For the past twenty to thirty years, the creative services industry has pursued a strategy of elevating the perceived value of knowledge work over production work. Strategic thinking became the premium offering, while actual making was reframed as “tactical” and “commoditized.” Creative professionals steered their careers toward decision-making roles rather than making roles. Firms adjusted their positioning to sell ideas, not assets — strategy became the product, while labor became nearly anonymous. After twenty years in my own career, I believe this has been a fundamental mistake, especially for those who have so distanced themselves from craft that they can no longer make things. The Unintended Consequences The strategic pivot created two critical vulnerabilities that are now being exposed by AI: For individuals: AI is already perceived as delivering ideas faster and with greater accuracy than traditional strategic processes, repositioning much of what passed for strategy as little better than educated guesswork. The consultant who built their career on frameworks and insights suddenly finds themselves competing with a tool that can generate similar outputs in seconds. For firms: Those who focused staff on strategy and account management while “offshoring” production cannot easily pivot to new means of production, AI-assisted or otherwise. They’ve created organizations optimized for talking about work rather than doing it. The Canary in the Coal Mine In hindsight, the homogeneity of interaction design systems should have been our warning. We became so eager to accept tools that reduced labor — style guides that eliminated design decisions, component libraries that standardized interfaces, templates that streamlined production — that we literally cleared the decks for AI replacement. Many creative services firms now accept AI in the same way an army-less nation might surrender to an invader: they have no other choice. They’ve systematically dismantled their capacity to make things in favor of their capacity to think about things. Now they’re hoping they can just re-boot production with bots. I don’t think that will work. AI, impressive as it is, still cannot make anything and everything. More importantly, it cannot produce things for existing systems as efficiently and effectively as a properly equipped person who understands both the tools and the context. The real world still requires: Understanding client systems and constraints Navigating technical limitations and possibilities Iterating based on real feedback from real users Adapting to changing requirements mid-project Solving the thousand small problems that emerge during implementation These aren’t strategic challenges — they’re craft challenges. They require the kind of deep, hands-on knowledge that comes only from actually making things, repeatedly, over time. The New Premium I see the evidence everywhere in my firm’s client accounts: there’s a desperate need to move as quickly as ever, motivated by the perception that AI has created about the overall pace of the market. But there’s also an acknowledgment that meaningful progress doesn’t come at the push of a button. The value of simply doing something — competently, efficiently, and with an understanding of how it fits into larger systems — has never been higher. This is why I still invest energy in my own craft and in communicating design fundamentals to anyone who will listen. Not because I’m nostalgic for pre-digital methods, but because I believe craft represents a sustainable competitive advantage in an AI-augmented world. Action vs. Advice The fundamental issue is that we confused talking about work with doing work. We elevated advice-giving over action-taking. We prioritized the ability to diagnose problems over the ability to solve them. But clients don’t ultimately pay for insights — they pay for outcomes. And outcomes require action. They require the messy, iterative, problem-solving work of actually building something that works in the real world. The firms and individuals who will thrive in the coming years won’t be those with the best strategic frameworks or the most sophisticated AI prompts. They’ll be those who can take an idea — whether it comes from a human strategist or an AI system — and turn it into something real, functional, and valuable. In my work, I regularly review design output from teams across the industry. I encounter both good ideas and bad ones, skillful craft and poor execution. Here’s what I’ve learned: it’s better to have a mediocre idea executed with strong craft than a brilliant idea executed poorly. When craft is solid, you know the idea can be refined — the execution capability exists, so iteration is possible. But when a promising idea is rendered poorly, it will miss its mark entirely, not because the thinking was wrong, but because no one possessed the skills to bring it to life effectively. The pendulum that swung so far toward strategy needs to swing back toward craft. Not because technology is going away, but because technology makes the ability to actually build things more valuable, not less. In a world where everyone can generate ideas, the people who can execute those ideas become invaluable.

For the past twenty to thirty years, the creative services industry has pursued a strategy of elevating the perceived value of knowledge work over production work. Strategic thinking became the premium offering, while actual making was reframed as “tactical” and “commoditized.” Creative professionals steered their careers toward decision-making roles rather than making roles. Firms adjusted their positioning to sell ideas, not assets — strategy became the product, while labor became nearly anonymous. After twenty years in my own career, I believe this has been a fundamental mistake, especially for those who have so distanced themselves from craft that they can no longer make things. The strategic pivot created two critical vulnerabilities that are now being exposed by AI: For individuals: AI is already perceived as delivering ideas faster and with greater accuracy than traditional strategic processes, repositioning much of what passed for strategy as little better than educated guesswork. The consultant who built their career on frameworks and insights suddenly finds themselves competing with a tool that can generate similar outputs in seconds. For firms: Those who focused staff on strategy and account management while “offshoring” production cannot easily pivot to new means of production, AI-assisted or otherwise. They’ve created organizations optimized for talking about work rather than doing it. In hindsight, the homogeneity of interaction design systems should have been our warning. We became so eager to accept tools that reduced labor — style guides that eliminated design decisions, component libraries that standardized interfaces, templates that streamlined production — that we literally cleared the decks for AI replacement. Many creative services firms now accept AI in the same way an army-less nation might surrender to an invader: they have no other choice. They’ve systematically dismantled their capacity to make things in favor of their capacity to think about things. Now they’re hoping they can just re-boot production with bots. I don’t think that will work. AI, impressive as it is, still cannot make anything and everything. More importantly, it cannot produce things for existing systems as efficiently and effectively as a properly equipped person who understands both the tools and the context. The real world still requires: Understanding client systems and constraints Navigating technical limitations and possibilities Iterating based on real feedback from real users Adapting to changing requirements mid-project Solving the thousand small problems that emerge during implementation These aren’t strategic challenges — they’re craft challenges. They require the kind of deep, hands-on knowledge that comes only from actually making things, repeatedly, over time. I see the evidence everywhere in my firm’s client accounts: there’s a desperate need to move as quickly as ever, motivated by the perception that AI has created about the overall pace of the market. But there’s also an acknowledgment that meaningful progress doesn’t come at the push of a button. The value of simply doing something — competently, efficiently, and with an understanding of how it fits into larger systems — has never been higher. This is why I still invest energy in my own craft and in communicating design fundamentals to anyone who will listen. Not because I’m nostalgic for pre-digital methods, but because I believe craft represents a sustainable competitive advantage in an AI-augmented world. The fundamental issue is that we confused talking about work with doing work. We elevated advice-giving over action-taking. We prioritized the ability to diagnose problems over the ability to solve them. But clients don’t ultimately pay for insights — they pay for outcomes. And outcomes require action. They require the messy, iterative, problem-solving work of actually building something that works in the real world. The firms and individuals who will thrive in the coming years won’t be those with the best strategic frameworks or the most sophisticated AI prompts. They’ll be those who can take an idea — whether it comes from a human strategist or an AI system — and turn it into something real, functional, and valuable. In my work, I regularly review design output from teams across the industry. I encounter both good ideas and bad ones, skillful craft and poor execution. Here’s what I’ve learned: it’s better to have a mediocre idea executed with strong craft than a brilliant idea executed poorly. When craft is solid, you know the idea can be refined — the execution capability exists, so iteration is possible. But when a promising idea is rendered poorly, it will miss its mark entirely, not because the thinking was wrong, but because no one possessed the skills to bring it to life effectively. The pendulum that swung so far toward strategy needs to swing back toward craft. Not because technology is going away, but because technology makes the ability to actually build things more valuable, not less. In a world where everyone can generate ideas, the people who can execute those ideas become invaluable.

Many Grids I’ve been making very small collages, trying to challenge myself to create new patterns and new ways of connecting form and creating space. Well, are we? The last page in a book I started last year.

Catching Up

Great design comes from seeing — seeing something for what it truly is, what it needs, and what it can be — both up close and at a distance. A great designer can focus intently on the smallest of details while still keeping the big picture in view, perceiving both the thing itself and its surrounding context. Designers who move most fluidly between these perspectives create work that endures and inspires. But there’s a paradox at the heart of design that’s rarely discussed: the discipline that most profoundly determines how lasting and inspiring a work of design can be is a designer’s ability to look away — not just from their own work, but from other solutions, other possibilities, other designers’ takes on similar problems. This runs counter to conventional wisdom. We’re told to study the masters, to immerse ourselves in the history of our craft, to stay current with trends and innovations. There’s value in this, of course — foundational knowledge creates the soil from which original work can grow. But there comes a point where looking at too many existing solutions becomes not illuminating but constraining. Design, as I’ve defined it before, is about giving form to intent. Intent is a matter shared between those with a need and those with a vision for a solution. What makes solutions truly special is when that vision is deeply personal and unique — when it emerges from within rather than being assembled from external reference points. The most distinctive voices in design history all approached creative problems with an obsessive level of attention to detail and the highest standard for the appropriateness of their solutions. But they all also trusted that their unique sensibilities would not just set their work apart but be embraced for its humanity. Dieter Rams didn’t create his revolutionary product designs by studying how others had approached similar problems — he developed principles based on his own sense of what makes design “good.” Susan Kare didn’t design her iconic Apple interface elements by mimicking existing computer graphics — she drew inspiration from everyday symbols, folk art, and her background in fine arts to create a visual language that felt both novel and instantly familiar. Jony Ive’s groundbreaking Apple products didn’t merely iterate on existing consumer electronics and make them smoother and shinier — they emerged from his obsession with materials, manufacturing processes, and a relentless pursuit of simplicity that often meant ignoring industry conventions. All were met with hot takes as instantly as the reverence we remember. The most innovative solutions often come from designers who are aware of conventions but not beholden to them. They know the rules well enough to break them purposefully. They understand context but aren’t limited by precedent. They’ve cultivated the discipline to look away from existing solutions when it matters most — during the critical phases of ideation and development when uniqueness of vision is most vulnerable to external influence. This discipline of looking away preserves the singularity that makes great design resonant. When we constantly reference existing solutions, our work inevitably gravitates toward the mean. We solve for expectations rather than needs. We optimize for recognition rather than revelation. We produce work that feels familiar and safe but lacks the distinctive character that makes design truly compelling. Looking away creates space for intuition to operate. It allows us to draw from deeper wells of experience and insight rather than responding to surface-level trends and patterns. It gives permission for the unexpected connections and novel approaches that define breakthrough work. This is perhaps the most difficult discipline in design — harder than mastering software, harder than learning color theory, harder than understanding grids and proportions. It requires confidence to trust your own vision when countless examples of “how it’s done” are just a search away. It demands the courage to pursue a direction that hasn’t been validated by others. It necessitates comfort with uncertainty when established patterns offer the security of the proven. It requires an acceptance, if not a desire, for risk — of failure, rejection, being misunderstood, or just being overlooked. Sometimes that’s something we can learn from; sometimes it’s just a matter of making in a very crowded world. The most valuable thing a designer brings to any problem is not their knowledge of existing solutions but their unique perspective — their particular way of seeing and making sense of the world. This perspective is preserved and strengthened not by constant reference to what others have done, but by the discipline of looking away and trusting what emerges from within. Trust that what is truly weird this year will become next year’s standard. Great design requires both looking and looking away — studying and ignoring, learning and forgetting, absorbing and creating. The magic happens not just in what we choose to see, but in what we deliberately choose not to see.