Broke Artists, Broken Dreams: How the Cost of Living Is Making Our Generation’s Van Goghs Work 9–5

You may have heard about the recent controversy surrounding Chappell Roan or, if you actually have a life and are not glued to your phone, maybe you have not. Claims circulated online that Roan, who has often been seen as a struggling artist who finally broke through, came from a wealthier background than fans had believed. Whether those claims are true or not, this article is not a hate piece about Chappell. She is clearly talented, and online rumours should always be treated carefully.

But the reaction to the controversy revealed a more important discussion in my mind;

Why are people so obsessed with whether an artist is really “self-made”? Why do we care so much about whether someone came from nothing, struggled, worked a normal job, lived in a tiny room, or made music in their parents’ garage? And why does it feel like there are fewer and fewer successful artists from genuinely humble backgrounds?

The answer is not just celebrity gossip. It is class.

Indie music, by definition, is supposed to be independent. It is music made outside the control of major labels and corporations, giving artists the freedom to experiment and create without being shaped entirely by commercial demands. Some of the most important music cultures such as rock, alternative, punk, metal and underground scenes grew from that spirit of independence. Indie music has always sold us the dream that great art can come from bedrooms, basements, garages and broke young people with nothing but talent, time and something to say.

So when people get angry about whether an artist is truly self-made, the anger is not just about “another celebrity lying.” It points to a much bigger fear: can people with no money, no industry connections and no safety net actually make art and succeed in today’s economy?

Let’s start with something simple: garage bands.

Where are they?

Some people argue that music has simply run out of new ideas. They say everything has already been invented, every sound has already been tried, and every genre has already been mixed with another genre. But I think there is something more economic happening.

The “garage band” image only works when people actually have garages. It only works when young people have spare rooms, free time, instruments, tolerant neighbours, cheap rent and enough financial breathing space to make noise without worrying about whether they can afford dinner. That is becoming less realistic.

Housing affordability has worsened so much that many young people are renting smaller spaces, living with parents for longer, or sharing houses where practising drums and amps is basically impossible. At the same time, ABS data shows that 28.1% of Australian households experienced cash-flow problems in 2023, while 19% of households in 2020 could not raise $2,000 within a week for an emergency. Those statistics matter because music is not just about talent. It also requires space, equipment, transport, recording costs, rehearsal time and unpaid labour.

If middle and lower-income people are living paycheque to paycheque, then starting a band becomes less like a normal teenage hobby and more like a luxury activity. The people most able to keep practising, gigging, recording and promoting themselves are often those with family money, stable housing, or parents who can absorb the risk.

So maybe garage bands have not disappeared because people stopped caring about music. Maybe the garage itself has become a class privilege.

And this does not just apply to music. It applies to art in every form.

We are living in a time where every hour you are not working feels like money slipping out of your bank account. No one has the time, space or security to pursue art without relying on another source of income. Creativity requires risk, and risk is much easier when you know you have somewhere to sleep if everything fails.

That is why the myth of the “struggling artist” needs to be questioned.

Van Gogh is often romanticised as the ultimate starving artist: lonely, unstable, broke and unappreciated until after his death. His story is used as proof that genius can survive suffering. But that image is also part of the problem. We love the idea of the struggling artist, yet we have built an economy where struggle does not just inspire art,  it prevents people from making it at all.

Van Gogh was not simply some magical poor genius who created masterpieces out of nothing. He came from an upper-middle-class background and relied heavily on support from his brother Theo, who helped him financially and emotionally throughout his life. Even with that support, Van Gogh barely sold his work while he was alive. He died before the world fully recognised him.

That should make us ask an uncomfortable question: if even Van Gogh needed help to keep creating, what happens to today’s artists who have no Theo?

What happens to the young painter working double shifts to pay rent? The musician sharing a room with two other people? The writer who has ideas but no time because every spare hour is spent working? The filmmaker who cannot afford equipment, editing software, actors, transport or the unpaid time needed to make anything properly?

We like to ask where our generation’s Van Goghs and Mozarts are, but maybe they are not missing. Maybe they are working retail. Maybe they are on night shifts. Maybe they are studying full-time and working part-time and telling themselves they will finally create when life calms down. Maybe they are too exhausted to make anything at all.

This is why a lot of mainstream art can feel safe. It is not because young people lack imagination. It is because the economy filters out the people who cannot afford to fail. The artists who survive long enough to become visible are often the ones who had support, stability or connections behind them. That does not mean they are untalented. It means talent alone is not enough.

Art has always been class-dependent, even when we pretend it is not. For centuries, artists needed patrons, wealthy families, institutions, galleries, labels, grants, investors or personal wealth to survive. Indie music was supposed to challenge that. It was supposed to reject the idea that money and class should decide whose voice gets heard. But even indie has been dragged back into the same economic reality: freedom is expensive.

The internet was meant to fix this. Anyone can upload music now. Anyone can post their paintings, poems, short films or songs. But access to platforms is not the same as access to opportunity. Posting a song online does not pay rent. Going viral does not buy instruments before you make the work. Exposure does not replace studio time, rehearsal space, transport, marketing, food, sleep or mental health.

We have made art more visible, but not necessarily more accessible.

That is why people care so much about whether an artist is self-made. It is not just jealousy. It is grief. People want to believe that talent can still come from anywhere. They want to believe that a broke teenager in a bedroom has the same chance as someone with wealthy parents, industry contacts and the freedom to fail. But deep down, a lot of people know that is becoming less true.

The cost of living is not just making life harder. It is shaping culture. It decides who has time to practise, who has space to create, who can take unpaid opportunities, who can keep going after failure, and who has to give up before they even begin.

Our generation’s Van Goghs have not disappeared. They are making coffees, stacking shelves, answering emails, paying rent, working double shifts, helping their families, studying for degrees they hope will make them employable, and squeezing creativity into whatever tiny space is left.

The tragedy is not that young people have stopped making art.

The tragedy is that so many of them cannot afford to start.

Bibliography: 

Australian Bureau of Statistics. (2024). Making ends meet. https://www.abs.gov.au/statistics/measuring-what-matters/measuring-what-matters-themes-and-indicators/secure/making-ends-meet