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57 posts tagged with “creative process”

It’s always interesting to hear how others think about the design process from the outside. Eli Woolery and Aaron Walter interview creativity researcher and author Keith Sawyer to learn about what he’s found to be true after interviewing hundreds of art and design professors and students over a decade for his new book:

The creativity doesn’t come at the beginning. You don’t start by having a brilliant insight. You just dive into the process. And then as you’re engaging in the process, the ideas emerge.

Sawyer emphasizes that art and design schools are not just teaching students how to create, but how to “see.” He found that many professors believe students already possess creativity, but the role of art and design school is to help them realize and develop that potential by teaching them to observe, critique, and reflect more deeply on their own work.

When I interviewed these artists and designers, I would say, how are you teaching students how to create? And everyone was quite uncomfortable with that question. A lot of them would say, we’re not teaching students how to create. Or they’ll say something like, the students are already creative. We’re teaching them how to realize the potential they have as creatives.

Sawyer notes that the hardest thing for students to learn is how to see their own work—that is, to understand what they have actually made rather than sticking rigidly to their original idea.

When we talk about learning to see, you’re talking about learning to see yourself. The hardest thing to teach a student is how to see their own work, to see something that they’ve just generated. Because these studio classes, students have opportunities to share their work in interim stages along the way. You don’t go off and work for two weeks or four weeks and then bring back in the finished product. You bring in your interim and you get a lot of feedback and comments on it.

And what the professors tell me is these 18, 19, and 20-year-olds, they don’t realize what they put on the canvas. Or if they’re a graphic designer, they don’t realize what it is that they’ve generated. A lot of times, they’ll think they’ve done a certain thing. So they have this kind of linear approach—model of the creative process where I’m going to have an idea and I’m going to execute it so they’ll start with their idea and they’ll execute it. They’ll think that what they put on the canvas is their original idea, but in a lot of cases, it’s not. They can’t see what they’ve done themselves, so that’s kind of powerful how do you teach someone that what you put on the canvas isn’t what you say you’re doing.

You can’t just tell them, “Hey, you’re wrong. Let me tell you what you’ve done.” You have to lead someone through that. You have to walk them through it.

One way you do it is you put students in the classroom together and then have them comment on other students’ work so they will be on the other side. And they’ll see another student. talking about what they’ve done and not really describing what’s really on the canvas.

So I think that’s the hardest thing about learning to see is learning to see yourself, learning to see your own work.

I think that’s the power of art and design school, this studio learning environment. I’m biased, of course, because that’s how I learned. Those who are self-taught or have gone through bootcamps miss out on a lot of this experience. The other thing the design school environment teaches is how to give and take critiques. It’s about the work, not you.

Keith Sawyer: Become more creative by learning to see

Keith Sawyer: Become more creative by learning to see

Episode 149 of the Design Better Podcast. Creativity comes from learning to observe and connect ideas, not from lone flashes of genius. Keith Sawyer shows that artists and designers discover vision through iterative work and embracing ambiguity.

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My former colleague from Organic, Christian Haas—now ECD at YouTube—has been experimenting with AI video generation recently. He’s made a trilogy of short films called AI Jobs.

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You can watch part one above 👆, but don’t sleep on parts two and three.

Haas put together a “behind the scenes” article explaining his process. It’s fascinating and I’ll want to play with video generation myself at some point.

I started with a rough script, but that was just the beginning of a conversation. As I started generating images, I was casting my characters and scouting locations in real time. What the model produced would inspire new ideas, and I would rewrite the script on the fly. This iterative loop continued through every stage. Decisions weren’t locked in; they were fluid. A discovery made during the edit could send me right back to “production” to scout a new location, cast a new character and generate a new shot. This flexibility is one of the most powerful aspects of creating with Gen AI.

It’s a wonderful observation Haas has made—the workflow enabled by gen AI allows for more creative freedom. In any creative endeavor where the production of the final thing is really involved and utilizes a significant amount of labor and materials, be it a film, commercial photography, or software, planning is a huge part. We work hard to spec out everything before a crew of a hundred shows up on set or a team of highly-paid engineers start coding. With gen AI, as shown here with Google’s Veo 3, you have more room for exploration and expression.

UPDATE: I came across this post from Rory Flynn after I published this. He uses diagrams to direct Veo 3.

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Behind the Prompts — The Making of "AI Jobs"

Christian Haas created the first film with the simple goal of learning to use the tools. He didn’t know if it would yield anything worth watching but that was not the point.

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Stephanie Tyler, in a great essay about remembering what we do as designers:

In an age where AI can generate anything, the question is no longer ‘can it be made?’ but ‘is it worth making?’ The frontier isn’t volume—it’s discernment. And in that shift, taste has become a survival skill.

And this is my favorite passage, because this is how I think about this blog and my newsletter.

There will always be creators. But the ones who stand out in this era are also curators. People who filter their worldview so cleanly that you want to see through their eyes. People who make you feel sharper just by paying attention to what they pay attention to.

Curation is care. It says: I thought about this. I chose it. I didn’t just repost it. I didn’t just regurgitate the trending take. I took the time to decide what was worth passing on.

That’s rare now. And because it’s rare, it’s valuable.

We think of curation as a luxury. But it’s actually maintenance. It’s how you care for your mind. Your attention. Your boundaries.

This blog represents my current worldview, what I’m interested in and exploring. What I’m thinking about now.

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Taste Is the New Intelligence

Why curation, discernment, and restraint matter more than ever

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As a certified Star Wars geek, I love this TED talk from ILM’s Rob Bedrow. For the uninitiated, Industrial Light & Magic, or ILM, is the company that George Lucas founded to make all the special effects for the original and subsequent Star Wars films. The firm has been an award-winning pioneer in special and visual effects, responsible for the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park, the liquid metal T-1000 in Terminator 2: Judgement Day, and the de-aging of Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.

The point Bedrow makes is simple: ILM creates technology in service of the storyteller, or creative.

I believe that we’re designed to be creative beings. It’s one of the most important things about us. That’s one of the reasons we appreciate and we just love it when we see technology and creativity working together. We see this on the motion control on the original “Star Wars” or on “Jurassic Park” with the CG dinosaurs for the first time. I think we just love it when we see creativity in action like this. Tech and creative working together. If we fast forward to 2020, we can see the latest real-time virtual production techniques. This was another creative innovation driven by a filmmaker. In this case, it’s Jon Favreau, and he had a vision for a giant Disney+ “Star Wars” series.

He later goes on to show a short film test made be a lone artist at ILM using an internal AI tool. It’s never-before-seen creatures that could exist in the Star Wars universe. I mean, for now they look like randomized versions of Earth animals and insects, but if you squint, you can see where the technology is headed.

Bedrow goes on…

Now the tech companies on their own, they don’t have the whole picture, right? They’re looking at a lot of different opportunities. We’re thinking about it from a filmmaking perspective. And storytellers, we need better artist-focused tools. Text prompts alone, they’re not great ways to make a movie. And it gets us excited to think about that future where we are going to be able to give artists these kinds of tools.

Again, artists—or designers, or even more broadly, professionals—need fine-grained control to adjust the output of AI.

Watch the whole thing. Instead of a doom and gloom take on AI, it’s an uplifting one that shows us what’s possible.

Star Wars Changed Visual Effects — AI Is Doing It Again

Jedi master of visual effects Rob Bredow, known for his work at Industrial Light & Magic and Lucasfilm, takes us on a cinematic journey through the evolution of visual effects, with behind-the-scenes stories from the making of fan favorites like “Jurassic Park,” “Star Wars,” “Indiana Jones” and more. He shares how artist-driven innovation continues to blend old and new technology, offering hope that AI won’t replace creatives but instead will empower artists to create new, mind-blowing wonders for the big screen. (Recorded at TED2025 on April 8, 2025)

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A lot of chatter in the larger design and development community has been either “AI is the coolest” or “AI is shite and I want nothing to do with it.”

Tobias van Schneider puts it plainly:

AI is here to stay.

Resistance is futile. Doesn’t matter how we feel about it. AI has arrived, and it’s going to transform every industry, period. The ship has sailed, and we’re all along for the ride whether we like it or not. Not using AI in the future is the equivalent to not using the internet. You can get away with it, but it’s not going to be easy for you.

He goes on to argue that craftspeople have been affected the most, not only by AI, but by the proliferation of stock and templates:

The warning signs have been flashing for years. We’ve witnessed the democratization of design through templates, stock assets, and simplified tools that turned specialized knowledge into commodity. Remember when knowing Photoshop guaranteed employment? Those days disappeared years ago. AI isn’t starting this fire, it’s just pouring gasoline on it. The technical specialist without artistic vision is rapidly becoming as relevant as a telephone operator in the age of smartphones. It’s simply not needed anymore.

But he’s not all doom and gloom.

If the client could theoretically do everything themselves with AI, then why hire a designer?

Excellent question. I believe there are three reasons to continue hiring a designer:

  1. Clients lag behind. It’ll takes a few years before they fully catch up and stop hiring creatives for certain tasks, at which point creatives have caught up on what makes them worthy (beyond just production output).

  2. Clients famously don’t know what they want. That’s the primary reason to hire a designer with a vision. Even with AI at their fingertips, they wouldn’t know what instructions to give because they don’t understand the process.

  3. Smart clients focus on their strengths and outsource the rest. If I run a company I could handle my own bookkeeping, but I’ll hire someone. Same with creative services. AI won’t change that fundamental business logic. Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.

And finally, he echoes the same sentiment that I’ve been saying (not that I’m the originator of this thought—just great minds think alike!):

What differentiates great designers then?

The Final Filter: taste & good judgment

Everyone in design circles loves to pontificate about taste, but it’s always the people with portfolios that look like a Vegas casino who have the most to say. Taste is the emperor’s new clothes of the creative industry, claimed by all, possessed by few, recognized only by those who already have it.

In other words, as designers, we need to lean into our curation skills.

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The future of the designer

Let's not bullshit ourselves. Our creative industry is in the midst of a massive transformation. MidJourney, ChatGPT, Claude and dozens of other tools have already fundamentally altered how ideation, design and creation happens.

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Elliot Vredenburg writing for Fast Company:

Which is why creative direction matters more now than ever. If designers are no longer the makers, they must become the orchestrators. This isn’t without precedent. Rick Rubin doesn’t read music or play instruments. Virgil Abloh was more interested in recontextualizing than inventing. Their value lies not in original execution but in framing, curation, and translation. The same is true now for brand designers. Creative direction is about synthesizing abstract ideas into aesthetic systems—shaping meaning through how things feel, not just how they look.

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Why taste matters now more than ever

In the age of AI, design is less about making and more about meaning.

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Haiyan Zhang gives us another way of thinking about AI—as material, like clay, paint, or plywood—instead of a tool. I like that because it invites exploration:

When we treat AI as a design material, prototyping becomes less about refining known ideas — and more about expanding the space of what’s possible. It’s messy, surprising, sometimes frustrating — but that’s what working with any material feels like in its early days.

Clay resists. Wood splinters. AI misinterprets.

But in that material friction, design happens.

The challenge ahead isn’t just to use AI more efficiently — it’s to foster a culture of design experimentation around it. Like any great material, AI won’t reveal its potential through control, but through play, feedback, and iteration.

I love this metaphor. It’s freeing.

Illustration with the text ‘AI as Design Material’ surrounded by icons of a saw cutting wood, a mid-century modern chair, a computer chip, and a brain with circuit lines, on an orange background.

AI as Design Material

From Plywood to Prompts: The Evolution of Material Thinking in Design Design has always evolved hand-in-hand with material innovation — whether shaping wood, steel, fiberglass, or pixels. In 1940, at the Cranbrook Academy of Art, Charles Eames and his friend Eero Saarinen collaborated on MoMA’s Orga

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Related to the NYT article about Gen X-ers in creative industries that I posted yesterday, graphic design historian Steven Heller explores what happened with advertising—specifically print—creative in the 2000s.

Advertising did not change when the Times Square ball fell at the stroke of midnight on Jan. 1, 2000, but the industry began its creative decline in the early 2000s. Here are several indicators to support this claim: For one, the traditional print outlets for advertisements, notably magazines and newspapers, sharply declined in numbers (some turning to digital-only) during the late 1990s and early 2000s. Major advertisers were cutting print budgets and earmarking creative talent for television work. TV had already plucked away many of the most imaginative ad-people during the preceding decades, and print slipped lower down on the hierarchical ladder.

He continues:

The work of 1960s and 1970s “mad men” smothered conventional establishment agencies at Art Directors Club award competitions, spawning the innovative Big Idea creative dynamic where exceptional art directors and copywriters made witty, ironic and suggestive slogans and visuals. But, by the early 2000s, these teams started to cede their dominance with, among the other social factors, the death of many national print magazines and the failure of television networks to retain large audiences in the face of cable.

In my first couple of years in design school, I was enamored with advertising. It seemed so glamorous to be making ads that appeared in glossy magazines and on TV. I remember visiting the offices of an agency in San Francisco—the name escapes me—and just loving the vibe and the potential. After graduation and into my career, I would brush up against ad agencies, collaborating with them on the pieces my design company was working on. Sometimes it was with FCB on Levi’s retail work, or BBDO for Mitsubishi Motors digital campaigns. I ended up working for a small ad agency in 2010, PJA Advertising & Marketing, doing B2B ads. It was fun and I learned a lot, but it wasn’t glamorous.

Anyway, back to Heller’s article…it’s reinforcing the idea that our—potentially Boomers, Gen Xers, and even Millennials—mental model of the creative and media world must change due to reality. And we must pivot our careers or be left behind.

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The Daily Heller: The Beginning of the End of Print Advertising? – PRINT Magazine

Taschen's All-American Ads series tells a distinct history of the United States from various vantage points.

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Still from _The Brutalist_. An architect, holding a blueprint, is at the center of a group of people.

A Complete Obsession

My wife and I are big movie lovers. Every year, between January and March, we race to see all the Oscar-nominated films. We watched A Complete Unknown last night and The Brutalist a couple of weeks ago. The latter far outshines the former as a movie, but both share a common theme: the creative obsession.

Timothée Chalamet, as Bob Dylan, is up at all hours writing songs. Sometimes he rushes into his apartment, stumbling over furniture, holding onto an idea in his head, hoping it won’t flitter away, and frantically writes it down. Adrien Brody, playing a visionary architect named László Tóth, paces compulsively around the construction site of his latest project, ensuring everything is built to perfection. He even admonishes and tries to fire a young worker who’s just goofing off.

There is an all-consuming something that takes over your thoughts and actions when you’re in the groove willing something to life, whether it’s a song, building, design, or program. I’ve been feeling this way lately with a side project I’ve been working on off-hours—a web application that’s been consuming my thoughts for about a week. A lot of this obsession is a tenacity around solving a problem. For me, it has been fixing bugs in code—using Cursor AI. But in the past, it has been figuring out how to combine two disparate ideas into a succinct logo, or working out a user flow. These ideas come at all hours. Often for me it’s in the shower but sometimes right before going to sleep. Sometimes my brain works on a solution while I sleep, and I wake up with a revelation about a problem that seemed insurmountable the night before. It’s exhausting and exhilarating at the same time.

Still from "A Complete Unknown". Timothée Chalamet, as Bob Dylan, in the studio with his guitar.

If there’s one criticism I have about how Hollywood depicts creativity, it’s that the messiness doesn’t quite come through. Creative problem-solving is never a straight line. It is always a yarn ball path of twists, turns, small setbacks, and large breakthroughs. It includes exposing your nascent ideas to other people and hearing they’re shitty or brilliant, and going back to the drawing board or forging ahead. It also includes collaboration. Invention—especially in the professional setting—is no longer a solo act of a lone genius; it’s a group of people working on the same problem and each bringing their unique experiences, skills, and perspective.

I felt this visceral pull just weeks ago in Toronto. Standing at a whiteboard with my team of designers, each of us caught up in that same creative obsession—but now amplified by our collective energy. Together, we cracked a problem and planned an ambitious feature, and that’s the real story of creation. Not the solitary genius burning the midnight oil, but a group of passionate people bringing their best to the table, feeding off each other’s energy, and building something none of us could have made alone.

Surreal scene of a robotic chicken standing in the center of a dimly lit living room with retro furnishings, including leather couches and an old CRT television emitting a bright blue glow.

Chickens to Chatbots: Web Design’s Next Evolution

In the early 2000s to the mid-oughts, every designer I knew wanted to be featured on the FWA, a showcase for cutting-edge web design. While many of the earlier sites were Flash-based, it’s also where I discovered the first uses of parallax, Paper.js, and Three.js. Back then, websites were meant to be explored and their interfaces discovered.

Screenshot of The FWA website from 2009 displaying a dense grid of creative web design thumbnails.

A grid of winners from The FWA in 2009. Source: Rob Ford.

One of my favorite sites of that era was Burger King’s Subservient Chicken, where users could type free text into a chat box to command a man dressed in a chicken suit. In a full circle moment that perfectly captures where we are today, we now type commands into chat boxes to tell AI what to do.

Screenshot of the early 2000s Burger King Subservient Chicken website, showing a person in a chicken costume in a living room with a command input box.

The Wild West mentality of web design meant designers and creative technologists were free to make things look cool. Agencies like R/GA, Big Spaceship, AKQA, Razorfish, and CP+B all won numerous awards for clients like Nike, BMW, and Burger King. But as with all frontiers, civilization eventually arrives with its rules and constraints.

The Robots Are Looking

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Last week, Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI, and a couple of others from the company demonstrated Operator, their AI agent. You’ll see them go through a happy path and have Operator book a reservation on OpenTable. The way it works is that the AI agent is reading a screenshot of the page and deciding how to interact with the UI. (Reminds me of the promise of the Rabbit R1.)

Let me repeat: the AI is interpreting UI by looking at it. Inputs need to look like inputs. Buttons need to look like buttons. Links need to look like links and be obvious.

In recent years, there’s been a push in the web dev community for accessibility. Complying with WCAG standards for building websites has become a positive trend. Now, we know the unforeseen secondary effect is to unlock AI browsing of sites. If links are underlined and form fields are self-evident, an agent like Operator can interpret where to click and where to enter data.

(To be honest, I’m surprised they’re using screenshots instead of interpreting the HTML as automated testing software would.)

The Economics of Change

Since Perplexity and Arc Search came onto the scene last year, the web’s economic foundation has started to shift. For the past 30 years, we’ve built a networked human knowledge store that’s always been designed for humans to consume. Sure, marketers and website owners got smart and figured out how to game the system to rank higher on Google. But ultimately, ranking higher led to more clicks and traffic to your website.

But the digerati are worried. Casey Newton of Platformer, writing about web journalism (emphasis mine):

The death of digital media has many causes, including the ineptitude of its funders and managers. But today I want to talk about another potential rifle on the firing squad: generative artificial intelligence, which in its capacity to strip-mine the web and repurpose it as an input for search engines threatens to remove one of the few pillars of revenue remaining for publishers.

Elizabeth Lopatto, writing for The Verge points out:

That means that Perplexity is basically a rent-seeking middleman on high-quality sources. The value proposition on search, originally, was that by scraping the work done by journalists and others, Google’s results sent traffic to those sources. But by providing an answer, rather than pointing people to click through to a primary source, these so-called “answer engines” starve the primary source of ad revenue — keeping that revenue for themselves.

Their point is that the fundamental symbiotic economic relationship between search engines and original content websites is changing. Instead of sending traffic to websites, search engines, and AI answer engines are scraping the content directly and providing them within their platforms.

Christopher Butler captures this broader shift in his essay “Who is the internet for?”:

Old-school SEO had a fairly balanced value proposition: Google was really good at giving people sources for the information they need and benefitted by running advertising on websites. Websites benefitted by getting attention delivered to them by Google. In a “clickless search” scenario, though, the scale tips considerably.

This isn’t just about news organizations—it’s about the fundamental relationship between websites, search engines, and users.

The Designer’s Dilemma

As the web is increasingly consumed not by humans but by AI robots, should we as designers continue to care what websites look like? Or, put another way, should we begin optimizing websites for the bots?

The art of search engine optimization, or SEO, was already pushing us in that direction. It turned personality-driven copywriting into “content” with keyword density and headings for the Google machine rather than for poetic organization. But with GPTbot slurping up our websites, should we be more straightforward in our visual designs? Should we add more copy?

Not Dead Yet

It’s still early to know if AI optimization (AIO?) will become a real thing. Changes in consumer behavior happen over many single-digit years, not months. As of November 2024, ChatGPT is eighth on the list of the most visited websites globally, ranked by monthly traffic. Google is first with 291 times ChatGPT’s traffic.

Table ranking the top 10 most visited websites with data on visits, pages per visit, and bounce rate.

Top global websites by monthly users as of November 2024. Source: SEMRush.

Interestingly, as Google rolled out its AI overview for many of its search results, the sites cited by Gemini do see a high clickthrough rate, essentially matching the number one organic spot. It turns out that nearly 40% of us want more details than what the answer engine tells us. That’s a good thing.

Table showing click-through rates (CTR) for various Google SERP features with labeled examples: Snippet, AI Overview, #1 Organic Result, and Ad Result.

Clickthrough rates by entities on the Google search results page. Source: FirstPageSage, January 2025.

Finding the Sweet Spot

There’s a fear that AI answer engines and agentic AI will be the death of creative web design. But what if we’re looking at this all wrong? What if this evolution presents an interesting creative challenge instead?

Just as we once pushed the boundaries of Flash and JavaScript to create award-winning experiences for FWA, designers will need to find innovative ways to work within new constraints. The fact that AI agents like Operator need obvious buttons and clear navigation isn’t necessarily a death sentence for creativity—it’s just a new set of constraints to work with. After all, some of the most creative periods in web design came from working within technical limitations. (Remember when we did layouts using tables?!)

The accessibility movement has already pushed us to think about making websites more structured and navigable. The rise of AI agents is adding another dimension to this evolution, pushing us to find that sweet spot between machine efficiency and human delight.

From the Subservient Chicken to ChatGPT, from Flash microsites to AI-readable interfaces, web design continues to evolve. The challenge now isn’t just making sites that look cool or rank well—it’s creating experiences that serve both human visitors and their AI assistants effectively. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.

I love this essay from Baldur Bjarnason, maybe because his stream of consciousness style is so similar to my own. He compares the rapidly changing economics of web and software development to the film, TV, and publishing industries.

Before we get to web dev, let’s look at the film industry, as disrupted by streaming.

Like, Crazy Rich Asians made a ton of money in 2018. Old Hollywood would have churned out at least two sequels by now and it would have inspired at least a couple of imitator films. But if they ever do a sequel it’s now going to be at least seven or even eight years after the fact. That means that, in terms of the cultural zeitgeist, they are effectively starting from scratch and the movie is unlikely to succeed.

He’s not wrong.

Every Predator movie after the first has underperformed, yet they keep making more of them. Completed movies are shelved for tax credits. Entire shows are disappeared [from] streamers and not made available anywhere to save money on residuals, which does not make any sense because the economics of Blu-Ray are still quite good even with lower overall sales and distribution than DVD. If you have a completed series or movie, with existing 4K masters, then you’re unlikely to lose money on a Blu-Ray.

I’ll quibble with him here. Shows and movies disappear from streamers because there’s a finite pot of money from subscriber revenue. So removing content will save them money. Blu-Ray is more sustainable because it’s an additional purchase.

OK, let’s get back to web dev.

He points out that similar to the film and other creative industries, developers fill their spare time with passion projects. But their day jobs are with tech companies and essentially subsidize their side projects.

And now, both the creative industries proper and tech companies have decided that, no, they probably don’t need that many of the “grunts” on the ground doing the actual work. They can use “AI” at a much lower cost because the output of the “AI” is not that much worse than the incredibly shitty degraded products they’ve been destroying their industries with over the past decade or so.

Bjarnason ends with seven suggestions for those in the industry. I’ll just quote one:

Don’t get tied to a single platform for distribution or promotion. Every use of a silo should push those interested to a venue you control such as a newsletter or website.

In other words, whatever you do, own your audience. Don’t farm that out to a platform like X/Twitter, Threads, or TikTok.

Of course, there are a lot of parallels to be drawn between what’s happening in the development and software engineering industries to what’s happening in design.

The web is a creative industry and is facing the same decline and shattered economics as film, TV, or publishing

The web is a creative industry and is facing the same decline and shattered economics as film, TV, or publishing

Web dev at the end of the world, from Hveragerði, Iceland

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A winter panoramic view from what appears to be a train window, showing a snowy landscape with bare deciduous trees and evergreens against a gray sky. The image has a moody, blue-gray tone.

The Great Office Reset

Cold Arrival

It’s 11 degrees Fahrenheit as I step off the plane at Toronto Pearson International. I’ve been up for nearly 24 hours and am about to trek through the gates toward Canadian immigration. Getting here from 73-degree San Diego was a significant challenge. What would be a quick five-hour direct flight turned into a five-hour delay, then cancelation, and then a rebook onto a red-eye through SFO. And I can’t sleep on planes. On top of that, I’ve been recovering from the flu, so my head was still very congested, and the descents from two flights were excruciating.

After going for a short secondary screening for who knows what reason—the second Canada Border Services Agency officer didn’t know either—I make my way to the UP Express train and head towards downtown Toronto. Before reaching Union Station, the train stops at the Weston and Bloor stations, picking up scarfed, ear-muffed, and shivering commuters. I disembark at Union Station, find my way to the PATH, and headed towards the CN Tower. I’m staying at the Marriott attached to the Blue Jays stadium.

Outside the station, the bitter cold slaps me across the face. Even though I am bundled with a hat, gloves, and big jacket, I still am unprepared for what feels like nine-degree weather. I roll my suitcase across the light green-salted concrete, evidence of snowfall just days earlier, with my exhaled breath puffing before me like the smoke from a coal-fired train engine.

I finally make it to the hotel, pass the zigzag vestibule—because vestibules are a thing in the Northeast, unlike Southern California—and my wife is there waiting to greet me with a cup of black coffee. (She had arrived the day before to meet up with a colleague.) I enter my room, take a hot shower, change, and I’m back out again into the freezing cold, walking the block-and-a-half to my company’s downtown Toronto office—though now with some caffeine in my system. It’s go time.


The Three-Day Sprint

Like many companies, my company recently debuted a return to office or RTO policy. Employees who live close by need to come in three days per week, while others who live farther away need to go to the office once a month. This story is not about RTO mandates, at least not directly. I’m not going to debate the merits of the policy, though I will explore some nuances around it. Instead, I want to focus on the benefits of in-person collaboration.

The reason I made the cross-country trip to spend time with my team of product designers despite my illness and the travel snafus, is because we had to ship a big feature by a certain deadline, and this was the only way to get everyone aligned and pointed in the same direction quickly.

Two weeks prior, during the waning days of 2024, we realized that a particular feature was behind schedule and that we needed to ship within Q1. One of our product managers broke down the scope of work into discrete pieces of functionality, and I could see that it was way too much for just one of our designers to handle. So, I huddled with my team’s design manager and devised a plan. We divided the work among three designers. For me to guarantee to my stakeholders—the company’s leadership team and an important customer—I needed to feel good about where the feature was headed from a design perspective. Hence, this three-day design sprint (or swarm) in Toronto was planned.

I wanted to spend two to three hours with the team for three consecutive days. We needed to understand the problem together and keep track of the overall vision so that each designer’s discrete flow connected seamlessly to the overall feature. (Sorry to dance around what this feature is, but because it’s not yet public, I can’t be any more specific.)

The plan was:

  • Day 1 (morning): The lead designer reviews the entire flow. He sets the table and helps the other designers understand the persona, this part of the product, and its overall purpose. The other designers also walk through their understanding of the flows and functionality they’re responsible for.
  • Day 2 (afternoon): Every designer presents low-fidelity sketches or wireframes of their key screens.
  • Day 3 (afternoon): Open studio if needed.

But after Day 1, the plan went out the window. Going through all the flows in the initial session was overly ambitious. We needed half of the second day’s session to finish all the flows. However, we all left the room with a good understanding of the direction of the design solutions.

And I was OK with that. You see, my team is relatively green, and my job is to steer the ship in the right direction. I’m much less concerned about the UI than the overall experience.

A whiteboard sketch showing a UI wireframe with several horizontal lines representing text or content areas, connected by an arrow to a larger wireframe below. The text content is blurred out.

Super low-fi whiteboard sketch of a screen. This is enough to go by.

On Day 3, the lead designer, the design manager, and I broke down one of the new features on the whiteboard, sketching what each major screen would look like—which form fields we’d need to display, how the tables would work, and the task flows. At some point, the designer doing most of the sketching—it was his feature, after all—said, “Y’know, it’d be easier if we just jumped into FigJam or Figma for the rest.” I said no. Let’s keep it on the whiteboard. Because honestly, I knew that we would fuss too much when using a digital tool. On the whiteboard, it allowed us to work out abstract concepts in a very low-fidelity and, therefore, facile way. This was better. Said designer learned a good lesson.

Just after two hours, we cracked the feature. We had sketched out all the primary screens and flows on the whiteboard. I was satisfied the designer knew how to execute. Because we did that together, there would be less stakeholder management he’d have to do with me. Now, I can be an advocate for this direction and help align with other stakeholders. (Which I did this past week, in fact.)

The Power of Presence

Keep the Work Sessions Short

I purposely did not make these sessions all day long. I kept them to just a couple hours each to leave room for designers to have headphone time and design. I also set the first meeting for the morning to get everyone on the same page. The other meetings were booked for the afternoon, so the team had time to work on solutions and share those.

Presence Is Underrated

When the world was in lockdown, think about all the group chats and Zoom happy hours you had with your friends. Technology allowed us to stay connected but was no replacement for in-person time. Now think about how happy you felt when you could see them IRL, even if socially distanced. The power of that presence applies to work, too. There’s an ease to the conversation that is distinctly better than the start-stop of Zoom, where people raise hands or interrupt each other because of the latency of the connection.

No Replacement for Having Lunch Together

I’ve attended virtual lunches and happy hours before on Zoom. They are universally awkward. But having lunch in person with someone is great. Conversation flows more naturally, and you’re building genuine rapport, not faking it.

FigJam Is No Match for a Whiteboard and Working Expo Marker

Sketching super lo-fi screens is quick on a whiteboard. In FigJam, minutes are wasted as you’re battling with rectangles, the grid snap, and text size and color decisions. Additionally, standing at the whiteboard and explaining as you draw is immensely powerful. It helps the sketcher work out their thoughts, and the viewer understands the thinking. The physicality of it all is akin to performance art.

The RTO Question

As I said, I don’t want to wade into the RTO debate directly. There have already been a lot of great think pieces on it. But I can add to the conversation as a designer and leader of a team of designers.

As I’ve illustrated in this essay, being together in person is wonderful and powerful. By our very nature, humans are social creatures, and we need to be with our compatriots. Collaboration is not only easier and more effective, but it also allows us to make genuine connections with our coworkers.

At the same time, designers need focus time to do our work. Much of our job is talking with users for research and validation, with fellow designers to receive critical feedback, and with PMs, engineers, and all others to collaborate. But when it comes to pushing pixels, we need uninterrupted headphone time. And that’s hard to come by in an open office plan, of which I’m sure 95% of all offices are these days.

In this article by David Brooks from 2022 in The New York Times, he lists study after study that adds to the growing evidence that open-plan offices are just plain bad.

We talk less with each other.

A much-cited study by Ethan Bernstein and Stephen Turban found that when companies made the move to more open plan offices, workers had about 70 percent fewer face-to-face interactions, while email and instant messaging use rose.

We’re more stressed.

In 2011 psychologist Matthew Davis and others reviewed over 100 studies about office environments. A few years later Maria Konnikova reported on what he found in The New Yorker — that the open space plans “were damaging to the workers’ attention spans, productivity, creative thinking and satisfaction. Compared with standard offices, employees experienced more uncontrolled interactions, higher levels of stress, and lower levels of concentration and motivation.”

And we are less productive.

A 2020 study by Helena Jahncke and David Hallman found that employees in quieter one-person cell offices performed 14 percent better than employees in open plan offices on a cognitive task.

I’m also pretty sure the earlier studies cited in the Brooks article analyzed offices with cubicles, not rows and rows of six-foot tables with two designers each.

The Lure of Closed-Door Offices

Blueprint floor plan of an office space showing multiple rooms and areas including private offices, conference rooms, reception area, restrooms, and common spaces. The layout features a central hallway with offices and meeting spaces branching off, elevator banks and stairs on the right side, and various workstations throughout. The plan uses blue lines on white background and includes furniture placement within each room.

Fantasy floor plan of Sterling Cooper by Brandi Roberts.

Many years ago, when I was at Rosetta, I shared a tiny, closed-door office with our head strategy guy, Tod Rathbone. Though cramped, it was a quiet space where Tod wrote briefs, and I worked on pitch decks and resourcing spreadsheets.

In the past, creatives often had private offices despite the popularity of open-layout bullpens. For instance, in the old Hal Riney building in Fisherman’s Wharf, every floor had single-person offices along the perimeter, some with stunning waterfront views. Even our bullpen teams had semi-private cubicles and plenty of breakout spaces to brainstorm. Advertising agencies understood how to design creative workspaces.

Steve Jobs also understood how to design spaces that fostered collaboration. He worked closely with the architectural firm Bohlin Cywinski Jackson to design the headquarters of Pixar Animation Studios in Emeryville. In Walter Isaacson’s biography, Jobs said…

If a building doesn’t encourage [chance encounters and unplanned collaborations], you’ll lose a lot of innovation and the magic that’s sparked by serendipity. So we designed the building to make people get out of their offices and mingle in the central atrium with people they might not otherwise see.

Modern open space with exposed wooden ceiling beams and steel structure. Features floor-to-ceiling windows, polished concrete floors, and a central seating area with black couches arranged on a red carpet. Café-style seating visible along the walls with art displays.

The atrium at Pixar headquarters.

Reimagining the Office

Collection of bookshelves showing design and tech-related books, including titles on graphic design, branding, and typography. Features decorative items including an old Macintosh computer, action figures of pop culture characters, and black sketchbooks labeled with dates. Books include works by Tufte and texts about advertising and logo design.

**

I work at home and I’m lucky enough to have a lovely home office. It’s filled with design books, vinyl records, and Batman and Star Wars collectibles. All things that inspire me and make me happy.

My desk setup is pretty great as well. I have a clacky mechanical keyboard, an Apple Studio Display, a Wacom tablet, and a sweet audio setup.

When I go into my company’s offices in Los Angeles and Toronto, I just have my laptop. Our hoteling monitors aren’t great—just 1080p. There’s just no reason to plug in my MacBook Pro.

I’ve been at other companies where the hoteling situation is similar, so I don’t think this is unique to where I work now.

Pre-pandemic, the situation was reversed. Not many of us had perfect home office setups, if at all. We had to go into the office because that’s where we had all our nice equipment and the reference materials necessary to do our jobs. The pandemic flipped that dynamic.

Back to the RTO mandates, I think there could be compromises. Leadership likes to see their expensive real estate filled with workers. The life of a high-up leader is talking to people—employees, customers, partners, etc. But those on the ground performing work that demands focus, like software engineering and designing, need uninterrupted, long, contiguous chunks of time. We must get into the flow state and stay there to design and build stuff. That’s nearly impossible in the office, especially in an open-plan office layout.

So here are some ideas for companies to consider:

  • Make the office better than your employees’ home setups. Of course, not everyone has a dedicated home office like I do, but by now, they probably have a good setup in place. Reverse that. Give employees spaces that’s theirs so they can have the equipment they want and personalize it to their liking.
  • Add more closed-door offices. Don’t just reserve them for executives; have enough single-person offices with doors for roles that really need focus. It’s a lot of investment in real estate and furniture, but workers will look forward to spaces they can make their own and where they can work uninterrupted.
  • Add more cubicles. The wide open plan with no or low dividers gives workers zero privacy. If more offices are out of the question, semi-private cubicles are the next best thing.
  • Limit in-person days to two or three. As I’ve said earlier in the essay, I love being in person for collaboration. But then, we need time for heads-down-focused work at some point. Companies should consider having people in the office for only two or three days. But don’t expect designers and engineers to push many pixels or write much code.
  • Cut down on meetings. Scheduled meetings are the bane of any designer’s existence because they cut into our focus time. I tend to want to have my meetings earlier in the day so I can save the rest of the day for actual work. Meetings should be relegated to the mornings or just the afternoons, and this applies to in-office days as well.

After being in freezing Toronto for four days, I arrive back home to sunny San Diego. It’s a perfect 68 degrees. I get out of the Uber with my suitcase and lug it into the house. I settle into my Steelcase chair and then log onto Zoom for a meeting with the feature stakeholders, feeling confident that my team of designers will get it done.

A stylized digital illustration of a person reclining in an Eames lounge chair and ottoman, rendered in a neon-noir style with deep blues and bright coral red accents. The person is shown in profile, wearing glasses and holding what appears to be a device or notebook. The scene includes abstract geometric lines cutting across the composition and a potted plant in the background. The lighting creates dramatic shadows and highlights, giving the illustration a modern, cyberpunk aesthetic.

Design’s Purpose Remains Constant

Fabricio Teixeira and Caio Braga, in their annual The State of UX report:

Despite all the transformations we’re seeing, one thing we know for sure: Design (the craft, the discipline, the science) is not going anywhere. While Design only became a more official profession in the 19th century, the study of how craft can be applied to improve business dates back to the early 1800s. Since then, only one thing has remained constant: how Design is done is completely different decade after decade. The change we’re discussing here is not a revolution, just an evolution. It’s simply a change in how many roles will be needed and what they will entail. “Digital systems, not people, will do much of the craft of (screen-level) interaction design.”

Scary words for the UX design profession as it stares down the coming onslaught of AI. Our industry isn’t the first one to face this—copywriters, illustrators, and stock photographers have already been facing the disruption of their respective crafts. All of these creatives have had to pivot quickly. And so will we.

Teixeira and Braga remind us that “Design is not going anywhere,” and that “how Design is done is completely different decade after decade.”

UX Is a Relatively Young Discipline

If you think about it, the UX design profession has already evolved significantly. When I started in the industry as a graphic designer in the early 1990s, web design wasn’t a thing, much less user experience design. I met my first UX design coworker at marchFIRST, when Chris Noessel and I collaborated on Sega.com. Chris had studied at the influential Interaction Design Institute Ivrea in Italy. If I recall correctly, Chris’ title was information architect as UX designer wasn’t a popular title yet. Regardless, I marveled at how Chris used card sorting with Post-It notes to determine the information architecture of the website. And together we came up with the concept that the website itself would be a game, obvious only to visitors who paid attention. (Alas, that part of the site was never built, as we simply ran out of time. Oh, the dot-com days were fun.)

Screenshot of a retro SEGA website featuring a futuristic female character in orange, a dropdown menu of games like “Sonic Adventure” and “Soul Calibur,” and stylized interface elements with bold fonts and blue tones.

“User experience” was coined by Don Norman in the mid-1990s. When he joined Apple in 1993, he settled on the title of “user experience architect.” In an email interview with Peter Merholz in 1998, Norman said:

I invented the term because I thought human interface and usability were too narrow. I wanted to cover all aspects of the person’s experience with the system including industrial design graphics, the interface, the physical interaction and the manual. Since then the term has spread widely, so much so that it is starting to lose its meaning.

As the thirst for all things digital proliferated, design rose to meet the challenge. Design schools started to add interaction design to their curricula, and lots of younger graphic designers were adapting and working on websites. We used the tools we knew—Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop—and added Macromedia Director and Flash as projects allowed.

Director was the tool of choice for those making CD-ROMs in San Francisco’s Multimedia Gulch in the early 1990s. It was an easy transition for designers and developers when the web arrived just a few years later in the dot-com boom.

In a short span of twenty years, designers added many mediums to their growing list: CD-ROMs, websites, WAP sites, responsive websites, mobile apps, tablet apps, web apps, and AR/VR experiences.

Designers have had to understand the limitations of each medium, picking up craft skills, and learning best practices. But I believe, good designers have had one thing remain constant: they know how to connect businesses with their audiences. They’re the translation layer, if you will. (Notice how I have not said how to make things look good.)

From Concept to Product Strategy

Concept. Back then, that’s how I referred to creative strategy. It was drilled into me at design school and in my first job as a designer. Sega.com was a game in and of itself to celebrate gamers and gaming. Pixar.com was a storybook about how Pixar made its movies, emphasizing its storytelling prowess. The Mitsubishi Lancer microsite leaned on the Lancer’s history as a rally car, reminding visitors of its racing heritage. These were all ideas that emotionally connected the brand with the consumer, to lean on what the audience knew to be true and deepened it.

Screenshot of Pixar’s early 2000s website featuring a character from A Bug’s Life, with navigation links, a stylized serif font, and descriptive text about the film’s colorful insect characters.

When I designed Pixar.com, I purposefully made the site linear, like a storybook.

Concept was also the currency of creative departments at ad agencies. The classic copywriter and art director pairing came up with different ideas for ads. These ideas aren’t just executions of TV commercials. Instead, they were the messages the brands wanted to convey, in a way that consumers would be open to them.

I would argue that concept is also product strategy. It’s the point of view that drives a product—whether it’s a marketing website, a cryptocurrency mobile app, or a vertical SaaS web app. Great product strategy connects the business with the user and how the product can enrich their lives. Enrichment can come in many forms. It can be as simple as saving users a few minutes of tedium, or transforming an analog process into a digital one, therefore unlocking new possibilities.

UI Is Already a Commodity

In more recent years, with the rise of UI kits, pre-made templates, and design systems like Material UI, the visual design of user interfaces has become a commodity. I call this moment “peak UI”—when fundamental user interface patterns have reached ubiquity, and no new patterns will or should be invented. Users take what they know from one interface and apply that knowledge to new ones. To change that is to break Jakob’s Law and reduce usability. Of course, when new modalities like voice and AI came on the scene, we needed to invent new user interface patterns, but those are few and far between.

And just like how AI-powered coding assistants are generating code based on human-written code, the leading UI software program Figma is training its AI on users’ files. Pretty soon, designers will be able to generate UIs via a prompt. And those generated UIs will be good enough because they’ll follow the patterns users are already familiar with. (Combined with an in-house design system, the feature will be even more useful.)

In one sense, this alleviates having to make yet another select input. Instead, opening up time for more strategic—and IMHO, more fun—challenges.

Three Minds

In today’s technology companies’ squad, aka Spotify model, every squad has a three-headed leadership team consisting of a product manager, a designer, and an engineering or tech lead. This cross-functional leadership team is a direct descendent of the copywriter-art director creative team pioneered by Bill Bernbach in 1960, sparking the so-called “creative revolution” in advertising.

Three vintage ads by Doyle Dane Bernbach (DDB): Left, a Native American man smiling with a rye sandwich, captioned “You don’t have to be Jewish to love Levy’s”; center, a black-and-white Volkswagen Beetle ad labeled “Lemon.”; right, a smiling woman in a uniform with the headline “Avis can’t afford not to be nice.”

Ads by DDB during the creative revolution of the 1960s. The firm paired copywriters and art directors to create ads centered on a single idea.

When I was at Organic in 2005, we debuted a mantra called, Three Minds.

Great advertising was often created in “pairs”—a copywriter and an art director. In the digital world, the creation process is more complex. Strategists, designers, information architects, media specialists, and technologists must come together to create great experiences. Quite simply, it takes ThreeMinds.

At its most simplistic, PMs own the why; designers, own the what; and engineers own the how. But the creative act is a lot messier than that and the lines aren’t as firm in practice.

The reality is there’s blurriness between each discipline’s area of responsibility. I asked my friend, Byrne Reese, Group Product Manager at RingCentral, about that fuzziness between PMs and designers, and here’s what he had to say:

I have a bias towards letting a PM drive product strategy. But a good product designer will have a strong point of view here, because they will also see the big picture alongside the PM. It is hard for them not to because for them to do their role well, they need to do competitive analysis, they need to talk to customers, they need to understand the market. Given that, they can’t help it but have a point of view on product strategy.

Shawn Smith, a product management and UX consultant, sees product managers owning a bit more of everything, but ultimately reinforces the point that it’s messy:

Product managers cover some of the why (why x is a relevant problem at all, why it’s a priority, etc), often own the what (what’s the solution we plan to pursue), and engage with designers and engineers on the how (how the solution will be built and how it will ultimately manifest).

Rise of the Product Designer

In the last few years, companies have switched from hiring UX designers to hiring product designers.

Line graph showing Google search interest in the U.S. for “ux design” (blue) and “product design” (red) from January 2019 to 2024. Interest in “ux design” peaks in early 2022 before declining, while “product design” fluctuates and overtakes “ux design” in late 2023. Annotations mark the start and end of a zero interest-rate period and a change in Google’s data collection.

The Google Trends data here isn’t conclusive, but you can see a slow decline for “UX design” starting in January 2023 and a steady incline for “product design” since 2021. In September 2024, “product design” overtook “UX design.” (The jump at the start of 2022 is due to a change in Google’s data collection system, so look at the relative comparison between the two lines.)

Zooming out, UX design and product design had been neck and neck. But once the zero interest-rate period (ZIRP) era hit and tech companies were flush with cash, there’s a jump in UX design. My theory is because companies could afford to have designers focus on their area of expertise—optimizing user interactions. At around March 2022, when ZIRP was coming to an end and the tech layoffs started, UX design declines while product design rises.

Screenshot of LinkedIn job search results from December 27, 2024, showing 802 results for “UX designer” and 1,354 results for “product designer” in the United States.

Looking at the jobs posted on LinkedIn at the moment, and you’ll find nearly 70% more product designer job postings than ones for UX designer—1,354 versus 802.

As Christoper K. Wong wrote so succinctly, product design is overtaking UX. Companies are demanding more from their designers.

Design Has Always Been About the Why

Steve Jobs famously once said, “Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works.”

Through my schooling and early experiences in the field, I’ve always known this and practiced my craft this way. Being a product designer suits me. (Well, being a designer suits me too, but that’s another post.)

Product design requires us designers to consider more than just the interactions on the screen or the right flows. I wrote earlier that—at its most simplistic—designers own the what. But product designers must also consider why we’re building whatever we’re building.

Vintage advertisement for the Eames Lounge Chair. It shows a man dressed in a suit and tie, reclining on the chair and reading a newspaper.

This dual focus on why and what isn’t new to design. When Charles and Ray Eames created their famous Eames Lounge Chair and Ottoman in 1956, they aimed to design a chair that would offer its user respite from the “strains of modern living.” Just a couple of years later, Dieter Rams at Braun, would debut his T3 pocket radio, sparking the transition of music being a group activity to a personal one. The Sony Walkman and Apple iPod are clear direct descendants.

The Eameses and Rams showed us what great designers have always known: our job isn’t just about the surface, or even about how something works. It’s about asking the right questions about why products should exist and how they might enrich people’s lives.

As AI reshapes our profession—just as CD-ROMs, websites, and mobile apps did before—this ability to think strategically about the why becomes even more critical. The tools and techniques will keep changing, just as they have since my days in San Francisco’s Multimedia Gulch in the 1990s. But our core mission stays the same: we’re still that translation layer, creating meaningful connections between businesses and their audiences. That’s what design has always been about, and that’s what it will continue to be.

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