During this award season, I wanted to say a little something about judgment — especially when it comes to art.

Let me start by being human for a second:
I love accolades as much as the next person. I absolutely want “Academy Award Winner” next to my name. Academy, if you’re listening — call me. I’m ready.

But here’s the part we don’t always acknowledge:
If trophies become the only reason we tell stories, we’re in trouble.

Awards are a spotlight, not a compass. They shine on a moment — they don’t tell you where to go next.

🎥 The Many Ways We Judge Ourselves (And Let the World Do It Too)

Outside of awards season, we’re still constantly measuring our work. We just use different yardsticks.

We ask:

• How does my film compare to that film?
• What are people saying about it on social media?
• How many stars did it get on Amazon or Letterboxd?
• Did it make money?
• Did it get into the “right” festivals?

All of those things have their place. There’s a reason for metrics, for analysis, for understanding how your work landed in the world.

But when those numbers and opinions become your validation, that’s where things get dangerous.

Because now you’re not making personal work — you’re chasing approval.

🎞️ Pride Before Permission

First and foremost, if you put your whole self into a screenplay or a movie — if you trusted your instincts and followed the story where it wanted to go — you deserve to be proud of the outcome.

History is full of movies that were misunderstood, dismissed, ignored, or straight-up panned when they first came out… and some later became classics. And even if your film never becomes a “classic,” so what, here’s the question:

Do you like it?
Did it say what you needed it to say at that moment in your life? Did you put your all into it?

Because sometimes the real value of a project isn’t what it does for the world — it’s what it does for you as the artist who made it.

🎭 Vulnerability Is the Job

I think the scariest part of being an artist isn’t failing. It’s being seen.

Putting your interior life on display — your fears, your beliefs, your obsessions, your questions — and then inviting strangers to judge it. That’s a wild thing to sign up for when you really think about it (don’t think too deeply it may scare you off).

But that’s also the part audiences connect to.

Even in genres we don’t always associate with “humanity.”
Think Get Out, Sinners.

Yes, technically horror. Yes, they’re intense. But what people actually connect to is the human experience inside the genre. The fear isn’t just about monsters or danger — it’s about being seen, not believed, not safe, not understood.

That’s vulnerability.
That’s the work.

I’m not saying you should ignore feedback, critiques, or criticism. Some of the best growth I’ve had as a filmmaker came from someone pointing out something I didn’t want to hear.

But there’s a difference between listening to notes and letting notes define you.

Feedback should shape the work — not shrink the artist.

You are not your Rotten Tomatoes score.
You are not your box office numbers.
You are not your social media engagement.

Those are data points.
You are a human being telling stories.

🏆 Let’s Talk About Subjectivity (For Real)

Let’s take cynicism out of this for a minute and pretend — just for the sake of the conversation — that awards are purely based on merit.

Even then…
How many Oscar-winning films have you watched and thought, Really? That one won?

Exactly.

That’s not shade. That’s subjectivity.

Art isn’t math. There is no universal formula for “best.” There is taste, timing, culture, politics, mood, momentum, and who happens to be in the room when the votes are cast.

So when someone tears your work apart, remember:
They’re not delivering a verdict from on high.
They’re offering an opinion from where they stand.

And where they stand is not where you stand. Also, there is a distinction between criticism and hating for hating sake. Learn to tell the difference.  

🎬 Make the Work Anyway

If you wait for guaranteed approval before you create, you’ll never make anything worth remembering.

Make the film that scares you a little.
Write the story you’re not sure anyone will “get.”
Follow the idea that won’t leave you alone.

Let awards be a bonus.
Let praise be a moment.
Let criticism be a tool.

But let the work itself be the reason you show up.

Because long after the trophies gather dust and the headlines scroll away, what remains is this simple, stubborn truth:

You made something that didn’t exist before you decided to make it.

And that still counts.
Every time.

Yours in Filmmaking,
Nicole