Is Getting a Creative Studio Worth It?

Hey honeys and hustlers,

I used to think a “real” creator had a “real” studio. A physical address separate from their home address for filming and meeting with clients. Not a corner of a living room. Not a laptop perched on a dining table next to a mug that has seen things. A studio-studio. A place with a door. A place with a key. A place that would make me feel like I had arrived—like I was the type of person who looked like they knew what they were doing. The thing is, I was doing it. I was already full-time. Already booked. Already making the work. Already successful.

But I didn’t feel successful because my brain kept conflating “successful” with what other full-time creative entrepreneurs projected as successful online. And aesthetic—especially in the creator world—has a sneaky way of dressing itself up as necessity.

When I first went full-time, I was living in a 1-bed, 1-bath apartment. My commute was basically: roll over, walk out of my room, take two more steps to my desk, pop open a can of Pepsi or Coke (my caffeine of choice at the time), and start my day answering emails. Some days that was convenient. Some days it was a very clear lack of boundaries that just seeped into every part of my life. Work had no end. It spilled into everything. It was in my bed, my kitchen, my living room, my head. And because I didn’t have a clear boundary, my solution wasn’t to design a boundary—it was to buy one. So I upgraded to a 2 bed / 2 bath, thinking, “Perfect. Second bedroom equals studio. I’m about to have one of those aesthetic workspaces I see all the time on YouTube.” They were huge on YouTube, and Grovemade probably sponsored every single one.

And it would’ve worked, except… I didn’t actually invest in making that room work for me. No plan. No intention. No, “What does my body need to create well for hours?” Just a vague hope that extra square footage with a door attached would automatically turn into clarity, focus, and a better sense of self. I can admit that I’m not much of a “nester,” and making a place feel like me isn't something I got used to once I started college, since I was moving into a new room each year. I will say that being able to close the door at the end of the day was definitely the mental boundary I needed, but beyond that, it didn’t improve my focus or productivity while I was in the room.

Instead, I got a room that I could write off on my taxes, but didn’t feel welcoming. It was the creative equivalent of moving into a new apartment and never unpacking. I sat in there and felt weird. Then lonely. Then guilty that I felt weird and lonely in a room I had specifically acquired to solve the weird-and-lonely without boundaries problem. I also felt weird asking potential podcast guests to come to my home instead of a neutral third space.

Enter: coworking.

Coworking spaces are the adult version of overpaying for office space with a coffee shop vibe. Maybe you even get a lobby and fancy elevator music. But I joined a coworking space that cost almost as much as my rent—then used it maybe once or twice a week. I’d show up for podcast recordings, meetings, and gear storage… and then leave. I wasn’t paying for a workspace. I was paying for the fantasy of being the kind of creator who has a workspace. That’s the expensive part: not the studio, not the desk, not the membership. The expensive part is paying for the story you want to tell yourself. When I finally sat down and compared alternatives, I realized I’d been skipping the most obvious move: make the space I already had… actually work.

If I could redo it, I’d spend that money on a plan before a coworking space. I’d make the second bedroom feel like a room I wanted to walk into—not a holding cell for my ambitions. I’d look up interior design renderings similar to my dimensions or call a friend with taste and a measuring tape. I’d decide what “good” meant for me: Where does the camera go? How do I make it sound less echoey? Where do guests sit without feeling like they’re in an awkward room that doesn’t feel lived in? Where does my lighting live so it’s not an entire event to record something? I got close with a few desk clamps, but that doesn’t say much for the background.

And for the days I genuinely needed a shift? I’d go to the library (forever underrated, endlessly iconic). I’d rotate coffee shops. I’d get a day pass at a coworking space with a friend and treat it like a field trip. I’d chase novelty without signing my bank account up for a monthly commitment. I did all of the above while I was home in Alabama for a little while, and it worked like a charm while costing me only a few cups of coffee at a time.

I learned the hard (read = expensive) way that you don’t need a creative studio to be legit as a creator. You need income. You need a repeatable setup. You need fewer decisions between you and the work. You need a space that supports your nervous system, not just your personal/online brand.

A studio can be worth it—when it’s within budget, aligned with how you actually create, and serving the work instead of serving the optics. A studio can also be rented as needed. Sure, it may take more time to set up and break down, but it would be cheaper than paying for something you don’t use daily. If the main benefit you want from a studio space is that it makes you feel like you’re finally allowed to take yourself seriously, then that’s not a studio problem. That’s permission.

And permission is free. Give yourself the green light to do what works best for you. I’m rooting for you.