What If I’m Not Cut Out for This?
- Vick Sleiman
- Jun 4
- 4 min read
And 13 Other Spirals from an Aspiring Editorial Illustrator
Some people start a creative journey with clarity. A vision board. A 5-year plan. A clear “why.” I, apparently, started mine with a Google Doc full of spiraling questions and no idea if I’m even aiming in the right direction.
This post is basically that Google Doc, but shaped into something less chaotic and more blog-like. If you’re also somewhere between “I want to do this seriously” and “what am I even doing,” welcome.
I’m at the very beginning of trying to become an editorial illustrator. And instead of pretending I’ve got it figured out, I thought I’d just… say the things I’m wondering. Out loud. Publicly. On purpose. So here we go.
What do art directors actually want?
Besides sleep and fewer emails? I’ve watched the videos. I’ve read the interviews. I’ve seen the painfully specific “how to get noticed by editors” guides. But when I’m staring at my own work, the question doesn’t feel theoretical—it feels personal.
Do they want clever metaphors? Beautiful textures? A very specific vibe? Consistency? Range? A portfolio that screams “hire me” in tasteful lowercase typography?
No one seems to agree, and yet somehow everyone on the internet sounds confident about it.
How do you get editorial work if you don’t already have editorial work?
This one feels like trying to get hired for your first job while being asked why you haven’t had a job yet. I know the answer is “make self-initiated projects,” but that comes with its own doubts:
Am I supposed to just pick any article and draw something for it? What makes it feel real instead of fake-brief energy? Can art directors even tell the difference?
Spoiler: probably yes.
Does My Style Work as an aspiring editorial illustrator?
Or am I just… not made for this?
This question sneaks in when I see a New Yorker cover that’s so clever it makes me both weep and rethink my entire existence. I love making emotive, moody, kind-of-weird illustrations. But are those editorial? Or just me?
And the bigger question underneath: am I supposed to change, or is there space for what I already do?
Not every article inspires me. Does that mean I’m already failing?
Some articles leave me buzzing with ideas. Others leave me staring at the wall wondering if my brain has been replaced with cotton wool.
What does it mean when certain kinds of content don’t spark anything? Am I too picky? Too limited? Or—maybe—I’m just starting to get a sense of where I actually fit in?
I love lifestyle columns. I get excited about personal essays, identity pieces, some opinion columns. But politics? Finance? I love reading them, but visually? I draw a total blank.
Which brings me to…
Is niching down even a thing in editorial illustration?
Can you be known for doing a type of article really well?
Like, do art directors say, “Oh yes, she’s perfect for our moody think-pieces but not our tech roundups”? Or am I setting myself up for less work by narrowing down before I’ve even begun?
Maybe it’s a strength. Maybe it’s a limitation. Maybe it’s branding. I don’t know. (See title of this post.)
Do I need to tailor my portfolio to each publication?
Part of me wants to say yes—of course. Research the magazine, understand its tone, and show you “get it.” The other part of me is tired and just wants to make good art and hope it fits somewhere.
How much is “smart targeting” and how much is “trying to shapeshift for everyone”? Still figuring it out.
Do I need to show range?
I used to think yes. That I needed to prove I could do anything.
Now I keep reading that showing range is risky—that clients want a clear, reliable style they can count on. Not “a little of this, a little of that.”
So which is it: range or consistency?
Honestly, I think it’s range within consistency. But again, I’m just a girl, standing in front of an editorial career, asking it to make sense.
What makes an illustration editorial, anyway?
Is it the content? The idea? The visual metaphor? The cleverness? The context?
I’ve seen gorgeous illustrations that don’t feel editorial at all—and minimalist ones that say so much with so little. Sometimes I wonder if the difference is something you feel, not define. Or maybe it’s just about clarity—can someone who hasn’t read the article get the vibe from your piece?
Should the illustration match the title or the article?
Because I’ve seen both. Some illustrations riff off the title like it’s the punchline. Others feel more like they match the feeling or message of the article as a whole. When I make work, I keep wondering if I’m too literal, too abstract, or somehow both at once.
Still waiting for the day when someone explains this in a way that makes me say “ah, yes, now I know what I’m doing.”
Should I be on Substack, Instagram, Behance… or is it all pointless if I’m not emailing people?
I’ve spent so many hours designing perfect little digital corners of my work. But do art directors even see them? Is it better to post consistently on Instagram, or send one well-written email to five editors?
Is Substack a clever way to build an audience and show my thinking, or just another platform to maintain?
I’m doing both. But is that… smart? Or just classic distraction-dressed-as-productivity?
How do I even email an art director?
More importantly: am I allowed?
And if I do… what do I say? “Hi, I think I could be a good fit for something you might maybe work on someday?” I want to be polite and professional but also not boring and formulaic. Do they even read cold emails? Do I follow up? Do I disappear after one try? Can someone please write the script for me and also send it?
How do I stop overthinking every step?
Let me know if you figure that one out.
If any of these questions made you nod aggressively, you’re not alone. And if you actually have answers to any of them—feel free to share. I’m all ears (and on the edge of my seat). These are the questions I’ll be circling back to, picking apart, and hopefully answering little by little as I keep going. One sketch, one post, one overthought portfolio decision at a time.
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