January 24, 2006

Confessions of a Bad Designer

Back when I had so-called real jobs, I came to realize there are two kind of bosses: those who compensate for their weaknesses, and those who don't. Good bosses know what they suck at and make sure these things are handled by the right people. This approach seems almost too obvious, something out of Management 101, and yet good bosses, so defined, are rare. Why? In most cases I think it's vanity. People are loath to acknowledge their weaknesses, not only to others but themselves.

This brings me to topic of the present article, which is my design skills. I am a bad designer. Moreover, I've always been a bad designer and will doubtless always be one. Some may object and say they like my design for the present site, or perhaps my design for my personal site, Oblivio. To these individuals, I offer my thanks and a bit of advice: Don't be fooled. Luminous took two years to design, and Oblivio came in a rare moment of inspiration. The truth is, I'm no designer; instead I'm someone with a sharp eye and a practical bent. My designs are invariably simple, often strikingly so, but only occasionally pleasing. Real designers can solve a range of design problems. I'm a one-trick pony, and my trick doesn't necessarily work.

In an odd twist, I'm rather proud of my limited ability—or, really, I'm proud of my recognition of it. A former girlfriend, a designer, would often lament the fact that everyone thinks they're a designer. It was the bane of her work. But it was also understandable. We all have to establish some kind of personal style, if only by choosing between cultural defaults. Color, pattern, form, texture, and composition all play into decisions about the clothes we wear and the way we decorate our living spaces. It's enough to make you think you know something about design—which you do. But knowing something about design and being a designer are not the same thing.

Designers understand design the way musicians understand music. It's both a technical command of the craft and an intuitive recognition of "rightness," the sense one gets when a composition "clicks." Talented designers find a way to make this happen. I don't know how they do it, and I'm sure if they told me, I still wouldn't know.

But don't cry for me. It's not a bad thing to be a bad designer. In fact it's liberating, for it allows me to focus on what I do best.

I'll confess, though, to some designer envy, or perhaps it's more like designer awe. I realize design is a process like any other—you begin with a problem and you find a way to solve it—but because this process is closed to me, it has come to resemble a kind of magic—unpredictable, inexplicable, and when the planets align, transformative.

Published in Design