Don't get me wrong, I certainly create "content." For over a decade, I've been pressing the shutter button to capture moments that later end up in magazines, calendars, or photo books. But a "content creator"? That sounds like I'm dancing in front of my smartphone, presenting smoothie recipes.
"I'm a photographer," I replied, suddenly aware of how old-fashioned that sounded. As if I'd said I was a blacksmith or basket weaver. The young woman nodded politely, with that particular look that says: "Hello, grandpa."
The inflation of job titles is a ridiculous phenomenon of our time. People used to have jobs: mechanic, doctor, teacher, photographer. Today we're facility managers (janitors), decision managers (I didn't make that up), or content creators. Somehow everything sounds more important when you express it in a more convoluted way, right?
What really bothers me about this "content creator" thing isn't the term itself. It's the dilution of what lies behind it. When I started out, you had to learn your craft. Understand light. Master composition. Perfect the technique. It took years to get good. But then you actually understood what you were doing.
Today, "content creation" is more defined by the platform than by the craft. The question is no longer "Do you master your medium?" but "How many followers do you have?" The currency is attention, not quality.
I'm not some bitter old man ranting about "kids these days." The democratization of creativity has brought a lot of good things too. Everyone can tell their story, share their perspective (though sometimes it might be better not to share everything). And you can connect better with other people. The world has grown closer together.