There’s a question I’ve been sitting with, and I think it’s time we sit with it together.
Ask a doctor what they do and they’ll tell you without hesitation. Ask a lawyer, an engineer, a teacher. They know. The identity is set – not because the work is simple, but because the profession has done the work of claiming it.
Now ask an architect.
You’ll get something remarkable: a pause. A breath. And then an answer that depends heavily on which architect you asked, what kind of firm they work in, where they are in their career, and — if we’re being honest — what they wish were still true about the profession versus what they know is true now.
That pause? That’s what I want us to talk about.
Something shifted. Not overnight, but undeniably. The architect of 20 or 30 years ago had a cleaner story. A clearer seat at the table. A more singular role in the process. That architect was, in many people’s minds — including their own — indispensable in a way that felt self-evident.
The architect of today is something more complicated. More collaborative. More distributed across a system of consultants, contractors, owners, technology platforms, and regulatory bodies that have all grown more sophisticated, more capable, and more assertive. The scope of what we do has, in some ways, expanded dramatically. And in other ways — the ways that used to feel most central — it has narrowed.
The profession didn’t fail. The world has changed around us. And we haven’t fully caught up to the conversation about who we are in it.
Here is what I notice: we are very good at describing what we do. We can explain deliverables, phases, responsibilities, and services. We can defend our process and articulate our expertise.
What we are less practiced at is describing what we are: what we stand for. What happens — to a building, to a community, to a client — when an architect is genuinely in the room, versus when they are not. What we make happen.
Can we articulate the impact our work has on the end user? Can we explain what makes one space “special” versus other spaces?
That’s not a portfolio question. It’s an identity question.
And identity is the foundation everything else rests on — how we’re compensated, how we’re respected, how we’re invited into conversations before the decisions are already made.
This year, AIA California is going to do something uncommon. We’re going to ask our profession, openly and honestly, who the architect is today. Not who we were. Not who we wish we were. Who we are — right now, in 2026, in California, in this profession.
We’re going to look at that clearly. We’re going to let it be uncomfortable where it needs to be. And then we’re going to do the harder work: deciding who we intend to become.
This is the first of three conversations I want to have with you this year on this topic: The first — identity, how do we see ourselves?; second — how do others see us?; and the third — how do we want to be seen? Because I believe that if we can answer the identity question with clarity and honesty, everything else — how we communicate our worth, how we command our seat at the table, how we lead rather than execute — follows from that.
You say “architect.” Their eyes light up. Then they ask: “Amazing — so what does that actually mean?”
What comes out of your mouth next — and does it sound like who you actually are?
Because here’s the harder question underneath that one:
If the title “architect” disappeared tomorrow, what would the built world actually lose — and would anyone notice fast enough to stop it?
Share your thoughts.**I mean that. This is where the conversation starts.
Ginger Thompson, AIA, is the 2026 President of AIA California and a Senior Design Integration Manager at DPR Construction. She also serves on the Sacramento Planning and Design Commission.
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