Why Most Actors Go Broke (And the Ancient Principle That Can Prevent It)

Nobody talks about money at drama school.

They talk about Stanislavski. They talk about Meisner. They talk about the difference between classical and naturalistic technique. What they don't talk about is the thing that will end more acting careers than bad reviews, difficult directors, and dry spells combined: running out of money.

Not because drama schools don't care. Because there's a deep, unspoken belief in the profession that talking about money is somehow beneath the art. That if you're really committed, the financial side will sort itself out. Worrying about your bank balance means you're not serious enough about the craft.

This belief destroys careers.

The reality nobody prepares you for

Here's what the industry actually looks like from the inside. At any given time, the vast majority of professional actors are between jobs. Union figures in the US suggest that around 80% of SAG-AFTRA members are unemployed at any point. In the UK, the picture isn't much different — most Equity members earn the bulk of their annual income from work that isn't acting.

And when I say "between jobs," I need to correct the popular image. People outside the industry imagine "feast and famine" — long stretches of nothing, punctuated by big paydays. Directors have a more accurate phrase for it. We call it "snack and famine." Directors feel it acutely too — our contracts may run six or eight weeks, but a few weeks' work might have to keep us financially afloat for an entire year. For actors, the pattern is even more fragmented: a day here, three days there, a week if they're lucky. Enough to remind them why they love this work. Not enough to regularly pay the rent.

The arithmetic is brutal. You book a job — wonderful. But your agent takes their commission. The tax office takes its share. The job lasted four days. You earned what sounds like good money for four days, but it needs to cover the three months since your last job and however long until the next one. By the time you divide it out, you might have been better off financially stacking shelves.

And here's the part that really catches people out: the costs of being an actor never stop, even when the income does. Headshot updates. Showreel editing. Casting site subscriptions. Training classes to keep your skills sharp. Transport to auditions. A decent outfit to wear when you get there. These are your business running costs, and they continue whether you're working or not.

Why conventional financial advice doesn't work for actors (or directors!)

Most financial advice assumes a regular monthly income. Budget a third for rent, set aside a percentage for savings, and allocate the rest across your expenses. Straightforward — if you earn the same amount each month. But actors don't. You might earn nothing for four months, then pick up two jobs in a week. The normal rules don't apply.

This is why so many actors end up in a cycle that looks like this: job comes in, pay off the debts from the dry spell, treat yourself to something you've been denying yourself for months, then watch the money drain away as the next dry spell begins. It's not irresponsible. It's the natural human response to financial unpredictability. But it guarantees you'll never get ahead.

The other trap is the day job that swallows you whole. You take a "temporary" position to cover the bills. You're good at it — actors usually are, because you're adaptable, personable, and quick learners. So they promote you. The hours increase. The money gets comfortable. Five years pass, and you haven't auditioned in months. The day job was supposed to fund the dream. Instead, it’s replaced it.

A principle from an unexpected source

Nearly a hundred years ago, a man named George S. Clason wrote a small book of financial parables set in ancient Babylon. It's called The Richest Man in Babylon, and it's been quietly passed around by financially savvy people ever since. It's short, it's written in simple language, and its core principle is so obvious you'll wonder why nobody told you before.

The principle is this: a part of all you earn is yours to keep.

Not what's left over after you've paid everyone else. Not what you manage to scrape together at the end of the month. A portion — Clason suggests one tenth — is taken first, before anything else gets paid. Your agent has already taken their commission before the money reaches you, so what lands in your account feels like it's all spoken for. But before the rent goes out, before the food shop, the transport costs, the outstanding bills — you move your tenth.

It sounds impossible when money is tight. But Clason's argument — and the experience of everyone I know who's actually done it — is that you adjust. You find you manage on the remaining nine-tenths just as you managed on ten-tenths. The difference is that now something is accumulating. Something is growing. And that something changes your psychology as much as your finances.

Why this matters more for actors than for anyone else

When you have nothing put aside, every professional decision is driven by financial desperation. You take the job that pays, not the job that's right for your career. You accept work that doesn't serve your development because you can't afford to say no. You stop investing in your skills because the training costs feel impossible. Worse, you radiate that desperation — and casting directors can see it. It sits behind your eyes in the audition room. It makes you grip too hard, push too much, and need too visibly.

When you have even a small financial cushion, everything changes. You can afford to be strategic instead of desperate. You can turn down the job that isn’t right for you. You can invest in the headshot update that opens new doors. You can attend the workshop that sharpens your technique. Most importantly, you walk into auditions without the invisible weight of "I need this job to survive" pressing down on your performance.

That's why financial stability should not be treated like a boring administrative task separate from the creative work. It's a professional skill. It directly affects the quality of your acting and the trajectory of your career.

What Clason understood that actors need to hear

The point about The Richest Man in Babylon is that Clason wasn't writing for wealthy people. He was writing for people who believed they didn't earn enough to save — the exact position most actors are in. His character, Arkad, the richest man in Babylon, started as a scribe earning very little. The point isn't how much you set aside. The point is that you do it consistently, from whatever you earn.

For actors, this means treating it as non-negotiable. The day your pay cheque clears — whether it's from a screen job, your survival work, or anything else — the first thing you do is move your tenth. Before the bills. Before the groceries. Before everything. What remains is what you live on.

Over time, that fund does two things. First, it buys you professional freedom — the ability to make career decisions based on what's right rather than what's urgent. Second, and Clason is very clear about this, it changes how you see yourself. You stop being someone who can't manage money. You become someone who is building something.

The other principle from the book that actors particularly need: seek advice from those who handle money successfully, not from those who don't. Your fellow struggling actor is not the person to advise you on finances. Nor is the well-meaning relative who's never dealt with irregular income. Find people who understand the specific financial challenges of freelance creative work.

The real question

This isn't about getting rich. It's about staying in the game long enough for your talent and training to pay off. Most actors who quit don't quit because they lack ability. They quit because they run out of money, or because the financial stress becomes unbearable, or because the day job trap closes around them so gradually they don't notice until it's too late.

Financial resilience is what keeps you in the profession while you're building your career. It's not glamorous. It won't win you any awards. But without it, all the talent and training in the world becomes irrelevant — because you won't be there to use it.

If you'd like to read the book that sparked these thoughts, I'd recommend picking up a copy of George S. Clason's The Richest Man in Babylon. It's a short read — you'll finish it in an afternoon — and its principles have helped people in unpredictable financial situations for nearly a century. Including quite a few actors I know.

The Alchemy of Screen Acting: Building a Sustainable Career in 21 Steps will be published soon as a complete guide. Each step builds on the previous one, taking you from wherever you are now to working professionally with casting directors actively seeking you out for suitable roles.

Header: Towfiqu Barbhuiya on Unsplash