Most Content Doesn't Know What Job It's Doing

You know the meeting.

"We should write about [topic]."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"Cool, add it to the calendar."

No one asks who needs this or what will change in their thinking. The piece gets made because it seems reasonable—not because anyone could articulate what it's supposed to accomplish.

The tell

Listen to how pieces get justified in these meetings: "We need a point of view on AI." "This will be good for SEO." "Everyone's writing about this." "Leadership wants thought leadership."

Those are internal reasons. Someone inside the company wants the content to exist. That's different from the content having a job to do—a specific person it should reach, a specific understanding it should change, a way you'd know if it worked.

I've been in enough of these meetings to recognize the pattern. The content gets created to satisfy an internal need (fill the calendar, match competitors, appease executives) rather than an external one. And most of the time, no one notices the difference until months later when someone asks "what did all that content actually do?" and no one has an answer.

Why this keeps happening

Personas replaced people. Somewhere along the way we started writing for "Marketing Manager Maria, 35-45, B2B SaaS, cares about attribution." That's a demographic sketch, not a person in the middle of a decision. It doesn't tell you what Maria misunderstands, what she's trying to figure out, or what's preventing her from figuring it out.

So we write content that could theoretically interest someone like Maria without knowing what job it's doing for her specifically. And because we can't articulate the job, we can't tell if it worked.

Coverage replaced purpose. At some point "content strategy" became "make sure we have something published about the topics that matter in our space." Teams build matrices—topics down the left, funnel stages across the top—and the goal becomes filling the empty cells.

It looks like completeness. It behaves like clutter. Coverage accumulates; it doesn't compound. You can have a hundred published pieces and still not own a single topic in any meaningful way.

Publishing replaced value. We measure content marketing by what's easy to count: posts per month, topics covered, traffic generated. Not by what matters: Did anyone change their mind? Did a stuck deal unstick? Did this help someone understand something they didn't before?

A full calendar feels productive. But a full calendar is just a logbook. It's not a strategy.

What I think jobs actually look like

The pieces that do work—the ones people reference in sales calls, forward to colleagues, link to in RFPs—can all complete a simple sentence: "The job of this piece is to [accomplish something specific]."

Sometimes the job is helping a specific person understand something so they can make a decision. You know it worked when sales starts quoting it or when people who read it take a next step instead of bouncing.

Sometimes the job is surfacing an objection or concern in public so you can address it. You know it worked when people respond with the exact objection you were trying to draw out, or when later-stage deal stalls on that issue start dropping.

Sometimes the job is demonstrating a capability so buyers can evaluate whether you're credible. You know it worked when RFPs start citing the piece or when practitioners in your space quote or link to it.

Sometimes the job is creating a reference point—a way to explain a concept or approach—that your team or partners can use. You know it worked when internal docs link to it or when it becomes the page people land on when they search your brand plus the concept.

Sometimes the job is showing up in a specific search so a specific person can find you when they're looking for a solution. You know it worked when qualified non-brand traffic increases and some of those visitors convert.

Different jobs. Different formats. Different measures. But all of them can articulate what they're trying to accomplish and how they'd know if it happened.

Most content I see—including plenty I've created—can't do that.

What breaks

When content doesn't know its job, a few things collapse.

You can't say no to anything. Every idea sounds plausible because you have no way to evaluate whether it's necessary. "Should we write about [topic]?" Well, it's related to what we do. Someone might search for it. Competitors mention it. Sure, add it to the calendar.

You can't tell if anything worked. Traffic is "fine." Engagement is "okay." But did anyone change their thinking? Did anyone make a different decision because this content exists? You have no idea, because you never said what you were trying to change.

You optimize for the wrong things. Without a clear job, you default to whatever feels safe or matches what others are doing. Format follows fashion instead of purpose. Length gets decided by what "performs well" in general rather than what this specific piece needs to accomplish.

Everything feels equally important—which means nothing is. You can't prioritize when you can't compare. Is this thought leadership piece more valuable than that SEO guide? Depends entirely on what job each is supposed to do and whether those jobs matter to your business right now. But if neither has a defined job, you're just guessing.

The volume question

I'm not arguing for publishing less. The internet rewards recency and presence. If you want to show up in more searches, answer more questions, be part of more conversations—fine, publish a lot.

Just make each piece earn its place.

Before we add something to the calendar, I try to complete this sentence: "The job of this piece is to [specific outcome]. We'll know it worked if [specific signal]."

Sometimes the sentence completes easily. "Help CTOs understand why their current monitoring approach misses the user experience problems that cause churn. We'll know it worked if they forward it internally or ask us about gaps in their current setup."

Sometimes it doesn't, which usually means the idea isn't ready or I'm not clear on the audience. "Establish thought leadership on AI." Okay, but to change whose thinking about what? What would success look like? If I can't answer that, the piece probably shouldn't exist yet.

That sentence isn't a format rule. It's not about following a template. It's about being honest with yourself about what you're trying to accomplish.

When each piece knows its job, volume actually compounds. Answer pages that capture real searches and give people what they need. Concise explainers people forward because they're useful. Technical deep-dives that prove you know what you're talking about. Short takes that surface objections you can address in the next piece.

More content, more outcomes—because each piece is doing actual work.

Where this leaves me

I keep coming back to this: if a page earns a place on your site, shouldn't it do work in your business?

Maybe that's too simple. Maybe there's content that does work we can't see or measure yet. Maybe some pieces need to exist just to establish presence or create surface area, even if we can't draw a direct line to outcomes.

But most of the content I see can't articulate what job it's doing. And I don't think "we published it" is a good enough answer anymore.

If a piece can’t state its job, it won’t do one.