Moving Beyond the "Content" Label

The first time I stood before Michelangelo’s David, I was moved to tears.

In all my years, I have never encountered a more stunning piece of content.

As I looked around, I saw other museum visitors pausing their scrolling to admire the statue. Even though David is essentially "legacy content," it was so scroll-stopping that it drove higher engagement than the combined feeds of Instagram and TikTok—despite those apps providing a constant stream of hyper-personalized, fresh updates.

I was even more impressed when I noticed the gift shop's conversion rate; they were converting roughly 60% of their visitors, a metric that would make any modern "content creator" weep with envy.

Wait, does that sound ridiculous? If you read those first few paragraphs and felt a sense of agreement, I have some bad news: you are likely a LinkedIn automation bot.

While we aren't quite at the stage where we categorize Michelangelo as a "content creator," we are drifting toward that reality every single day.

The Commoditization of Creativity

The word "content" emerged when entrepreneurs needed a generic term to describe any creative output they could profitably commercialize.

About three decades ago, Bill Gates (then the head of Microsoft) penned a seminal piece titled Content is King. He accurately predicted that the internet would turn creative work into a commodity. He noted:

"Content is where I expect much of the real money will be made on the Internet, just as it was in broadcasting."

When applied to a network as interactive as the web, the scope of "content" expands exponentially.

Over time, the terminology of business schools has seeped into our daily lexicon. "Content" has become a "sludge term"—a catch-all phrase that flattens the distinction between a symphony and a listicle. Now, it is common for filmmakers and authors to call themselves "content creators."

To put this in perspective, consider this sentiment from Mad Men:

"Just so you know, the people who talk that way think that monkeys can do this. 
They take all this monkey crap and stick it in a briefcase, completely unaware 
that their success depends on something more than their shoeshine."
— For Those Who Think Young

My Journey Through "Corp-Speak"

In 2018, I left my employment to launch my own venture. Because my business model relied heavily on writing, I adopted the industry standard and called it a "content business." It felt slightly unnatural, but since everyone else used the term, I conformed.

Later, I attended a conference for independent business owners. Most were solopreneurs, though some had small teams of about a dozen people. Despite the scale of their operations, they spoke exclusively in corporate jargon. The conversations were dominated by questions like:

"What strategies are you using to maximize the LTV (Lifetime Value) and extract more revenue from each customer?"

The Linguistic Audit

Being an indie owner means you have the freedom to define your own process. After that conference, I began to scrutinize the language I used. I started a mental checklist to replace corporate terms with human ones:

• Stop calling my personal site "content" $\rightarrow$ Call it a blog.
• Stop calling my book an "info product" $\rightarrow$ Call it words.
• Stop measuring "engagement" $\rightarrow$ Value comments and questions.

The Psychology of Language

I initially wondered if this semantic shift actually mattered. However, I noticed a profound difference when I stopped using the word traffic.

When I think in terms of "traffic," I feel like I'm just laying out flypaper and counting whatever insects get stuck to it. But when I refer to those people as readers, I am reminded that they are human beings. Out of the billions of things they could be doing with their finite time, they chose to spend some of it with me.

The impact of language is significant. Let's look at the mathematical shift in perspective:

$\text{Corporate View: } \text{User} \times \text{Conversion Rate} = \text{Profit}$ $\text{Human View: } \text{Reader} + \text{Value} = \text{Relationship}$

I often share the internal workings of my business, and many of my paying clients read those posts. If I viewed them as "traffic," I'd be treating them as numbers. If a sales rep told me a mutual friend recommended them because they are "great at finding gullible marks," I'd be offended. Using "corp-speak" often feels exactly like that.

Final Thoughts

I am not prescribing a specific vocabulary for your work. If you feel that "content creator" accurately describes your identity, by all means, continue creating.

However, I suggest you ask yourself: Did you choose these words, or were they chosen for you?

You might discover that you aren't a "content creator" at all—you are an artist, a blogger, or a comedian.

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Want to refine your prose?

I am currently authoring a guide specifically for developers to help them master the art of writing: Refactoring English: Effective Writing for Software Developers.

You can secure early access to the ebook draft and receive new chapters monthly. It is available at a 39% discount until July 20, 2026.

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