The Status Game
There’s a classic rehearsal room game, created by master improviser Keith Johnstone, which plays on the concept of status. Each person is allocated a status at the start of the exercise, either by simply designating ‘high’ or ‘low’ or by being given a number that denotes your place in the pecking order. You then get to improvise an interaction with someone else, the nature of which is influenced by the relative statuses that each person has. Part of the point of the game is to think about how status is performed - how does a high or low status character move, speak, stand, behave, interact? Sophisticated improvisers will find subtle things within each of these categories that reflect how the character perceives themselves and how they are interpreted by an audience.
In the arts (and in all sectors), there are various different indicators of status that read differently to various groups of people. There’s the basic job title. There’s the amount of money that you earn. There’s working in a venue or for a company that people both in and out of the industry recognise (there are a number of Chelsea-based non-theatre folk that I know who would be wild with excitement if I said I worked for the Royal Court). There’s working with someone famous (“Gillian’s so great to work with you. You know Gillian - Gillian Anderson.”). There’s the structures that you have around you (e.g. having an associate director / designer, or having a PA or an office of your own if you’re part of a leadership team). There’s press interest (representing your organisation on the radio or TV, being quoted by name in an opinion piece, or having a feature / interview written about you in either the industry, local or national press). And there’s having a job title that your family / friends / people in the pub / anyone who doesn’t work in the industry understands (I have lost count of the number of times I have had to explain what a producer does throughout my career - I suspect actors don’t have that problem).
These are all what I would call the trappings of status. They read a particular way, but they don’t mean all that much deep down. Working with someone famous doesn’t mean that you are inherently better at your job than someone who isn’t. Working at a venue or company with greater name recognition doesn’t necessarily make that job any harder or more rewarding than a job for an organisation that fewer of the general public have heard of. And the press tend to have a fairly narrow group of people that they’re interested in writing about or quoting - I’ve read lots of articles about the funding crisis in the arts but never one with any input from or with a focus on a fundraiser, and have seen lots of comment pieces on working conditions in rehearsal rooms or during production periods without any thoughts from a stage manager, often the hardest working person on a show.
And then, there’s the status that you can earn. There are directors or designers or choreographers that make consistently bold, brilliant, thrilling work. There are stage or production managers who will never be out of a job because they are known as the best in the business and any production would be lucky to have them. There are leaders that people want to work for, because they bring out the best in people and inspire loyalty and respect. There are people in all kinds of different jobs who bring new and radical ideas to the table and then follow through and make them happen. There are people who lobby for better pay, better working conditions, better policies that improve our whole industry. These things aren’t always seen and recognised as widely as they ought to be - but the people who’ve experienced their impact know how important they are.
Alistair Campbell, on his podcast The Rest is Politics, was asked how he coped with the stream of criticism, mockery and sometimes abuse that many high profile individuals in the world of politics face on a daily basis. He said that he decided early on that there were a small group of people that were close to him and who he trusted whose opinion he valued, but for everyone else, he simply wouldn’t care about what they thought. Whilst there are pluses and minuses to this approach, for me, there’s something in it that’s useful to reflect on. It can be easy to seek validation from profile and/or adoration on social media, or gaining approving looks from your mates when you tell them you got interviewed on the radio. But do these things really mean anything by themselves? Be proud instead of brilliant work that you’ve done (which may in turn lead to well deserved praise on social media) or the expertise that you’ve developed and used for the benefit of your colleagues and/or the sector (which someone from a radio show might be interested in hearing more about). The people that see and value this kind of work are the people that are close to you - that work with you every day, or have learned or been inspired by you and carry that forward into their future career.
In a leadership job, you get to have a lot of the outward indicators of status. Your opinion is sought. Your salary is on the higher end of your organisation’s pay bracket. You get a fancy job title, and, sometimes, a fancy office to go along with it. But ultimately, I think these are things that get in the way of building a great culture, and the leaders I admire are skilled at breaking them down. They structure meetings in a way that allows all voices to be heard and valued. They understand that a fancy job title can make them seem unapproachable and work hard to make sure that all of their colleagues have opportunities and are comfortable speaking to them if they have something that they want or need to share. They also understand that the salary, the title, the office are perks that you get in return for taking responsibility for the work of the organisation and the livelihoods of those who work in it, and shoulder this with the seriousness that it deserves.
Status is, ultimately, a performance, and its external qualities have the capacity to vanish overnight if you lose / quit / move on from the job that you’re in. I think we’ve all met people who have spent periods of time in high status jobs in one industry or another and, once that era of their life has ended, experience a considerable amount of mental turmoil when their views are no longer sought for an opinion piece or a stranger’s face doesn’t light up when they tell them what they do or where they work. What we’re left with, after the trappings of status have gone, is the work that we have done and the respect that we have earned through our actions. No one can take those away from you, and it will leave the lingering taste of satisfaction that you get when you’ve worked hard, made an impact, and left your job and your world a little bit better than you found it.