A Dispatch from the Frontlines of Inflated Credits and Real Work

There’s been a quiet tragedy unfolding in the independent film world for a while now, and it’s not just about bloating budgets, shifting streamers, or new algorithms. It’s about credibility and more dangerously, the illusion of it. That illusion has only become more constant, more visible, and more tolerated in recent months. And it speaks volumes about where the industry is. We’ve reached a point where “producer” has become a label you can assign yourself without carrying the weight it used to demand. All it takes is a profile, a password, and a little bit of ego. People with minimal or no real experience can now present themselves as veterans, challenging those of us who’ve put in the hours, the nights, the years.

'I Masquerade Desperately for Branding' or IMDb is at best, a tool. I use it. I’m on it. But in the wrong hands, it’s no longer a record. It’s a costume. And that’s exactly how most people treat it. It’s not a résumé. It’s a billboard. A digital mask for people desperate to be taken seriously without ever doing the work to earn that respect. And that’s the problem.

What’s changed most in the digital age is how easy it’s become to manufacture legitimacy. IMDb was once a central database of production information and credits. Today, it’s an open platform that allows users to submit their own filmography. You don’t need to be verified, or connected, or completed. You just need the right dropdown options and a little nerve. Credits can be added by anyone, approved with minimal oversight, and displayed publicly as long as no one disputes them. You can be listed as “producer, associate, co-executive,” even on unreleased or barely-developed projects without ever contributing a contract, dollar, or deliverable. This creates a version of reality where appearance is easily mistaken for experience. Where résumés can be built without jobs. Where optics outshine output. And because many people don’t know what to ask — or are afraid to ask — it works. That’s the part no one wants to talk about. IMDb isn’t the problem. It’s just a mirror. And when gamed, it reflects everything broken around it.

Being a producer and the credit itself used to mean something. It meant weight. Responsibility. Pressure. Deal memos. Broken timelines. Budget gaps. Pivots. It meant being the first to step in when things fell apart and the last to take credit when they didn’t. Now, in much of the indie space, “producer” is a vibe. A placeholder. A word used by anyone who hovered near the process long enough to slap their name on a deck. That’s why I stopped chasing it and accepted where I am now, and where I started.

The romantic version of independent film is struggling to survive reality. According to the AFM, of 877 independent films studied, only about 25% reported any theatrical earnings. Over 40% never received a release at all. And of those that did, only a fraction ever recouped their budgets. Another study noted that just 2.3% of independent films make their money back. So while the perception of producing is glamour, prestige, and endless wins — most projects fail because they were never structured to succeed. And yet, the title of producer has become more accessible and more hollow than ever. You don’t need to produce anything. You just have to say you did. And if no one asks follow-ups, you’re in. That creates a dangerous environment where unqualified voices gain influence, while the people holding up the actual infrastructure get questioned for not looking like success.

“Let’s collaborate” has become the industry’s most overused bait-and-switch. On paper, it sounds like partnership. In practice, it means “do this for free, bring your expertise, fix what’s broken, and stay out of the way.” It’s rarely about building something together. Usually, it’s about plugging holes while someone else holds the spotlight. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been approached under the guise of collaboration, only to carry the weight financially, strategically, and logistically — without any meaningful stake. The moment I ask questions like “What’s the investor return structure, who’s holding risk, where’s the contingency budget,” the vibe shifts. Suddenly, I’m difficult. Not because the questions are unfair. Because I’m interrupting the performance.

That’s why I walked away from ever wanting “producer” as a title. Not because I stopped caring about the work — but because I could no longer participate in a system that rewards optics over outcomes. The role has been watered down, politicized, handed out so freely that the credit means almost nothing unless you know what’s behind it. And often, there’s nothing behind it at all. The title “consultant” isn’t a downgrade — it’s my way of separating what I do from what others pretend to be. I’m brought in to assess, restructure, stabilize, and scale. I work with people willing to be honest about what’s missing and committed to fixing it. I don’t take projects to validate egos or pad pitch decks. I do the work no one else knows how to or wants to deal with.

And yes, I bring capital into the conversation. Often. I help structure investment. I identify viable funding sources. I unlock money that would otherwise be inaccessible. But having access doesn’t mean I need to take credit. If I didn’t help shape the creative or carry the execution, I’m not interested in being listed just to make the optics prettier.

The work is the reward. The credit only matters when it reflects reality. I learned that the hard way. In 2016, a friend came to me in a panic. Their project was collapsing in pre-production, scheduled to shoot that summer, and needed capital by the end of spring. I was three years into the industry. My résumé was still PA work. I didn’t know how to raise money, let alone how to structure a rescue. But I knew someone who did. So, I sold the idea. And in under 30 days, we closed a $1 million raise. The project got saved. And I got a producing credit. But I didn’t raise that money. I didn’t negotiate terms. I didn’t write the paperwork. I wasn’t involved creatively. I didn’t help build the pitch. I passed along a call — and got listed as an associate producer. That credit still lives on IMDb. And it’s the moment I realized how warped the credit system had become. I didn’t deserve that title. I understand that now. It didn’t represent contribution. It represented how easy it is to manipulate perception. And I decided I’d never be in that position again.

Producing isn’t consulting. It’s not taking selfies on set. It’s not claiming a title because you sat in on a call. Producing is responsibility. It’s risk. It’s execution. Real producers understand where every dollar comes from and how it’s spent. They manage timelines, hire and protect crews, secure legal infrastructure, negotiate contracts, and know when to pull the plug before the budget bleeds out. They don’t float near the process. They are the process. Most people don’t want that job. They want the credit. The real ones? You rarely see them posting. They’re too busy building. Their projects move forward — not sideways. When you’ve done the work, you don’t need to posture.

What’s dangerous is that many of the loudest voices in indie film today have credits but no calluses. They’ve learned the language. They know the hashtags. And when challenged — especially by someone without flashy titles — they deflect by questioning relevance. That’s how I know the industry’s upside down. I spent years in physical production. Real union jobs. Real pressure. I worked my way up. Quietly. Intentionally. I didn’t take shortcuts. I stayed in rooms where I wasn’t the loudest, and left with knowledge. That work ethic carried into consulting. People call me now when something needs fixing. When a deck needs structure. A budget needs clarity. A strategy needs to exist. I don’t show up with fluff. I show up with solutions.

And that’s the difference. I’m not trying to be listed. I’m trying to be useful. But in today’s optics-first industry, not chasing credit makes you suspicious. People who barely understand production logistics feel comfortable challenging those of us who’ve lived in it, because they think IMDb is the map. They don’t realize it’s just a highlight reel. I didn’t stop producing. I stopped pretending. This isn’t an attack piece. It’s not about who deserves what. It’s about fixing a culture quietly eating itself from the inside. When accountability disappears, trust goes with it. When trust disappears, funding collapses. Partnerships dissolve. Projects stall. We’re watching it happen in real time. If we want to rebuild, we have to redefine what it means to actually do this work.

We need to honor the people who don’t post. The ones in the spreadsheets, in the contracts, in the trenches. We need to stop asking “Where’s your credit” and start asking “What did you build.” Until we do, the people doing the work will keep getting pushed out by the ones performing it. So no — IMDb doesn’t make you a producer. Accountability does. Not every producer is responsible for raising capital. There are incredible creative producers, line producers, and development leads who bring their expertise through story, talent, logistics, or packaging. They deserve the title as much as anyone writing checks.

Where it falls apart is in the new era of participation trophies such as credits handed out equally even when contributions are wildly different. I’ve seen someone bring in $100,000 and get a producer credit, and someone else bring in $10,000 and expect the same. I’ve seen someone raise $2 million and sit at the same table as someone who sent a few nice emails. If you question the imbalance, you’re not a team player. That’s one of the reasons I stopped taking credits and started using the title consultant. Not to be cute. To be accurate. If I’m helping structure, raise, negotiate, and scale, I’m doing something very different than someone giving creative notes or tossing in a check as a favor.

It’s not about wanting more credit. It’s about wanting credit that means something. And so should everyone else doing real creative and production work. What we don’t need is more vague, inflated, politically assigned credits. We need transparency. Everyone at the table doesn’t need the same title but they should know who’s actually building the table. The second you hand a producer credit to someone who doesn’t know what a PPM is, you’re setting the project up to collapse under its own fiction. Credits are being negotiated as emotional currency. Supportive texts. Development meetings. Group chats. Five thousand dollars and a vibe. And none of that protects the project.

I’m here to build, fix, and advise. And that’s enough.

Because when the lights come up, the funding dries out, and the timelines fall behind, the only thing that keeps a project alive is whether it was built on something real. Not noise. Not narrative. Not the illusion of competence.

We are in an industry drowning in performance, not the kind on screen, but the kind in meetings, on profiles, in rooms full of people trying to be seen instead of trying to solve. I didn’t step into this to impress anyone. I stepped in because too many people are pretending they understand what’s at stake.

The difference between a film that moves and one that dies isn’t the name on the call sheet. It’s the infrastructure underneath.

And if you’re not the one building it, you should probably get out of the way.

Title Inflation and Considerations for Creating Accurate Job Titles