Producer Is A Verb, Not A Title

Everyone wants to be a Producer

Most people see “professional” as a noun. A badge you wear, a status you achieve, a title on your office door.

The truth is simpler (and harder): professional is a verb. It’s something you do, not something you are. 

What does professionalism look like? William Faulkner put it this way: 

“I only write when inspiration strikes. Fortunately, it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.”

Jack London was even more direct: 

“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.”

And Maya Angelou reminded us that being present is the signal: 

“When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, ‘Okay. Okay. I’ll come.’”

These quotes imply an underlying system and practice, a daily discipline of showing up and doing the work - creating, shaping, editing, designing.

This distinction is clearest in film. The word Producer is the slipperiest in the industry. Anyone can call themselves one, yet few actually produce. 

A noun-producer introduces themselves with the title. A verb-producer shows you the scaffolding they’ve built, the work they’ve put in motion, and the infrastructure that makes results inevitable. Think of scaffolding, the temporary structure that holds up a building during construction. The noun-producer poses in front of the finished cathedral for a soon-to-be-published online photo. The verb-producer erected it, managed every stage of construction, then quietly took it down when the work was complete.

For investors, learning to tell the difference is everything. Noun-producers burn capital, while verb-producers compound it. For filmmakers, it’s just as stark: noun-producers focus on maintaining a fragile identity, while verb-producers make movies and create careers. 

The Problem of Noun-Only Producers

In every industry, the noun-professional is fragile. They cling to the title but lack the underlying systems. A business card, LinkedIn headline, polished deck - these are the trappings of a noun. They attempt to signal status yet fail to prove substance.

In film, the sharpest example is “Producer.” Anyone can call themselves one. Some wear the title like a costume, hoping the identity alone will open doors. But under pressure—when the budget overruns, distribution falls through, or the schedule slips—they can’t be relied on. The noun collapses.

The consequences are costly. Investors who can’t tell the difference between a noun and a verb producer lose money. Filmmakers who can’t tell the difference lose years. The industry is full of dead projects not because of a weak story oruninterested audience, but because the person holding the title wasn’t living the verb.

We’re mistaken in thinking we need a “producer” to get our film made. We need to go a step further and identify a verb-producer. 

In too many films, one or two verb-producers and half a dozen (or more) noun producers are involved. The noun producers are owners of companies who came on at the end, distributors, and more. The problem persists because when they add another credit to their IMDb, the industry sees them as someone who can help, someone that can build, someone that can produce, only to be disappointed when they fail to deliver. 

The Million-Dollar Diagnostic

On my first film, there’s a credited producer I never met. They never attended a pre-production call or meeting, never visited set, never participated in the producing of the movie. Yet, because they gave a few hundred thousand to the film, they “earned” (bought) a producer credit, which was their explicit intent through the investment-for-credit transaction.

By my fourth film, we ensured that anyone involved (for distribution, sales, etc.) received an executive or co-executive producer credit to protect the verb-producer credits of the actual verb-producers. Still, two actors received producer credits despite not doing any actual producing. There’s also a noun- and verb-version of an executive producer. The nouns attach themselves to your project and bring risks, expenses, and uncertainty. The verbs bring their capital, connections, and faith to propel it forward. 

The pattern became clear: Noun-producers are scaffolding that never comes down. They attach themselves permanently to projects, adding weight without function. Verb-producers build scaffolding, use it to create something, then dismantle it and move to the next build. One group accumulates credits; the other accumulates capability.

No matter how many noun-producers you attach to your project, without a single verb-producer you’ll keep expending energy treading water, wondering why you’re not getting closer to your destination. 

Every day, I see people commenting on “producers’” social media posts, hoping to get a slice of their precious attention. Maybe the right comment will earn me a chance to be picked! Both filmmakers and investors must understand the difference between a noun and a verb-producer, and find the latter.

The diagnostic is simpler than you think: Can they show you their system, or only their credits?

The Title Inflation Era

We live in a “personal branding” culture where titles are cheap and anyone can slap “producer” or “investor” in a bio. 

The noun-professional is a symptom of the current inflationary period. They curate identity more than they craft meaningful work. A five-minute exploration reveals little, yet we've accepted the profile as empirical truth. Social media promised everyone could be a "thought leader," but audiences have grown allergic to empty authority. They're seeking proof of work over proof of position.

Audiences, crews, and investors are fatigued by surface-level branding. They crave people who actually make things. This isn’t just about film. It mirrors a broader cultural distrust in institutions, even if they’re individuals with a large platform. Titles, credentials, vanity metrics, and status signals are being devalued across industries.

In an era where everyone is a “verb/something” online, the only authority left is the work, the output, the result, the transformation you create through your systems and your presence. 

The Practice For Becoming

Now that we understand what being a noun or a verb looks like externally, how do we apply it? 

Being a noun-professional is about self-image. Being a verb-professional is about self-becoming. It’s the art of differentiation, the practice of self-confronting, and closing the gap between our current influence and leverage and the impact we seek. 

The noun says, “this is what I am.” The verb says, “the work speaks to who I am, and through the doing, I become even more.”

Noun-professionals seek validation. Verb-producers create inevitability.

If your life ended tomorrow, would you want to be remembered as someone who claimed a title, or someone who brought things into existence that outlived you?

You learn through the process that your identity isn’t what you call yourself. It’s the trail of real things you’ve made exist,the people you’ve changed, and the stories others tell about you.

Titles fade and change with culture. Systems compound over time and cement a legacy, a foundation to build upon, and create possibility and growth. 

The question isn’t, “Are you a producer?”, but “Are you producing?”.

Stories We Tell Ourselves

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Credits are a story we tell ourselves, and the more impressive the title, the more impressive our identities. The verb-producer knows that without their contribution, the film wouldn’t exist. They know the title is earned, not given, and no matter how many others purchased or leveraged that shared title, those noun-producers need the verb-producers for another one, because noun-producers can’t create a film; they can only beg, buy, or leverage their way into a film someone else verb-produced. 

Unless the noun-producer shifts to become a verb-producer, they’ll always need one for their next credit, film, or reminder of their relevance. 

The market is already deciding. In five years, “professional” won’t mean credentials, but proof of systems. Infrastructure is what investors trust. It doesn’t emerge from nouns, it’s the product of verbs. The filmmaker who shows up daily to make the movie is the one with systems. The rest are just barnacles: attached to the project via their titles, but going nowhere on their own.

Two paths diverge: Down one, the noun-professional waits for lightning to strike, growing increasingly frustrated as opportunities pass to more reliable competitors. They blame the industry, the investors, the changing times—everything except the choice to pursue an identity over building an infrastructure and a body of work.

Down the other path, the verb-professional practitioner builds systems that make inspiration and results predictable. They discover that creativity flourishes within structure, that constraints breed innovation, that showing up consistently creates more magic than waiting for magic to create itself. Their work improves not because they're more inspired, but because they're more practiced. Their careers compound.

The most haunting part? Both paths require the same amount of work. The only difference is whether you're building a system or building excuses.

If you’re a noun-professional, stop posturing, stop flexing, and start producing. 

If you’re a verb-writer, a verb-producer, a verb-distributor, or a verb-investor, seek out the others who are like you. That’s where the leverage lies. We have to remember how rare the verb-professionals are. We have to see the leverage we have, that the industry has gaslighted us into forgetting. 

Building your career on relationships with noun-professionals will bring heartache, resentment, and regret. The only way forward is the hard work of saying no to the nouns so that you can become the verb.