The Title on the Business Card
Trade business cards with anyone from a major Japanese SI firm and the titles look impressive.
“Senior Systems Engineer.” “IT Architect.” “Technical Lead.”
On paper, these are people who write code.
In practice, they don’t.
Their job is to organize requirements, draft design documents, produce estimates, hand work down to subcontractors, manage progress, and sign off on deliverables.
The corporate ritual I’ve described elsewhere — mastering the approval ceremony and sitting at the top of a multi-layered subcontracting pyramid.
That’s what an “engineer” actually means in Japan.
Two Kinds of Engineers
The Japanese IT industry runs on two species of engineer.
The business-card engineer. Big SI firms, consulting houses. The title says engineer, but the actual craft is project management and subcontractor wrangling. They don’t write code, but they’re invincible in the world of approval flows and Excel specifications.
The code engineer. Subcontractors, contracted developers, freelancers. They actually write the code with their hands.
But they never see the client’s face. Requirements come down from above. Why this is being built — they don’t get told.
For 12 years, I was sandwiched between these two layers.
I matched the rituals for the business-card engineers. I tiptoed around the code engineers. Holding back on both sides, design and direction were the only things I could call “my own work.”
The Sanctuary of “the Engineer”
Working with code engineers came with unspoken rules.
Be specific about the spec. But not too specific — that’s “micromanagement.” Too vague, and “the spec is unclear.”
Ask about the timeline: “Hard to say, depends on the technical work.” Propose a deadline: “Not possible.”
The accommodation was always one-directional.
“Can you reproduce this in CSS?”
“Possible, but it’ll take effort.”
I’d compromise. Ask again. Compromise again.
The design intent got chiseled away by coding constraints, one round at a time.
I matched ritual for business-card engineers. I matched technical claims for code engineers. Double deference. Both groups called themselves “engineers.”
I Was the One Letting It Happen
Looking back, the problem wasn’t on the engineer side.
I was the one letting them get away with it.
For business-card engineers: “It’s just how the industry works.”
For code engineers: “I don’t know enough about the technology to argue.”
Both excuses share a single root: I had convinced myself I couldn’t do it.
But I could have. The rituals, the code — both were within reach. I had spent 12 years running every domain solo.
I just deferred to the title “engineer” before testing whether the deference was earned.
AI Broke Both Layers at Once
In 2025, AI started writing code.
The code engineer’s sanctuary disappeared.
Tell AI what the design intends, and code comes out. No need to ask “can this be done in CSS?” — try it yourself and find out in five seconds.
At the same time, the business-card engineer’s reason for existing began to wobble.
Requirement gathering, design documents, specifications — AI drafts all of it. Instead of managing subcontractors, you direct AI agents. The entire multi-layered subcontracting structure starts looking unnecessary.
Both species of engineer are being shaken at the same time.
And the person who spent 12 years sandwiched between them — someone who understands the rituals, has technical instincts, and can also do design, planning, and business — suddenly stands in the most advantageous position of anyone.
I Stopped Walking on Eggshells
I stopped extending professional courtesy to engineers as a class.
To be precise: I stopped deferring to anyone because they’re called an engineer.
Capable people deserve respect. But not because they can write code, and not because they know the approval flow.
Because they can architect. Because their judgment is sharp. Because they think at altitude.
Respect goes to design and judgment, not to titles. That’s the whole criterion.
What an Engineer Actually Is
An engineer is not “someone who writes code.”
Nor “someone fluent in corporate ritual.”
An engineer is someone who designs systems and gets them running.
By that definition, anyone who has run every domain solo for 12 years was an engineer all along. They just didn’t have the title.
But fitting inside the box marked “engineer” no longer interests me.
Invent the system. Execute it through unconventional approaches. Produce beautiful output. Design, build, brand. Direct nine AI agents and ship work from a single atelier.
The Renaissance atelier had a master and apprentices. The master commanded every domain; the apprentices worked under the master’s name. Five hundred years later, the apprentices are simply made of AI.
Atelierista (the practitioner of the atelier).
The question “what is an engineer?” is no longer the right one. The answer wasn’t rewritten — the question itself was.