Here's a familiar story for content design folks.
It starts with a notification. Every content designer on the job market right now finds out that a company has posted a new content design role on LinkedIn. It's listed as Senior Content Designer at minimum, sometimes Staff.
Hundreds of unemployed content designers click the link. Company XYZ is looking for someone to define the practice, ship excellent content, and eliminate content design debt. The CD will not only execute on every string in the product, but also define ways of working, best practices, style guides, and more. Not a problem. We're an ambitious bunch, and we've had to evangelize and advocate for content design before.
Then comes the interview process: a black box. It's ugly; there's no sugarcoating it. People are desperate for interviews with the same companies whose messages grew stale in their inbox in 2019. Seasoned professionals who have led teams at large companies are asked to do a writing exercise, and then rejected with zero feedback. Sure, some folks get to do that excited happy dance when they tell their friends and loved ones they're moving to the next round, but more are crushed by rejection. This part is made even more unbearable by the fact that almost none of us are on the job market by choice. It's hard to stay positive when you're constantly wrestling with the thought: "I shouldn't even be in this situation."
And then finally: someone lands that "one and only" content design role. The content design world is so small that it might even be someone we know—we're all applying for the same 2 decent roles that get posted per week. The ones who didn't get the offer feel their feelings: secondhand relief for the person who got it, ugly comparison, vicarious hope, and a whole lot more. But what's going through the mind of the person who got it? I don't know firsthand yet (although I certainly hope to find out soon). But I can imagine: there's likely the overwhelming relief and elation. The survivor's guilt. And then, quickly, self-preservation: the temptation to really show out. Convince your company's leaders that not only did they make the right choice, but that you are an overachieving superhuman who can do it all with no additional support. If companies have moved away from hiring content design teams (even tiny ones) in favor of hiring singular content design unicorns, then that's what you'll be. You'll never let anyone see you sweat, you'll keep every single ceramic plate spinning at great cost to your personal life, you'll maintain a ratio of 1 content designer to 10, 15, 30 plus product designers. After all: if you say "we should hire another person", isn't that a threat to your own job security? Aren't you admitting that you're human in a job market that has spent the last few years shouting at us: "we blatantly disregard humanity"?
I'm not in your shoes yet, so of course, my advice comes with a grain of salt. But: you don't have to let the story go that way. If you have the space to advocate for actually building a content design team of more than one: go for it. Make it clear to leadership which projects you simply can't staff, Because Math. Communicate the impact and business cost of spreading your only content designer too thin. There are only so many hours in a day, and there's only so much time you can dedicate to having a high bar for craft when there's one of you and dozens of every other function. Some of the most inspiring content designers I've seen in this market have been the people who secure that "one and only content design" role, and then turn that into opportunity for others.
I don't believe content design is dead.
I don't believe we have to accept the whispers that it is dying.
And I certainly don't believe we have to speak its potential decline into existence by buying into the idea that we'll just keep "doing more with less" until there's no one left to support the discipline. Eventually, these One and Only Content Designers will burn out at worst and retire at best, and if they haven't had the opportunity to build sustainable practices, mentor, and even manage the next generation, that's bad news for the usability of products everywhere in the future. I may be a Words Girl, but I do know this useful bit of math: 1 minus 1 is 0.
Let's keep up the fight, y'all.