I didn’t start out chasing a title. I just wanted to be a designer.
That was enough. That word meant something. That was all I wanted to do.
But as my experience grew the titles started creeping in. First, it was graphic designer. Then multimedia designer. Web designer. Interactive designer. Eventually, I started calling myself a creative thinker because I was working across disciplines. At some point, I got really attached to “design professional.” It felt grown-up and flexible, but still didn’t capture everything I was doing.
As I began working on award show websites for the Art Directors Club and The One Club, I found myself aspiring to the big title: Creative Director. That felt like the pinnacle. The one that meant you’d made it. And eventually, I got there. Hired as a Creative Director, and the title stuck.
But here’s where it gets complicated.
At my first proper ad agency gig, Ogilvy, I was technically operating at an Executive Creative Director level. But I wasn’t allowed to use that title because I didn’t have Creative Directors reporting into me. Not for lack of trying. I’d have promoted my most senior Art Director if I could. Then came National Creative Director at another agency. Still just Creative Director on paper.
During this came self-employment. A studio. A startup. I wore whatever title made sense that week, usually back to Creative Director. Eventually, I landed an in-house executive role at a bank. I led the design function, and with my black t-shirts and sneakers in the bank, I was certainly the creative in the boardroom. But I wasn’t allowed to be Chief Creative Officer because there’s only one chief. So I settled for Executive Creative Director. At my next full-time job, I didn’t settle. I became Chief Design Officer. And finally, a title that felt almost right.
But even that doesn’t quite fit. I’m more than just a designer. I think across channels, across teams, across systems. I integrate with brand, content, product, and service. I shape experiences end to end. So what do I call myself now? Not just in job applications, but in conversations, pitches, bios, intros, and that inevitable “what do you do?” moment. Maybe I should just embrace the times. There is AI in my name, after all. Feels like the universe nudging me toward my next evolution.
Here’s the thing. Titles are broken. And we’re in the middle of a full-blown identity crisis at the leadership level.
I’ve read the think pieces. I’ve seen the bios. The confusion is everywhere. People doing the same jobs are called Heads, Leads, VPs, Chiefs, Principals, or sometimes just Designers, with a suspiciously large scope. And it’s not just semantics. Titles have real-world consequences. Companies don’t want to hand out the Chief label because it implies compensation and authority. So they give you just enough to make the role sound senior, but not enough to pay you what you’re worth.
I’ve seen VPs of Design running global design orgs. I’ve seen Creative Directors acting as product owners, strategy leads, and team managers. I’ve seen brilliant Design Directors passed over because the brief said “Creative Director.” Especially in the UK, where I’m currently job hunting, I’ve noticed Creative Directors often get more respect and higher salaries than Design Directors. That stings, especially when the creative in question is mostly analogue, 30-second TV ads and campaign-based, and the design in question is building banking platforms, solving business problems, and future-forward digital ecosystems.
It’s like comparing a handcrafted wooden sailboat to a carbon fibre racing yacht. Both are beautiful. But only one is built for speed, scale, and the world we live in now.
And if titles weren’t confusing enough within companies, try jumping between industries. Say you’re a Creative Director. Do people assume you work in advertising? If you’re a Product Designer, do they picture digital apps or physical goods? Are you less creative because you’re in-house? Less strategic because you’re not in consulting?
I never studied industrial design, but I’m pretty sure I could give solid direction on a tin opener. Just like I’m confident I could direct a short film, lead a content strategy, or reinvent a product-service ecosystem. Not to come across as arrogant, but I just don’t see any limit to my ability to create. Yet at the same time, I’m watching self-employed social media managers call themselves Creative Directors and Chief Creative Officers. Not to knock their work, it’s a valuable craft, but when exactly did they work their way into those leadership titles? Where’s the experience in brand stewardship, cross-functional management, systems thinking, or executive decision-making?
This isn’t just about gatekeeping titles. It’s about clarity, progression, and respect for the journey. If everyone is a chief, then what does leadership even mean?
And let’s talk about the table. The one we’re all supposed to have a seat at. Too often, the Head of Design is hired by the CTO, not as an equal, but as an add-on. A support act. Design is supposed to be one third of the triad that builds great product: business, tech, and design. Yet in too many companies, it’s still treated as the pixel pushers. Not a strategic partner. Not a co-architect. Just the people who make things pretty.
It’s no wonder our titles are all over the place. The role itself is misunderstood.
And titles do carry weight, whether we like to admit it or not. Show me a CEO who gives up their title just to fit into the flat structure they sell to the rest of the team.
In more formal professions like law, medicine, or finance, titles are earned through years of structured progression, underpinned by formal education and recognised qualifications. You don’t become a partner, consultant, or CFO without years of study and accreditation. But in design and creativity, most of the skills required to lead at the highest level aren’t formally taught. They’re developed on the job, in the trenches, over time. Through experience, intuition, taste, leadership, and hard-won lessons. That makes it harder to define our roles and even harder to validate them through existing frameworks.
So where do we go from here? I could give myself a title. I could fight for one in interviews, push for it once I’m in, or just accept the compromise and get on with the work.
Titles aren’t everything. But they’re not nothing either. They shape how people perceive you. They affect your salary band. They determine whether you’re seen as a leader, a peer, or a service provider.
And the truth is, many of us are working across brand, content, product, service, and experience, often at an executive level, but with a title that doesn’t reflect any of that.
So here’s my question to the industry: what do we call people like us?
People who lead multi-disciplinary teams. People who shape experiences across every customer touchpoint. People who operate at board level but still deeply understand the craft.
Maybe the real answer isn’t one perfect title. Maybe it’s creating space for more fluid, honest language around the roles we play and the value we bring.
Until then, I’ll keep working. Keep leading. Keep creating. Call me whatever you want, just don’t undervalue what I bring.
Are you having a title crisis too? Let me know in the comments what you call yourself and whether it fits.