So Much I Want to Tell You

by Anna Akana

  I’ve been described as “bossy,” “aggressive,” and a “bitch” when I’m just doing my job. I’ve been judged in ways I know I wouldn’t be if I were a dude. I’ve had people roll their eyes when I delegate tasks, mutter their doubt that I don’t know what I’m doing, or straight up second-guess me in front of my employees. And these are people who get checks at the end of a workday, signed by me.

  When you’re the boss, you don’t need anyone’s permission. You have your own permission. Whenever I’m feeling unsure of myself, I look in the mirror and say, “You’re a straight white man.” It reminds me that as long as I am confident in who I am and what I’m doing, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of me.

  Don’t apologize for your existence. Don’t ask if it’s okay. You’re the boss. Do what you need to do to get shit done. Give yourself full permission to be confident in your choices, execute them without second-guessing yourself, and kick ass.

  You Don’t Need Balls

  Being a female in a male-dominated industry has its challenges. I’ve pitched ideas, only to have a man pitch the exact same idea and get the credit. I’ve played parts that portray women as nothing more than an annoying accessory to a man. I’ve had people in power offer me their professional help in return for sexual favors.

  It’s a man’s world and we’re all living in it. For now.

  I don’t want to vilify men. There are lots of amazing guys in my personal and professional lives. Well-intentioned men who aren’t aware that they’re being sexist. Friends who simply don’t understand because it’s not something they pay attention to.

  It’s not your job to educate people about what it’s like to be a woman in the workplace. Even if you’re up for the task, you’re often met with skepticism and disbelief. When I’ve told my male friends about being dismissed because of my gender, they assume I’m making excuses.

  I’ve met women who have internalized this misogyny. They believe there’s only one spot for a woman at the table, and they’re ready to fight you for it. I admit, I was once one of these women. I was jealous whenever a friend of mine succeeded. I was competitive about our accomplishments, and secretly rooted for her failure. If I lost a part to an Asian woman, I felt devastated. I was happier if it went to a white girl, because at least that made sense.

  Then I directed my short film Loose Ends with an all-female crew. The vibe was calm, supportive, kind. We were three hours ahead of schedule every day. All of our cycles synced up, so we had tampons at the craft services table next to the bananas and chips. Conversations during lunch were about the various forms of sexism each of us had faced in the industry. It was the most comfortable set I’d ever been on.

  I’ve embraced being a woman in this industry. Though I still give myself the ol’ “you’re a straight white man” pep talk whenever my confidence is waning or I’m second-guessing myself, I love the female characteristics I bring to my work. The thoughtfulness, compassion, social and emotional intelligence, and sensitivity I bring to set keeps my crew motivated and our twelve-hour days enjoyable.

  There’s a wonderful quote circulating on the Internet that I remind myself of often: “Why do people say ‘grow some balls’? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding.”

  Take Care of Your People

  Being a boss means being a leader. The best leaders take care of their people.

  Most industries depend on teams of people coming together to meet a goal, create a project, or solve a problem. You’re only as good as the person who cares the least. So it’s important that everyone cares as much about the end product as you do.

  Here are the rules I believe all good bosses should follow in order to create a productive and happy workplace:

  • Compensate fairly and pay promptly.

  • Feed people well and often.

  • Show your appreciation verbally.

  • Be clear and direct about your expectations.

  • Know how to utilize the talents of those around you.

  • Don’t waste anyone’s time.

  • Be a pleasure to work with.

  These things feel obvious, but sometimes we in the film industry get wrapped up in ourselves. We’re so stressed out about deadlines and not going over budget that we forget we’re all just humans trying our best to make this thing. We’re all working toward the same goal. We all got into this business because at one point in our lives we watched a movie or a TV show or a piece of art and thought, I wanna make that. I wanna do that.

  I’ve seen so many people get hurt on set because of the need to rush. I’ve had producers scream at crew members. I’ve been screamed at. There’s so much bad behavior excused by the film industry because “the show must go on.” No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t have to go on. The crew could completely walk away from a set. The actors could quit. The producers could pull the plug.

  The show can go on, but remember it’s just that: a show.

  Crunch the Numbers

  Being the boss has its ups and downs. On one hand, you have full creative control. You call all the shots. Things are done the way you want them to be (or at least you hope they are). It’s your face on the screen, it’s your name in the credits, all the glory is yours.

  On the other hand, if anyone fucks up, it’s on you.

  Back when I was doing background for television shows, I knew a girl named Macy. Macy was sharp. She liked to buy duplex properties and condos and lease them to people. She was all about that real estate. She was confident that purchasing property in Los Angeles and having someone else pay the mortgage was the smartest way of doing business. She kicked ass.

  Macy liked me. I was good at making people laugh, and we had a weird inside joke where we’d just say “dogs” in old-lady voices (don’t ask). Macy was older than me and appealed to the part of me that was desperately seeking mentors. I asked her what her single most useful piece of business advice was, and she said with no hesitation, “Always, always crunch the numbers.”

  Macy believed in doing all of her own bookkeeping. She’d never had an accountant because she said that even your accountant—especially your accountant—could run off with your money.

  This advice has come in handy throughout my life. When I started running my own shoots, I had a detailed budget sheet and I took great care to balance my checkbook. I wanted to be like Macy. I wanted to know how much money I had and where it was going, down to the cent.

  It’s because of her advice that I knew one of the people involved in Riley Rewind had mismanaged $13,000 of the funds he was given. He had no receipts. He had continually promised to deliver a budget sheet once production was over, but once we wrapped he admitted he’d never kept a budget sheet at all. It was a nightmare.

  I tried retroactively creating a budget sheet myself, but even after I had accounted for cast, crew, equipment, locations, insurance, craft, and catering, I was still missing upward of $13,000. It had disappeared.

  I no longer trusted this person, but he was in my friend group and continued to work with people around me. When a friend hired him to produce her show, I was conflicted. On one hand, I wish someone had warned me about his terrible budgeting before I hired him. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be seen as talking shit.

  Finally I decided to tell her about my experience with him and how his numbers had been off on my project. She looked into her own budget and found out that he’d been pocketing thousands of dollars every episode he produced, despite rarely being on set. She promptly fired him.

  Financing is boring and tedious, but it will save you money. Always crunch the numbers.

  Stand Up for Yourself; No One Else Is Going To

  When I first started acting, I was so grateful to have a job that I never spoke up when I felt uncomfortable. When I was asked to perform stunts without a stunt coordinator present to ensure my safety, I said nothing. When I was soaking wet in an air-conditioned room with no warming jacket, I
said nothing. When a director sent me into the bathroom three times to stuff my bra for a blockbuster movie, I said sure, okay, whatever makes you happy, sir.

  A lot of actors I know have this same problem. We don’t want to be seen as divas or demanding or hard to work with. We don’t want to cause a fuss. I’ve been luckier than my friends: some have had to go to the hospital for injuries they didn’t speak up about while filming, and others have fought legal battles with directors over whether or not nude footage of them could be used (don’t listen when they say they won’t use it; always get mutual approval in writing).

  I quickly learned that I had to stand up for myself because no one else was going to. Ignore the voice in your head telling you that you’re being annoying. Know that you’re there to do a job, but no job should leave you injured, humiliated, or unreasonably uncomfortable. There are people in the entertainment industry who believe that you should “suffer for your art.” They glorify the idea of an artist as a genius who is so broken and creative that they will stop at nothing to achieve success, no matter what the physical, mental, or emotional cost.

  This is bullshit.

  We do what we do because it’s our dream, not a nightmare. It won’t all be comfortable, of course. There are times when you have to push through crappy weather to get the shot, or hold an uncomfortable position for it to read on camera. There are times when we will all inevitably suffer for our art. But that should be the exception, not the rule.

  Don’t Sign Anything Unless You Understand What It Means

  I’ve never felt more stupid than when a piece of paper I signed has screwed me over. In business, there will be plenty of people pressuring you to sign something, or people close to you assuring you that it’s fine, or even lawyers giving you the okay. (Unless these lawyers are your lawyers, do not listen. And even then, read the document in its entirety.)

  I first learned this lesson when a guy I was dating told me that lawyers were expensive and that I could use his. Uh, big mistake. We founded a company together, but no official paperwork was ever signed. His lawyer kept saying “We’ll draft a deal for you two,” but when there’s no immediate money to be made, a lawyer is going to take all the time in the world.

  We sold our first big project together to Netflix, and in order to finalize the deal, paperwork needed to be signed. I had written the script, starred in it, produced it, and poured my heart and soul into this project that I believed in. I quickly skimmed the paperwork and wondered aloud if I should get a lawyer, but my boyfriend’s assistant told me that they were in a rush to get this deal through. Plus his lawyer had okayed the paperwork. I hastily signed without reading it, assuming that my boyfriend had ensured that everything was in place.

  Guess what? We broke up. Right in the middle of trying to get that project on TV. I was at a point where I could afford my own lawyer, and when my ex-boyfriend told me that I was to have no further role in the project, I dug up that old contract I’d signed. Turned out I wasn’t taken care of like I’d thought. I’d basically signed away all my rights in exchange for $1. (A dollar that I was never even paid. Where’s my hardest-earned dollar?) I’d given away all claims to the project, any creative say I had, and all of my involvement—acting, writing, producing—was compensated with one hundred cents.

  My lawyer regretfully told me that I’d signed a very shitty contract. I was humiliated.

  I wish that I’d only had to learn this lesson once. But I didn’t, because that’d be too easy.

  A year or so later, I was working with a reputable company that was trying to turn a short film of mine into a series. The head of the company was an older woman named Melanie who I had looked up to as a mentor and a role model. She was a ballbuster who was funny and clever and got shit done. I admired her and looked forward to working together.

  Our deal had been with my lawyer for some time—four months, in fact. He assured me that their initial demands were a bit absurd. They weren’t paying me much, but the contract stated that I couldn’t work in film or TV or do any other Web series for the entire duration that we were working together. My lawyer said that this kind of exclusivity was usually only seen in television deals, where it could be a stipulation only because the company was offering a large amount of money to essentially hold someone for the project.

  In my case, though, the company I was working with was offering no money and wanted everything. The digital landscape is all new territory. There are no standard deals or practices in place! It’s how MCNs, or multi-channel networks, are able to ask for 30 percent of your revenue when a standard Hollywood agent and manager only get 10 percent.

  One day when I was driving home, Melanie called me directly. She said, in so many words, that unless I signed the paperwork, they were going to recast me in my own project. She said, “I’m calling you because I have a relationship with you personally. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  I immediately called my manager (who, by the way, is the best person in the world). He was livid. This kind of direct call while a deal is being negotiated is unheard of, according to him. It was a threat. A bully move.

  Wait, what? Melanie was bullying me? She wasn’t just calling because she really liked me and wanted to give me a heads-up that the paperwork was taking too long? No, my manager said. She’s probably made promises to the investors of the project, long before our deal was ever in place, and is now freaking out about time.

  Despite my lawyer and manager being furious about Melanie’s lack of professionalism, I caved. I signed the paperwork a little sooner than my lawyer would have liked.

  As a businesswoman, I don’t blame Melanie for what she did. I don’t. She probably knew that if she’d called my lawyer or my manager with this threat, it wouldn’t have worked. Her whole goal was to get me to sign. But I blame her for taking advantage of someone who respected and admired her. My lawyer wasn’t being unreasonably slow; Melanie was the one offering unreasonable terms. Not only that, but shortly after my deal closed, they started using it as a template for all of their projects. They’d used me as a guinea pig for structuring future deals. No wonder it had taken so long to come to an agreement; they had no idea what they were doing.

  I hope that I never, ever make these mistakes again. But this is new territory—not only for me but for tons of other people as well. All I know is that before I sign something, I make sure I read it.

  Do Every Job

  Most people who work as digital content creators are forced to do every job. We shoot, light, edit, act, direct, produce, market on social media, and God knows what else. We do it out of necessity—often because we start all alone, in our bedrooms, wanting to make stuff. And we don’t have other people to help.

  I’m an actor at heart, but every additional job I do makes me better at my craft. Editing made me realize that I have to cheat to camera (when you position your body and face toward the camera; it feels completely unnatural and weird but looks fine onscreen), otherwise you’ll probably only see half of my face when I’m talking to a clone. Find your light; if you’re not in the light, you’re going to have to do the whole scene over. If you flub a line, just pause and redo it.

  Being a director made me appreciate how little responsibility I have as an actor. As a director, you run the set. You’re in charge of the story from start to finish. It’s exhausting, and often all-consuming, so you learn to appreciate actors who stop goofing around when you’re talking to them, who show up on time, who know their lines, who take direction, and who are attentive.

  Working with the sound department taught me to hold on my lines if planes are overhead or a dog is barking. You just stop, wait till it’s clear, then take your line back again. You don’t put your hands where the mic is or else all they get is a giant pile of WHOOSH or the rustling of your clothing.

  Gaffing was by far the hardest job I ever did because it was all manual labor. I carried heavy C-stands and clamped lights to those stands and lifted sandbags all over the place. Gaff
ing taught me more about directing, really. Know what shots you want. Don’t waste people’s time. Be as efficient as possible and the crew will love you for it.

  Creating the schedule and being my own assistant director (the person on set who moves things along) taught me how to be efficient. Don’t waste time getting more takes when you know you have it, or coverage you know you won’t use (though the editor in me always wants more than we need). Keep things flowing so that actors aren’t brought to set at 9:00 A.M. and not used until 5:00 P.M.

  When you do every job, you understand what each department does, what they need, and how to best run a production so that things are efficient but still fun. Whatever field you’re in, whatever industry you’re hoping to break into, explore every part of it. Know it inside and out. Try out the jobs that no one wants, that everyone wants, that you didn’t even know exist. You’ll gain a world of knowledge, and it’ll show.

  Work Hard, Work Smart

  I’m always surprised when I talk to someone or meet someone and they say, “I know you’re so busy!” I don’t know how people get this impression, but it’s accurate. Beyond updating social media and putting out video content, a lot of my life is spent working on long-term projects in development, auditioning for things I don’t book, and going to meetings that I hope lead to something.

  I like that people see me as constantly busy. Working hard is something I intentionally set out to do. When I was first getting into show business, I knew I wasn’t the most talented or attractive person trying to make it. You live in Los Angeles? You are forced to face all your insecurities. I’d meet six-foot-tall, drop-dead-gorgeous models who had the personalities to match. It felt so unfair. I was like this little troll with uneven eyebrows running around their legs and admiring their beauty and intelligence.