thing. Would a male counterpart just name their number and be done with it? According to, well, the entire world of data that has ever collected on the different ways men and women approach remuneration, the answer is yes. 

A few years ago, I was continually faced with this problem as I started booking project roles with creative agencies. So I made a conscious decision to be more transparent about what I was earning. Whenever I was speaking to someone about work—especially a fellow freelancer—I would just get specific about the numbers. I did this not to be crass (side note: the only people I have ever known to find money chat offensive are people with loads of it or the managers deciding on salaries, who benefit most from silence), but to help people get a better picture of what they could charge… and I hoped I would gain some data points too. 

And, of course, I did. And it changed the day rates I was charging quite significantly.  I was also disappointed too, because I realised I could have been making more if I’d had a bit more faith in the fact that when people offer me a job, I’m more than a bum in a seat. That want me, specifically. The phrase “everyone is replaceable” is so damaging when you’re trying to find value as a freelancer. When you come from a place of gratitude, it’s not a mindset that will allow you to push and agitate for better pay. You’re too busy saying thank you to get the message across. 

And to be fair, I have worked for plenty of people who are honest and forthright. They will volunteer their budget. They will fight for a better rate from a client. They will go into bat for more days. There are so many good people. The problem is my own.

Most recently, I had an issue come up that made me think long and hard about this subject. I picked up some work outside of my full-time role. A side hustle, if you will. It was working for friends, and so even though it was a lot of work, I loved having an excuse to speak to them on a weekly basis. And it was fun, which made the late nights worth it. But I began to have a nagging feeling towards the end of the role… and it was that I was not being paid the same amount as the person I was covering. There were a few comments during budget meetings that made me wonder. And I didn’t like the feeling. I didn’t like the way it made me feel about the work I was doing. I didn’t like obsessing about something I’d agreed to months beforehand. And I didn’t want to be angry with my friends.  

It occurred to me that I should just text the person I was covering and ask, straight up, what she was earning. Maybe she would tell me. I knew I would answer the question honestly if someone asked me. Or at least I hope I would. And then another thought: do I even want to know? If I was earning less, could I blame my friends, who are also business people, who simply benefited from me accepting their first offer? I still don’t know the answer to that one. In the meantime, if you want to know what I earn, hit me up.