Why Expertise Still Matters

In April 2025, a suborbital flight carried six women to the edge of space. In another moment, the event might have been received as a curiosity of modern technology or a symbol of innovation. Instead, it landed in the middle of a deeply turbulent national context—marked by government workforce reductions, social unrest, economic uncertainty, and widespread institutional strain.

For many, the spectacle felt disconnected from reality. Not because space exploration lacks value, but because this particular flight—largely composed of wealthy, well-connected participants—was framed as symbolic achievement rather than what it truly was: commercial space tourism. The disconnect was not technical; it was emotional. And it was predictable.

What followed only deepened that perception. Flippant commentary, vague spiritual reflections, and strained justifications for the mission reinforced a sense of performative meaning rather than substantive purpose. But the most troubling moment came when one of the passengers was publicly declared an “astronaut.”

She is not.

Words matter. Titles matter. They are not symbolic gestures—they are markers of discipline, preparation, credibility, and earned competence.

On average, it takes nearly a decade to become a NASA astronaut. The path requires advanced education, years of professional experience, extraordinary resilience, and passage through one of the most selective training processes in the world. That title represents earned expertise. It is not a brand label or a purchasable identity.

When credentials are casually assigned, they are quietly devalued. Not just for those who have earned them, but for the systems that depend on trust, rigor, and standards to function well.

This moment reflects something larger than space tourism. We are living in a cultural climate where titles are increasingly separated from qualifications, and visibility is often mistaken for competence. Shortcuts are normalized. Authority is assumed rather than earned. Influence is confused with expertise.

As a coach, I understand the consequences of this in organizations. Leadership roles require more than confidence. They require preparation. Decision-making requires more than conviction. It requires competence. Trust is not built on perception—it is built on credibility, consistency, and capability.

In his book, The Death of Expertise, author Tom Nichols defines expertise as the intersection of ability, education, experience, and peer validation. This combination is not exclusionary—it is essential. It is what allows institutions to function, professions to maintain integrity, and leaders to make sound decisions in complex environments.

Growing up, I was taught that I could become anything I wanted to be—if I prepared myself and worked for it. That second part matters. It always has. It always will.

You don’t become an astronaut by buying a seat on a spaceflight any more than you become a pilot by boarding a commercial plane. And you don’t become a leader simply by occupying a role.

Expertise is not performative.
Leadership is not cosmetic.
Credibility is not transferable.

They are built—over time, through discipline, learning, experience, humility, and accountability.

In a world increasingly drawn to shortcuts, image, and instant authority, choosing the longer path of preparation and development is not just harder—it is more necessary than ever.

Because expertise still matters.  And it always will.