Why we should ditch the word 'content'

Content just means 'stuff.' So why aren't we proudly saying what kind of stuff we make?

It grinds my gears whenever I hear someone call themselves a “content creator.”

Don’t get me wrong—I’ve caught myself using the term a few times, unfortunately. (For other people, I mean. I haven’t used it for myself yet, and I’m hoping I never do.) After all, it’s an easy term to use: It means nothing and everything all at once, and whether you’re the one saying or hearing it, you don’t have to think too hard about what it entails.

That’s exactly why we should stop using it.

Content is just a synonym for the word “stuff.” (It’s worse than that, actually, but we’ll get to that in a minute.) When we use the term “content creator” to refer to ourselves or others, what we’re saying is that we/they “make stuff,” whether for fun or for a living or something in between. Sure, there’s a general understanding that “content” refers to “stuff” made for the internet. But if you’re reading this, you’re probably aware of how vastly diverse the internet’s “stuff” can be—and therefore how meaningless the term “content creator” is.

Why do we insist on doing ourselves injustice this way? Why are we afraid to take ownership of what we create, and in turn, take pride in our identities?

Each time a YouTube documentarian calls herself a content creator, she denies herself the opportunity to tell the world what she’s good at. Whenever an amateur botanist with a healthy Instagram following puts “content creator” in his bio, he (or perhaps his audience) loses sight of what he’s really passionate about: not Instagram’s longevity as a platform, but sharing plant photography and care tips with other enthusiasts. This principle applies to all sorts of people who share their work online: Recipe bloggers, flash fiction writers, tech reviewers, video game streamers, and even those annoying financial gurus you see on LinkedIn (though I personally have my own term for that last one).

This brings me to my next point: “Content” only differs from “stuff” in that it relies on some sort of container. When we call ourselves content creators, we’re conveying to some extent that our work is in service of its container…which, a vast majority of the time, is social media.

Our work is worth more than that. We’re not simply generating stuff to fill TikTok or keep Pinterest’s shareholders happy. Our work possesses its own inherent value—value we’ve created via our skills, prior experiences, networks, and creativity. Online platforms might make it easier for us to share our work, but if they disappeared tomorrow, what we’ve created would still be inspiring, entertaining, or useful.

It’s hard not to use “content creator” for ourselves or other people, especially when work shared online is most often collectively referred to as content. But while we do need a term to use during discussions about content moderation, censorship, and other format-agnostic topics, I believe we deserve to get specific when we’re talking about individuals and their work. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather people know I write tech news and this newsletter than think I simply make stuff.

What’s been inspiring me lately:

✰ Strange Way of Life, a short film by Pedro Almodóvar starring Pedro Pascal and Ethan Hawke. Its combination of desert landscapes, queer desire, and the push-pull of passion vs expectation is everything to me. I also love that Almodóvar is embracing shorter works—but we’ll talk more about that later. 😉

✰ This Slate article by Tom Scocca about recipe writers’ tendency to lie about onion caramelization times. It’s more than a decade old, but I’m always here for a good rant-turned-thinkpiece.

✰ These alebrijes my friend Francisca gifted to me earlier this year. Alebrijes are paper mâché or carved wood sculptures depicting various animals, often from Mexican folklore. I like imagining what these colorful little critters get up to when I’m not looking. What stories do they have to tell?