We Are Held Hostage By The Titles We Crave

We are far too easily enchanted by the shimmer of designations. Vice President of This. Executive Director of That. The pecking order of titles has become our modern caste system — silently but powerfully governing how we see ourselves and how others see us. We curate LinkedIn bios like museum exhibits, polishing each word until it gleams, often forgetting what it is we were supposed to do in the first place.

But founders — the true entrepreneurs, not just those in tech hoodies speaking in acronyms — live by a different compass. Whether starting a mithai shop or building a manufacturing unit from scratch, these individuals carry a unique lightness of being. They are too busy solving for cash flow and customer satisfaction to obsess over job descriptions. In their world, the only title that matters is “Still Standing.”

The irony, of course, is delicious. The ones who fixate least on what they are called often end up being remembered the longest. Think of Dhirubhai Ambani, who never had an MBA or a C-suite role to validate his instincts. Or Verghese Kurien, who simply called himself a manager, even as he built a cooperative empire that reshaped rural India. What they shared was not a quest for professional ornamentation but an unflinching dedication to outcomes.

There is an old saying, “Naam ka nahin, kaam ka hona chahiye” — be known not for your name, but for your work. This should be embroidered on every conference room wall, if only to jolt professionals out of their ornamental haze. In boardrooms and bureaucracies alike, we reward posture over performance. But societies that do not know how to honour the doers soon run out of things worth doing.

Generationally, we've seen a shift. Our parents and grandparents built their lives on the scaffolding of stability, not on the flashiness of self-promotion. Many worked loyally in the same organisation for decades without ever needing a business card to feel validated. They derived pride from being dependable, not being decorated. Today, the pendulum has swung hard in the opposite direction. In our swipe-right culture of instant visibility, the job title is no longer a descriptor — it has become a brand.

The younger workforce — energetic, ambitious and rightly hungry for recognition — is, however, caught in a dilemma. You cannot blame a 28-year-old for wanting a ‘Lead' or ‘Head' tag; in a crowded marketplace, titles feel like currency. But the danger lies in mistaking that currency for wealth. A title, after all, is a wrapper. And as any good entrepreneur will tell you, packaging can never rescue a hollow product.

The middle rung of Indian professionals, those in their 30s and 40s, often bear the brunt of this paradox. They are sandwiched between generational expectations and global aspirations. Many spent the first decade of their careers earning credibility, only to now find that the world celebrates visibility more. Their frustration is real. In a country where upward mobility is hard-earned, status symbols — even professional ones — become coping mechanisms. The problem is not ambition; the problem is when ambition becomes purely ornamental.

Then, of course, there's the other end of the age spectrum — those in their 50s and 60s. For them, titles can become armour against irrelevance. We've all met that uncle who insists on being called ‘Director Saab' long after retirement, or that former bureaucrat whose identity remains tied to their last held post. Titles linger like perfume on a well-worn jacket. They smell of past glory, yes, but also of a reluctance to move on.

And let's be honest: Indian family life only reinforces this. Introductions at weddings or community gatherings often begin not with a name, but a professional credential. “This is Rajesh, he's VP at XYZ.” Rarely do we say, “This is Rajesh, he's a wonderful mentor, or he builds schools on weekends.” We have taught ourselves — and our children — to measure worth in vertical promotions rather than in horizontal contribution.

Philosopher Ivan Illich once warned that “the corruption of professions is the most dangerous form of institutional decay.” In India, the professional class often slips into this rut. We are trained to chase safety in signals. Salary bands. Seniority ladders. Suffixes and prefixes that announce status. Meanwhile, the real work — the slightly thankless, often invisible graft of execution — is left to a rare few who don't mind rolling up their sleeves.

One cannot help but ask: are we professionals, or are we merely professionalised? Because there is a difference. The former is a matter of skill and commitment. The latter is about appearances. Founders instinctively know this. They do not wait for permission to act. They begin with ambiguity and end with impact. They are learners before they are leaders. And they are almost always too humble to think of themselves as visionaries. That, paradoxically, is what makes them visionary.

The economy doesn't need more job titles. It needs problem-solvers, collaborators, builders and finishers. It needs people who can step out of the identity cage and step into the messy, complex world of outcomes. People who can start small, think big, and work quietly. And perhaps most importantly, people who understand that purpose is not delivered via HR letters but forged in the crucible of responsibility.

Somewhere between the ‘Chief Happiness Officers' and ‘Innovation Ninjas', we've lost the plot. These titles are often corporate incense sticks — burning, fragrant, but ultimately hollow. Satire writes itself in such contexts. One wonders if we will soon have a ‘Vice President of Title Creation' to keep the illusion alive.

In a country like India, where more than half the working population still operates in the informal or self-employed sector, the fascination with corporate titles begins to look like a rather elite indulgence. The fruit vendor, the tailor, the Kirana store owner — they all wake up each morning with no job title and yet carry out multiple roles, seamlessly. They are planners, logisticians, marketers and accountants — without ever needing validation from a designation.

Thoreau once wrote, “The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” It would do us all well to consider what we are trading for the comfort of a title. Is it freedom? Is it curiosity? Is it a more elastic identity? Prestige is a fine thing. But purpose is better. And unlike titles, purpose cannot be made redundant.

So let us unshackle ourselves from the labels we wear too tightly. Let us learn from the entrepreneurs-founders. Not just the ones on magazine covers, but also those who run businesses from the back lanes of Kanpur or Coimbatore. They may not have Chief beside their name. But they understand what it means to truly lead.

And in the quiet, persistent work they do — without applause, without audience — lies the truest title of all: someone who mattered, and created something valuable.

Dr. Srinath Sridharan is a policy researcher and corporate advisor.

Disclaimer: The views expressed here are those of the author, and do not necessarily represent the views of NDTV Profit or its editorial team.