We call ourselves "sound nerds." And then we wonder why nobody takes us seriously.
Think about that for a second. Cinematographers don't call themselves camera nerds. Costume designers don't say "yeah, I'm just a fabric nerd." Production designers aren't out here hashtagging themselves as set decoration dorks.
They walk into a room and they are artists. Their departments are disciplines. Their craft is treated as vision.
Sound people? We self-deprecate before anyone else gets the chance.
The "sound nerd" label started as insider shorthand. A badge of obsessive detail-oriented honor. I get it. The culture of knowing every mic preamp, every reverb tail, every plugin under the hood is a real thing. There is genuine curiosity and interest there.
But somewhere that badge became an identity.
When we lead with "nerd," we're telling the room: I'm technical, not creative. I'm support, not essential. I'm the person who makes your vision work, not a person with vision of my own.
I recently worked on an epic cinematic movie directed by one of our generation's greatest directors. I can't say much about it but it was an honor to be a part of the team. Yet, I was surprised to find that sound was still treated as "less than." A technical necessity and overall just an annoyance and a burden.
For example, there is one scene in the movie where our sound designer and editors shaped and layered some gorgeous, subtle, evocative sounds that beautifully fit the scene and supported the story. When the director heard it on the stage, he stopped and said "What is this??" He did not appreciate the sound department's attempt at creative direction and mocked, "Ahhh… delusions of grandeur from the sound department" and then ordered the mixer to mute it all out so we could continue the mix.
So is it any surprise that every year the Academy Awards treats the sound categories exactly the way a bully treats a nerd. They make it the comedy relief. Cue up the fart sounds and cartoon bings and boings. Here come the jokes about buttons and knobs and how it's unclear to everyone what it is that sound people do since sound is everywhere and it should just sound good right? They've even cut categories because, hey, if nobody knows what you do, does it really matter? The whole room laughs and moves on. And we're surprised by this.
The technical depth that makes someone great at sound is the same thing that makes a great architect, a great composer, a great editor. Deep knowledge of a discipline is called mastery. We just never frame it that way.
A cinematographer knows F-stops and ISO and color science in the same way a sound designer knows frequency, dynamics, and acoustic space. Nobody calls Roger Deakins a lighting nerd.
Same craft culture. Completely different self-perception.
So what do we call ourselves instead?
Sound architects. Because we're building invisible spaces that audiences walk into and never notice.
Perceptual designers. Because every sound decision is a decision about what the audience feels at that exact moment, before they even know why.
Narrative composers (my favorite). Because we're not mixing sounds, we're composing an experience that runs parallel to everything visual on screen.
Sound directors. Because direction isn't just a title. It's a decision-making authority over how a story is told. We make those decisions every day. We just never claimed the word.
Or just: sound designers. Said the way a production designer says it. Said like it means something.
The identity shift has to come from inside the community before it will ever come from outside it.
Nobody is going to elevate sound while sound people are busy shrinking themselves.
You shape how millions of people experience a story. Own that.
An artist doesn't introduce themselves as a nerd. Neither should you.