I've worked in Conversion Rate Optimization for over a decade, and I still struggle to explain what I do at a dinner party.
"I optimize conversion rates."
"...So you work in sales?"
"No. Well, sort of. I make websites work better."
"Like a web developer?"
"Not exactly. I study why people don't buy things online, and then I fix the reasons."
"Oh. So like UX?"
"Kind of, but with more data and testing and focus on the content, not necessarily the layout."
"...Okay."
That conversation — or some version of it — happens every single time. And the reason isn't that the work is hard to understand. It's that the name does nothing to help.
What the Work Actually Involves
Before we can rename the thing, we need to agree on what the thing is. Here's what a week of my work might actually look like:
If it worked, I start thinking about a new round of testing that could make the winning change even more effective. If it lost, I figure out the harder question: was the hypothesis wrong, or was the execution just not good enough to fix a real problem? That distinction matters, because it determines whether the next test explores a completely different angle or takes another shot at the same one.
That's the job. Now tell me which part of that is captured by "Conversion Rate Optimization."
What's Wrong With the Current Name
Three things, one for each word.
"Conversion" reduces the entire customer journey to a single binary moment. Did they click or didn't they. But the work is about everything that leads up to that moment — the questions, the hesitations, the trust-building, the information architecture that either guides someone toward confidence or leaves them stranded.
"Rate" frames the discipline around a percentage. It trains everyone — practitioners included — to think about aggregate numbers instead of individual human experiences. A 3.2% conversion rate isn't just a number. It's thousands of real people who showed up, had an experience, and either got what they needed or didn't. The rate is a summary, not the story.
"Optimization" implies incremental improvement to something that fundamentally works. In reality, half the time I'm not optimizing — I'm diagnosing, rebuilding, rethinking, or advocating for changes that challenge the team's core assumptions. "Optimization" makes it sound like I'm adjusting the seasoning. Often I rewrite the recipe.
The Alternatives (And What's Wrong With Each)
Why This Matters More Than You'd Think
Naming shapes thinking. And the way we name this discipline shapes how companies scope it, how they hire for it, and how practitioners approach the work.
When a job listing says "CRO Specialist," the expectations are usually narrow: run A/B tests, report on win rates, make the number go up. When the person in that role starts doing customer research, challenging product messaging, and recommending changes that touch the entire funnel — suddenly they're "out of scope."
The name also draws a false line between CRO and UX. My design instincts aren't separate from my optimization work — they're informed by 14 years of testing. When I design a first iteration of a site, I'm already cataloging what to test once it's live. But call yourself a "CRO specialist" and nobody asks you to touch the initial build.
A better name wouldn't just be cosmetic. It would change how the work is understood, funded, and valued.
So — What Would You Call It?
I've given you mine. I want to hear yours.
Whatever you come up with, it should communicate three things: that the method is data, the focus is the customer, and the posture is advocacy. If you can fit all three into something that also works on a business card, you're doing better than I am.
Want to see data-driven advocacy in action?
Whatever we call it, the work drives revenue. Let's talk about what it could do for your site.
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