Design – Craig Jamieson

The Overlooked Sidebar UI

In 2016 I introduced a design pattern into my work that I still believe is one of the most under utilised interface elements. The sidebar.

I first noticed this idea in Gmail and later in Office. Both products used a fixed panel on the right to bring in tools like calendar or tasks without disturbing the main content. It was clean, contextual and it kept people in flow. I thought it was a smart solution but when I tried to apply the same idea to other products I met resistance. That resistance still exists today.

What I built was simple. Using Angular we structured the page so that the main content lived on the left and remained responsive, while a fixed width sidebar sat on the right and could slide in and out. The layout stayed intact. The sidebar became a utility space that could support different needs without forcing people to leave the page they were on.

The first use case was chat. If you were filling in a form or browsing content and needed support you could open a conversation without losing the context of the page. This solved a real frustration. At the time chat usually appeared in a popup window, a modal covering your content or even a new browser tab. All of these broke the experience. With the sidebar the conversation lived beside your task.

Once it was working I realised the same pattern applied to many other flows. Sign in did not need to take you to a new page, you could complete it in the sidebar and continue where you were. In ecommerce the cart was the perfect use. You could review, update and check out while still navigating the store. It was flexible, contextual and required no break in the journey.

We first implemented it in a concept site in 2017 and in 2018 I demoed a vision video to the execs at Nedbank showing how it could transform product interactions. From there I kept applying it to different products including EVO, Fluint and Healthbridge, adapting it to suit the context. These were not just experiments in isolation but features shipped into real products.

At the same time my instincts were being validated. Google and Microsoft were expanding their sidebars into multi tab utility panels, giving people everything from mail and calendar to tasks and notes in the same persistent space. They were proving at scale what I was already exploring in my own projects.

Of course resistance never went away. Many designers and product managers were uncomfortable because it broke the established patterns they were used to. My view was straightforward. If two of the largest online platforms in the world Gmail and Outlook could normalise the sidebar then we could too.

When OpenAI demoed their Atlas browser I was delighted to see them use a sidebar to enable live conversation with AI while browsing the web. This is the kind of potential I saw years ago.

One of my early visions was in the home loan journey. Imagine being midway through an application, getting stuck, and opening the sidebar to chat with support. Not only could they talk to you, they could also load the exact screen you were on in the left panel, so the help was directly contextual. At the time engineers gave me mixed feedback on whether that was technically feasible, but with advances in AI and contextual awareness it now feels within reach.

Looking back I was early in pushing this approach. Looking forward I believe it still holds huge value. A responsive content area on the left. A fixed width slide in sidebar on the right. It solves real problems, reduces friction and creates space for features exactly where you need them.

What DJs Taught Me About Valuing Design

When I was growing up most of my friends were DJs. For a moment I felt like I was rising as a designer in the same way, but it never quite turned out the same.

Let’s take a step back. When I say my friends were DJs, I’m talking about guys who were making me mix tapes that I took to boarding school with me. They later became headlining acts at Ultra. They came up playing every gig that would let them play, even if it meant no one on the dance floor and they played for 8 hours straight. Then later they were demanding insanely high salaries for playing one hour, because their name was bigger than the event itself.

Growing up with that, it felt normal for me to rise as a designer with aspirations of doing something similar. I certainly gained a name for myself, built a solid reputation, and increased my fees. But I never quite felt like I was the big name my friends were, and I never earned the type of money they could demand as the headline on the flyer I used to design for them.

I’ve had moderate career success and made some loot, but nothing close to what they charge for an hour of work. Some of them are flying around the world, at the promoter’s expense, stacking that international cheddar. I used to get frustrated when they would ask me to build their sites for less than they earned in an hour. What I didn’t always consider was that in their business that’s all they get. We don’t see the hours they put in for that one moment, never mind the weight their name carries, often far outweighing the event itself.

So do they make more per hour than I have? Certainly yes. But overall, I have managed to earn more hours. That doesn’t mean I have earned more. Let’s be clear: I have not. But their reputation and experience have compounded, and now they earn a fixed fee for that one hour. Something we all struggle to wrap our heads around, especially when we charge by the hour and literally put in the hours’ work.

Instead we should be thinking in terms of the value we bring. I’d go so far as to say you might want to trade the monthly retainer fee for a flat fee to do the job. Even if it takes you months, long term it could work out better financially if you invest correctly and pay yourself over time. A lesson I recently learned from Dan Mall.

And for our names carrying weight, maybe we need to start thinking of them as more than a well-designed logo. They need to be spoken about as our reputation, the same way a major brand leverages theirs. Designed by Craig.

I used to brand everything with Design by Digiguru or Made with love by Craig Jamieson.

I stopped doing this, at some point I got a little too modest to do it and focussed on other peoples brands. But maybe that’s a mistake. If you speak it, others will believe it, because you believe in yourself and the value you bring.

I want people to go: “It’s a CR—G.” Even when I don’t have my clever little logo on it, it’s in the quality of the work I do. So even if it’s for a big brand, people would still talk about the creative vision and excellence I bring.

Products Need Vision

Too many founders start with an idea and then, possibly by no fault of their own, they end up in production. What they have not done is define a vision.

Vision is the step between idea and production. It only becomes clear if you take the time to work on it early, before you move forward with the rest of discovery.

A useful way to frame it is this: “Product vision defines the overarching purpose of a product. It outlines what the product aims to achieve for users and how it supports their needs. It captures where the product is headed and why it matters.”

That definition is useful because it sets the tone. It is about purpose, direction, and meaning. It does not dictate features or steps. That is the point. A vision gives you a boundary line. It points to a destination while leaving space for design, development and iteration to shape the journey.

When I say products need vision, I mean exactly this. Before you move into discovery or prototyping or pushing pixels, you must land on a vision that says why you are building, gives a sense of the future state, and shows who benefits, how, and why it matters.

From there everything you do, the concepts, the detail work, the engineering decisions, should be measured against that vision. If a decision does not move you closer, you question it. And when disagreements happen, which they will, the vision is the referee you return to.

I have worked for myself, in large agencies, in-house, and with product agencies that were more dev shops than product makers. If I have learned anything in my career it is that the lack of vision is why so many products fail.

If all you do is deliver, then most of the time you deliver shit. Because shit in is shit out. If you take the time to craft your idea into a vision that is grounded in input, it becomes something of possibility. It is not just a good idea, it is an informed idea wrapped in creativity and reality.

Vision is defined and articulated in a way that can bring people along the journey whether they are a designer, an engineer, or someone with business chops. It gives everyone an inspiring north star, something they can hold onto as they consider what is possible. It informs the concept, the details, and the ultimate plan forward long before pixels are pushed and code is hacked together.

It is something you can receive, rehearse, and regurgitate over and over again, convincing yourselves and the people around you to be part of something with purpose.

What happens in dev shops without vision is predictable. Everyone builds their own version of what they think the founder meant. The work drifts. The product becomes a patchwork, not a unified whole. By making vision explicit, grounded in input and articulated clearly, you give people something to rally around. You turn disagreement into progress. You make trade offs easier.

So next time you have a good idea, before you jump into lovable with dreams of putting out the next Airbnb, Uber, or Tinder, take the time to get rooted in some wisdom. Craft something with passion and with a strategy grounded in vision.

Opportunity and Talent

I am not good at everything. Nobody is. But I do know where my talents lie.

With enough effort, I could probably get by in many professions. But effort alone is not enough. There needs to be interest, even obsession. That is the fuel that makes talent grow.

Becoming a lawyer or a doctor, for example, requires a certain personality type. It looks glamorous on television, but the reality is far more demanding. I do not have what it takes to succeed in those paths. And that is fine, because there are people much smarter and better suited than me. That is why there are so many different professions in the world.

I have always been honest with myself about the things I am not good at. Basic life skills that come easily to others have never come easily to me. Sometimes I joke that I missed that class at school or that it simply was not in my DNA. It has cost me in different ways, but it has also made me lean harder into the things I can do well. In those areas, I thrive.

The truth is, talent without opportunity is wasted. I often wonder about the paths I might have taken if the right doors had opened, or if I had recognised them sooner.

Take video and film. I love everything about it: movies, series, YouTube, motion graphics, storytelling. I dabbled here and there, but I never truly had the opportunity. Growing up in South Africa, creativity did not feel like a serious path. The closest I came was working in a video store, watching everything on the shelves and becoming a movie buff. But I never broke films apart the way I once did in high school, analysing frame by frame.

Looking back, I see the moment I missed. In the 90s, I could have worked with a brilliant videographer, but I never asked for the job. I did not take the initiative. That chance slipped past.

Instead, I built websites in Flash, which led me into the career I have today. I have no regrets. But I do sometimes imagine the life I might have lived as a director, or in animation, or industrial design, or architecture. I believe I could have excelled in any of these fields. Not because I think I am naturally gifted in all of them, but because I know the way I throw myself into what captures my attention.

That is the point. We are all equipped with a range of potential talents. What we become is shaped as much by the opportunities we encounter as by the abilities we hold.

So my encouragement is simple: explore widely, experiment boldly, and do not limit yourself to one path. If something sparks your interest, dig deeper. See where it goes. If it does not, leave it behind.

There is no single route to happiness or success. Your career can be shaped in more ways than you might imagine.

Product Producers

When I worked in advertising, there was no one more valuable than a producer. They were the heartbeat of any project.

The producer was the biggest hustler in the room. Working out budgets, scouting locations, securing that perfect director, finding the right set. They were the ones making miracles happen, often outside, phone in hand, chain smoking while closing the deal that saved the campaign. You could always find them out there, pacing the pavement, cigarette in one hand, mobile in the other, solving three problems at once before stepping back inside like nothing had happened.

They were irreplaceable.

So when digital came along, it made sense that smart agencies borrowed the model. Some shops built strong digital producer roles into their teams, and they made a huge difference. Those were the people who could bring together developers, designers, writers, and motion specialists to deliver rich online experiences that simply could not have happened otherwise.

But when I moved in-house to build product, I noticed the gap immediately.

There were stakeholders. There were people called product owners and product managers. They were accountable on paper. But they were not the hustlers. They did not have the deep networks of skilled practitioners they could call on to pull something extraordinary together. They were not the ones who had spent decades figuring out how to make impossible timelines and shifting budgets work in practice.

Even when I joined an agency that worked with early-stage startups, the role was missing. The work was smart, the strategy was thoughtful, but there was no seasoned producer who knew how to navigate production itself.

Of course, product is built differently. It is a world of discovery, iteration, and continuous loops. But that does not mean production is irrelevant. If anything, it makes it more necessary. Because the gap is not just about delivery. It is about experience. It is about foresight. It is about having someone who has lived through enough projects to know where the risks are, what to factor in, and how to smooth the path so designers and engineers can do their best work.

In tech, few people can honestly say they have been doing this for more than a couple of decades. Fewer still have built the kind of production network that advertising producers relied on, where a phone call could assemble the right team almost instantly.

What is often missing today is a dedicated producer with true delivery know-how.

Too many people know just one part of the process and have strong opinions about it, but struggle to map out an end-to-end product roadmap without leaning on senior leadership for every detail. A producer bridges that. They work alongside senior creative and technical talent to deliver with precision. They anticipate the unforeseen. They keep a project on time, on budget, and fully resourced.

They also do the maths. They help make the case for budget increases when scope shifts. They know how to manage stakeholders when timelines slip. They understand the mechanics of production deeply, without needing to be a practitioner themselves.

That is why I believe many experienced creative and technical people could transition into this role. It needs judgement, networks, and a calm head in the middle of chaos more than it needs ownership of any single discipline.

To the producers I have worked with over the years, I salute you. You made the impossible happen. In product design, we still need more of you.

The Creative Leadership Paradox

Creative leadership is not what you think it is. People hear titles like Head of Design, Executive Creative Director, or Chief something or other Officer, and assume it is glamorous. They imagine freedom, vision, status, and distance from the grind.

The reality is very different.

Creative leadership carries responsibility most people never see. It is not just about guiding design or producing ideas. It is about profitability, winning work, maintaining client confidence, carrying reputation, and being responsible for the careers of entire teams. All at once. It is accountability stacked high, and it rarely comes with the support or recognition that matches the load.

The Weight That Builds Over Years

Newly appointed design leads often admit they feel pressure after only a handful of projects. Now extend that across years, with multiple programmes running simultaneously, while also being expected to bring in new business and perform the “song and dance” to convince executives and clients that creativity deserves its place in the strategy.

Compensation does not look like the myths suggest. A handful of roles are lucrative, but most are not rewarded anywhere near the level of responsibility involved, especially compared to peers in other leadership positions with equivalent accountability.

Running a Function Means More Than Running the Work

Leading a creative department extends far beyond shaping output. It means resourcing, hiring, building career ladders, conducting reviews, mediating personality clashes, and supporting people through personal crises. Sometimes it even includes dealing with complaints as trivial as bad body odour.

And still, when you walk into the boardroom, you are reduced to “the creative one,” the person expected to tidy slides, supply ideas in hackathons, or jump into design tools at a moment’s notice. The assumption is that you operate like a junior on the tools every day, and if you hesitate, it is met with scoffs, regardless of the fact you have spent the entire week in executive meetings.

Here lies one of the hardest parts of leadership. Most of us became designers because we love the work itself. We still care about the craft, and many of us will step in when the situation demands it. But the more senior you become, the further you are pulled away from the tools. You have to learn to design through others. That means briefing, guiding, and nurturing talent rather than personally pushing every pixel. The distance is necessary, but it creates its own challenge. You are expected to represent the work at the highest level while living further away from the detail that first drew you to the field.

That shift is never fully recognised or understood.

Generalists in a World That Says “Specialise”

Budgets rarely align with ambition. Teams are hired for narrow skills, briefs expand, and gaps land on the leader. Long nights become routine, not because of desire, but because the team was never designed to cover the full scope.

Specialists are applauded in theory, yet in leadership, survival belongs to generalists. Adaptability is what keeps the team afloat.

Ahead of the Curve, but on Your Own

I have often led groups pushing ahead of the curve. It sounds exciting, but it comes with isolation. Explaining, defending, and selling work falls on your shoulders because no one else in the room understands it. Finance, operations, and core services are spoken fluently by other leaders, but creativity is left for you alone to frame and prove.

That burden is part of the territory.

The Invisible Magic

What is rarely noticed is the subtlety of the role. The real magic of creative leadership often looks invisible from the outside. It is more like whispering than shouting. Most creative leaders are nurturers, gently nudging talent forward, unlocking the genius within individuals, and moving the collective of the people they lead and the function they represent. That quiet ability to coax brilliance from others is what drives the work, yet it is almost never recognised as a skill.

Building the Plane While Taking Off

In digital, and especially in product, leadership often meant creating systems and structures while delivering in real time. Support did not exist, processes were unclear, and responsibility rested squarely on your shoulders.

Then came the boardroom reports, covering every project your team had running, stretched thin, while executives trivialised creativity because they once attended a corporate mandated design thinking workshop through their overpriced international local university.

But hey, they liked the tattoos, black t-shirts and sneakers, so I played along.

No One Trains You for This

There is no formal preparation for creative leadership. It is only learned through experience, carrying the weight, and recovering from the mistakes.

And yet when mergers, technology failures, or financial constraints arrive, creative leaders are often first in line for cuts. Not because of failure, but because the value of the role was never fully understood until the absence causes collapse. Watching people with decades of experience lose their seat at the table for reasons entirely beyond their control is the part that stings the most.

Why I Still Do It

With all the frustrations, I love what I do. Being present in decision making ensures creativity has a voice when it matters most. Experience allows teams to build work that makes an impact.

The job is not easy. It is not glamorous. It is layers of responsibility, often invisible to those sitting right beside us.

If you are stepping into creative leadership and feel the weight, know it is real. If you are an executive, understand this: we are not in the room to decorate your presentations. We are there to guide decisions that shape the future of the organisation.

That is what creative leadership really is.

Adaptive Interfaces Powered by AI

For the last decade we have leaned on responsive design and design systems to scale digital interfaces. Content lives in a CMS. Components and tokens live in a design system. Rules define how everything adapts across devices.

The system works, but it is manual. Designers and developers still have to define outputs for mobile, desktop, or voice.

Now imagine if the content was the source of truth, and an AI layer decided how to present it depending on the context.

Think about a sales report. On desktop it could show as a full interactive chart with filters. On mobile it might reduce to a highlight summary with expandable detail. On voice it could be delivered as spoken insights. On a TV dashboard it might render as a bold infographic with minimal text.

The AI is not reading a design system website to make that choice. It is using the actual building blocks from the system. Tokens, components, accessibility rules, interaction patterns. The documentation site is helpful for people, but the AI needs machine readable assets it can apply in real time.

That raises a key question. Who sets the style, and who applies it.

The brand expression layer still belongs to designers and engineers. Designers define the look and feel of the brand, capture it in tokens, and document the rules. Engineers code those tokens and components so they can be reused across products. This is the palette. These are the raw ingredients.

The AI sits on the assembly and adaptation layer. It does not invent brand styles from scratch. It applies the tokens and rules already defined. Its job is to select the right layout or component for the context. On mobile it might choose a compact card. On desktop it might expand to a grid. On voice it might simplify labels. On dashboards it might select a chart type that meets accessibility rules.

In practice this could look simple. A headless content source provides structured data, text, and media. A design system in code provides components like cards, charts, and media players, along with tokens for spacing, colour, and type. An AI layout engine, trained on patterns, selects which components to use and how to arrange them. A renderer maps that schema to the components and displays it in the right form for each device.

The page shell does not change. What changes is how the content and the controls are expressed.

We are not fully there yet. Most AI tools generate static layouts rather than adaptive experiences. Performance and consistency remain challenges. Accessibility and governance also need strong guardrails.

Still, the building blocks exist. Headless CMS. Design systems in code. Schema driven rendering. AI models that can output structured layouts.

If this becomes real it changes the role of designers and developers. Instead of hand crafting every variant, the work becomes defining the rules, tokens, and constraints. The AI assembles the experience. The result could be adaptive, future proof interfaces that scale across devices and new mediums we have not even imagined yet.

This is still theory. What is missing is a working prototype to prove the idea. I want to explore how we might build a version of this together, using headless content, a small set of coded components, and an AI layout engine that adapts to context.

If you are experimenting in this space, whether you are an engineer, designer, or researcher, I would like to connect. Maybe we can turn this idea into something real.

Design Growth After Hours

A lot of designers I meet talk about wanting to be promoted, wanting to specialise, wanting to progress. But many are not willing to do more than what is asked of them inside their job description. They work the hours, tick the boxes, and then wait for growth to arrive.

The reality is that career progression rarely comes from doing only what is expected. The best designers I have seen are the ones who deliberately go beyond their 9–5 responsibilities. Not because they are forced to, but because they care about improving their craft and setting themselves apart.

This does not mean sacrificing your personal life or burning yourself out. It means being intentional with how you spend a portion of your free time. Every role offers some growth, but no single job will give you everything you need to become a better designer. If your development goals do not line up with your current position, you will need to take ownership of that gap.

Growth comes from exploring beyond the duties of your role. That could mean:

Building side projects that stretch you in ways your job does not
Learning the basics of engineering so you understand how design decisions impact technology
Developing your personal brand so that your influence extends beyond your current team
Investing in your taste and decision-making by exposing yourself to different ideas, industries, and experiences
Supporting others through mentoring, which sharpens your own clarity and leadership

Yes, courses, tutorials, and bootcamps are useful. But they are not enough on their own. True progress comes when you combine learning with practice, and when you deliberately step into spaces outside your comfort zone.

The industry is more demanding than ever. Tools change quickly, expectations rise, and the line between design, technology, and business keeps getting thinner. To stay relevant, you cannot only rely on what your employer gives you. You need to commit to developing yourself, continually and consistently, regardless of your current role.

This is why I believe designers should treat their careers as their responsibility, not their employer’s. That means auditing how you spend time outside work and carving out space to grow. Waiting for your bi-annual review or hoping the company will hand you the perfect opportunity is not enough.

Careers are built on choices made over years, not moments of pressure. If you dedicate even a small, consistent percentage of your time to growth, you will always move forward.

Because design is not just what you do from 9 to 5. It is how you keep building yourself to be the kind of designer the future demands.

The Value of Design Direction

When people talk about design leadership, they often focus on the big picture. Scaling teams, setting up systems, and representing design at the executive table. Those things matter, but there is a function that rarely gets the attention it deserves. Design Direction.

Design Direction is the equivalent of art direction or creative direction in traditional agencies. It is how leadership gets a project to not only meet the vision but also stay aligned and push the design as far as possible. Without it, even the strongest design teams can lose their way, and even the most talented designers can end up delivering work that meets the brief but lacks the depth and clarity that comes from experienced guidance.

I have seen first-hand how often Design Direction is misunderstood. I have been asked to log my hours like an individual contributor, as if the only measurable design output is pixels pushed. I have been in conflict with project managers and product owners who reduce Design Direction to a standing review once a week. They see it as an overhead rather than an integral part of the process. This way of thinking overlooks what Design Direction really is. The ongoing alignment, questioning, and refinement that ensures design delivers at the highest possible level.

Design Direction is not just sitting in on reviews. It is defining the product and design strategy, setting the creative vision, understanding the goals and deliverables, and making sure that the team has the clarity and confidence to execute. It is knowing when to push a concept further, when to simplify, and when to hold the line on detail. It is asking the tough questions that less experienced designers may not think to ask. And it is being available as a sounding board, not only for design craft but for the confidence and judgement that comes with experience.

In practical terms, Design Direction should be seen as a core part of any project plan. Around 20 percent of design time is a reasonable baseline, and often more is required at the beginning of a project to define goals with founders and stakeholders. This investment pays for itself many times over because it prevents wasted effort, reduces misalignment, and raises the quality of the final product. Design Direction is not a task you tick off. It is an ongoing practice that shapes how design unfolds across the life of a project.

On a day to day level, Design Direction shows up in countless ways. It is a conversation that helps a designer see a better path forward. It is feedback that brings alignment between product, engineering, and design. It is guidance that takes a project from done to delivered with impact. Most importantly, it creates the conditions for designers to do their best work.

When Design Direction is missing, teams are left to operate in isolation. Designers second guess themselves, products drift from their intended vision, and the end result suffers. When it is present, alignment is tighter, designers are more confident, and the quality of output rises.

Design Direction is not a luxury. It is not an add on or an afterthought. It is a fundamental part of design leadership, and it should be factored into every project plan as deliberately as design, product, or engineering. The difference it makes is not only in the work produced, but in the confidence, clarity, and capability of the team delivering it.

The next time you are putting together a project plan, make sure Design Direction has a line of its own. Be generous with it. Your design team will thrive, and your product will benefit in ways you can measure and in ways you cannot.

Let Designers Design

The design industry has spent years proving itself, fitting in and playing everyone else’s game. For many it has become exhausting. I hear it from those trying to break into the field, from those practising it daily and especially from those tasked with leading it. We are told design is valued, that there is a seat at the table and that creativity is welcome. Yet this seems conditional on jumping through hoops that have little to do with the job designers are meant to do.

We fought to justify the value of design to clients, then repeated the same battles with internal stakeholders and colleagues in business and engineering. Over time the effort shifted away from building great work and towards fitting into traditional systems of management and measurement. Designers have found themselves performing tasks that have nothing to do with design, simply to make others comfortable. Even the process of getting a role has turned into a theatre of fiery hoops, with endless CV reviews, tailoring applications for each company, updating portfolios to match every new standard and trying to please hiring managers who think they know best. It has become harder to do the work itself, which is design.

The cost of this culture is visible in the output. We have spent so much time on process and conformity that progress has slowed. Innovation has been replaced with repetition, matching competitors inside the same narrow budgets, unable to reach beyond what already exists. The visionary thinking that should shape the future has been crowded out by daily rituals of timesheets, 360 reviews, stand ups, Slack replies and a constant need to show that we are busy. Design has been reduced to theatre, tracking metrics instead of crafting details, hosting workshops to prove inclusivity, building prototypes just to walk people through obvious solutions, and rarely getting the chance to refine or improve the work. Most of design today seems to serve delivery alone, with little left for imagination.

It may read like a rant, and perhaps it is. But I have reached the point of caring less about how this sounds and more about being honest. There will always be some degree of corporate bureaucracy in any role. The problem is that it now takes up eighty percent of a designer’s energy, leaving only twenty percent for the craft. It should be the other way around. I mentor and coach designers and leaders who are not exhausted by design itself but by everything that sits around it. That is the tragedy.

Consider how many creative people already came through systems that were not built for them. Many were boxed into categories at school that never nurtured their minds, and many are likely on the spectrum, which has given the world more genius than conformity ever has. Those who survived that path went on to teach themselves, to learn the tools, systems and principles of a discipline that changes by the week. They became writers, art directors, designers, always keeping pace with whatever came next. That resilience is remarkable, but even so, it is not sustainable to expect them to keep proving their worth in a game that was not designed for them.

The standards for entry into the profession make it worse. Unless you have worked at one of the largest technology companies, studied at one of the most expensive universities and built an award winning portfolio curated to perfection, it is almost impossible to get a foot in the door. Meanwhile, those same companies and institutions often lag behind the pace of the industry itself.

So let us imagine what things could look like instead. At least eighty percent of our time should be given back to the work itself. Designers should be trusted to work in ways that bring out the best in them, led by those who have walked the same path. Teams should have rituals that make sense to them, rewards that are recognised by the people who see the effort, not just measured in spreadsheets. We should have the space to think, without being judged on how many hours were accounted for, and to let ideas build in our minds until they are ready.

Work should be structured to suit the project, not dictated by sales estimates. Designers, strategists, engineers and business partners should collaborate to find the right balance of requirements, deadlines and resources. Quality should be the shared goal, and time should be spent not just on delivery but on improvements, optimisations and the kind of craft that sets new standards.

Leadership has a role in protecting this. Leaders should be able to hire their own talent, shape budgets, and shield their teams from distractions that erode progress. Culture should come from within the team, not from rules imposed elsewhere. Designers know how to create environments that work for them, and when given trust, they will deliver outcomes that make arguments over measurement irrelevant.

This is what design should be. Crafting buttons and systems that do not rot into graveyards. Updating workflows and raising standards because that is what professionals do. No designer signed up to measure themselves by arbitrary metrics. They signed up to design. The truth is that design should not have to fight this hard to exist. Everything in the world is designed in one way or another. Every great thing ever made was designed.

Designers may never reach the financial rewards of other professions, but that was the sacrifice we made when we chose careers that gave us happiness and expression. Even so, the impact of design deserves respect and proper compensation. If given the space to do the job as it was intended, design would not be reduced to theatre. It would simply be design.