There’s a cultural promise that almost every millennial has probably been sold at some point: if you can find work you love, work will stop feeling like work.

And in truth, it’s grounded in really sound logic: it isn’t bad advice per se. Not only does it give people permission to take their talents and interests seriously, it encourages us to look for meaning rather than just money. It also works to push back against the older idea that adulthood means accepting work you hate for megabucks (or sometimes minor bucks!).

Given the fact that work takes up roughly half of our waking weekday (that’s before it starts spilling into the rest of our life), we might as well try and make work work for us. We are also statistically more successful when we’re following what we’re passionate about.

There’s a catch though.

Once we’re told that loving our job makes work feel less like a sacrifice, it becomes much easier for the system to ask us to sacrifice more.

When people do a job they’re personally invested in, we sometimes work longer hours or accept lower pay for the opportunity. Perhaps we even do it because there’s an underlying insecurity in the fact that we know there’s probably someone out there who’s just as willing to accept these conditions. Or to look at it another way, society can accept that skilled work that is boring can bring in more money.

As Miya Tokumitsu puts it:

“Nothing makes exploitation go down easier than convincing workers that they are doing what they love.”

The first place this shows up is in pay. Industries that people actively want to enter are usually the same ones that society values least in material terms (How can we forget th ad Rishi Sunak put out about Fatima hanging up her ballerina boots in favour of a career in cyber?). Afterall, you’re in a totally privileged position to be able to make films, write, design, teach, work in music, help people or make something you care about, right?

The second place it shows up is through something that lives in an undercurrent: threat of replacement. The more desirable the field (or firm, or agency), the easier it is for people to remind us that someone else would happily take their place. It means that you are no longer competing on who’s best suited for the job in the first place, but you’re also competing on who’s the most grateful for the opportunity. Not only is this exhausting and a facade you have to constantly maintain, you also have to put in the work to show how willing you are to sacrifice your life as proof.

Finally, there’s how much you let your job eek into your time. Because you’re supposed to be passionate about your job, it so much harder to tell where enthusiasm ends and free labour begins. No one actually wants to work into the evenings or weekends, but you’ve often got to because someone’s promised a world that can’t be delivered in your 9-5, and unfortunately you can’t say no because you’re meant to be passionate about what you do.

This is what makes this model so efficient. If we didn’t work those unpaid hours predicated on passion, whole industries would fall down. But on an individual level, no one tells you to work those hours because you start doing it yourself. You worry that saying no makes you difficult, that leaving on time makes you less committed, or that asking for more money somehow cheapens the fact that you care. The worker who loves their job can become both employee and middle manager of their own exploitation.

To be clear, none of this is an argument for finding a job you hate; it’s a total life goal to find work that you find enjoyable; it occupies such a huge portion of your life! But it’s a reminder that your passion has value to you - it should not have monetary value to your employer.

Do what you love, by all means. Just don’t let anyone use the fact that you love it to convince you that your time, security or labour should cost them less.