In recent years, the word “content” has become ubiquitous in discussions around culture and creativity. Initially gaining traction during the late 1990s dot-com boom, it was utilized by tech and business professionals aiming to create engaging websites filled with various forms of media. This trend led to a peculiar period where writers, photographers, and illustrators found themselves in demand, with ample financial compensation for their work.

However, the rise of the term “content” was disconcerting. It blurred the lines between distinct artistic expressions—writing, photography, animation—into a single, interchangeable label. When I received calls from friends in web design asking for "content," it struck me as a rather depressing simplification.

While the term is undeniably efficient for tech and business types—allowing for a broad discussion about various forms of expression—its implications are troubling. It suggests that all forms of culture—be it text, images, or video—are fundamentally the same, stripping away their unique qualities and intrinsic value. This perspective prioritizes quantity over quality, focusing solely on the need to fill digital spaces rather than celebrating the artistry involved.

Moreover, the term reflects a corporatized and technocratic mindset that overlooks the substantial effort behind cultural creation. Many in the tech industry seem to regard the “substance” of culture as trivial, focusing instead on the mechanics of publishing tools and social networks. The actual creative output—be it a heartfelt essay or a striking photograph—is often dismissed as mere “content,” which downplays the effort involved in crafting meaningful work.

Words and other forms of expression are not interchangeable; they serve vastly different purposes and resonate differently with audiences. For example, a personal narrative about the first day of school is not the same as a technical guide for a software application. Each occupies a unique space within human experience and expression.

The reduction of rich cultural works to the term “content” serves corporate interests well, allowing for a devaluation of artistic labor. By lumping together diverse forms of expression—like a documentary, a child’s first steps captured in a photo, or a viral meme—under the same umbrella, companies can argue that none holds significant value, which ultimately benefits their bottom line.

In recent years, this terminology has infiltrated mainstream discussions about culture. Many online publishers and influencers describe their work as creating “content,” which diminishes the skill involved. Even major publications have adopted this language, referring to the entire film and television industry as mere “content.”

The recent Writers Guild of America (WGA) strike illustrated the detrimental effects of this terminology. Executives sought to employ AI for scriptwriting, aiming to reduce the labor of skilled writers to the level of “content” production. This move reflects a desire to commodify creative work further, minimizing the artistry involved in crafting compelling narratives.

As the conversation around this term evolves, there is a growing movement to resist its usage. Writers and artists have begun to challenge the term, recognizing its implications. Notably, actor Emma Thompson recently voiced her disdain for the term, likening it to being reduced to the stuffing inside a sofa cushion.

While it may be impossible to control how corporations and tech professionals refer to culture, we can choose to reject the term “content” in our discussions about artistic expression. I encourage everyone to commit to using more specific terms that reflect the true nature of the work being described—whether it’s an article, an essay, a performance, or a piece of visual art.

By being specific in our language, we can better appreciate the nuances of human creativity. If a broad term is necessary, consider using “culture” instead. It carries historical significance and implies a respect for the complexity of human expression.

In closing, while some professionals may rely on the term “content” in their work, its mainstream application risks trivializing the creative process. Let’s strive to articulate the richness of culture and artistry without resorting to this reductive terminology.

Addendum: This discussion should focus on the broader implications of using “content” outside specialized contexts. The creative fields deserve precise language that honors the artistic endeavor, rather than a term that flattens it into something unremarkable.

This piece could be classified in various ways—an essay, an article, or a blog post. Just don’t call it “content.”