You know the feeling. You’re the one who fixes the Wi-Fi, resets the password, or explains why the printer won’t print. You keep the office running. But when the company newsletter celebrates a new feature, it’s the developers who get the spotlight. You’re invisible. And the worst part? The world keeps telling you to ‘learn to code’ — as if your current work doesn’t matter.
That’s the unspoken wound of the tech industry. We’ve built a culture where the person who writes a CRUD app is a rockstar, and the person who keeps the entire network from crashing is a footnote. The obsession with becoming a developer isn’t about democratizing tech creation. It’s a status-seeking escape from the low-prestige reality of being a mere user or support worker. And it’s leaving a trail of undervalued, essential people behind.
I saw a tweet the other day that said exactly what I’ve been thinking: ‘Devs are one step above users, so this is a natural progression. Funny how there are rarely/never articles about everyone wants to be Helpdesk or Admins.’ That’s the quiet truth. The industry doesn’t need more ‘creators’ — it needs people who actually keep the lights on. But we’ve let status hierarchy warp our sense of value.
Let’s be honest: the ‘learn to code’ movement is a status game dressed up as economic empowerment. Parents push it. Schools push it. Tech influencers push it. But ask yourself: would you be telling your kid to become a developer if the job title were ‘system administrator’? Probably not. Because the prestige of ‘developer’ carries a promise of autonomy, creativity, and — let’s say it — superiority over the poor souls stuck in support.
Meanwhile, the real work of tech — the troubleshooting, the maintenance, the patient hand-holding — is treated as a stepping stone to the ‘real’ job. We’ve created a culture where the person who fixes your laptop is invisible, and the person who writes a login page is a visionary. That’s not just unfair. It’s a massive blind spot that hurts the entire industry.
I’ve seen firsthand what happens when you treat support roles as disposable. Burnout. Turnover. A steady stream of smart people who feel like they failed because they didn’t ‘escape’ to development. But here’s the twist: the most successful tech companies I’ve worked with have a deep respect for their IT and admin teams. They know that innovation crumbles without a foundation. It’s the startups that treat support as a cost center that create the most chaos.
So no, I’m not going to tell you to ‘learn to code’ as a cure-all. I’m going to tell you something more uncomfortable: we need to stop glorifying the developer as the only meaningful role in tech. The next time someone brags about their CRUD app, ask them who fixed the server that runs it. The answer will tell you everything about how much they actually understand the industry. The status game is a trap. Don’t let it make you feel small for doing work that matters.
FAQ
Q: Isn't it true that developers make more money and have better career prospects? Shouldn't people aim for that?
A: Sure, but that's a narrow view. The argument isn't that developer roles are bad—it's that the relentless push to become a developer devalues essential, high-skill work like IT support and system administration. Many of those roles pay well and offer stability, but they're culturally invisible. The real problem is the status hierarchy, not the salary.
Q: What's the practical implication for someone currently in a support role who feels undervalued?
A: Don't internalize the hierarchy. Your work is critical, and the skills you build—troubleshooting, communication, systems thinking—are rare and valuable. If you want to pivot to development, do it for the right reasons (like genuine interest), not because you feel inferior. But also consider that the industry is starting to recognize the value of 'glue work'—the more you advocate for yourself, the more that recognition grows.
Q: This sounds like sour grapes. Aren't you just justifying being stuck in a lower-status role?
A: No, it's a challenge to the assumption that 'higher status' equals 'more valuable.' The hottest take is this: the person who keeps the network running is often more important than the person who writes the feature. We've fetishized creation over maintenance. The contrarian truth is that status is a social construct, and the most effective tech organizations are the ones that break down that hierarchy. So stop chasing status—chase impact.