When Did We All Become "Founders"?

I'm in England right now enjoying the beautiful autumn weather. I was at a comedy show in London on Saturday evening with nephews who live here. During crowd work the MC asked a woman, "And what do you do?"

She beamed proudly and said, "Founder."

The room did this collective half-second pause — like everyone was doing a quiet mental calculation. Founder of... what, exactly? The MC moved on. The moment passed. But I couldn't stop thinking about it.

When did we all become founders? Was there a secret memo? Some kind of cosmic rebrand from "small business owner" to "founder" while I wasn't looking?

Once upon a time, people said things like, "I run a business," or "I make stuff and sell it." Straightforward. Grounded. Understood by all.

Now it's, "I'm the founder of a brand rooted in ________ (fill in the blank)".

And honestly? I get it. Here's why it happened:

It sounds sexier than "small business owner." "Founder" gives startup energy. It suggests innovation, vision, and growth potential, whereas "owner" sounds more like you run the local dry cleaner. (Which, for the record, is a genuinely hard business to run.)

Social media and startup culture. LinkedIn and Twitter glorified the tech-founder archetype: hoodie, hustle, funding rounds. So even people running solo consultancies or Etsy shops started using "founder" because it signals legitimacy in rooms that might otherwise dismiss you.

It's ego armour. Calling yourself "founder" can feel empowering, especially in uncertain times. It frames your work as building something from scratch, not just "freelancing" or "selling things online" — two phrases that somehow still carry undeserved stigma.

The pandemic shift. So many people started their own thing post-2020 — out of necessity or choice — that "founder" became a kind of unifying label for independent workers who didn't fit neatly into old categories.

It opens doors. "Founder" plays better in investor, media, and networking circles. People take meetings with founders that they might decline with small business owners. That's not delusion; that's pragmatism.

It connotes big ambitions. "Founder" suggests you're building something that will eventually outgrow you — that you're not just operating, you're creating. There's a difference, and the word carries it.

So yes, it's branding. But in most cases, it's also fair: if you started something that didn't exist before, you technically are a founder.

Here's what I keep coming back to though: somewhere in the rush to claim "founder" energy, we've become a little allergic to the word small.

Small business. Small brand. Small start.

There's something beautifully human about that scale — the messy, hands-on, sleeves-rolled-up part of creating before the glossy language kicks in. The FedEx boxes piled in the hallway. The spreadsheet open at midnight. The optimism that, if we're being honest, borders on delusion.

That woman at the comedy show? She's building something. So am I. So are you.

Maybe the goal isn't to outgrow "founder" energy or defend against it. It's to be the kind of founder who can still laugh at themselves. Laptop open, coffee going cold, absolutely certain this is going to work.

How do you refer to yourself? Founder, small business owner, something else entirely? I'm genuinely curious.