The Feed

As designers, we seem to have trained ourselves to over-refine. Taught to perfect before we share, to present the final file, the flawless mock, the case study where all the messy parts got cleaned up. That instinct makes sense; we want to look competent, thoughtful, and in control. But here’s the truth: the work that resonates most, the work that builds trust and community, often isn’t the final product; it’s the process.
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The work that builds trust and community, often isn’t the final product; it’s the process.

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Building in public invites people into the making, instead of hiding the journey and only showing the destination, you let others see the decisions, pivots, and experiments that lead to strong design. This isn’t only about openness or transparency, it can be a strategic way to grow faster, build community, and attract meaningful opportunities.

People are curious about how great work happens. Sharing your process helps others learn. It turns your portfolio from a gallery into a learning space. Designers who build in public position themselves as thinkers and collaborators, not just executors. Platforms like Figma Community, Are.na, Substack, and Instagram Stories are filled with creatives who share works-in-progress, sketches, and early ideas. That transparency builds credibility more powerfully than a finished mock ever could.
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People are curious about how great work happens. Sharing your process helps others learn. It turns your portfolio from a gallery into a learning space.

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Clients and collaborators want to see your thinking, not just your deliverables. The final outcome shows what you can do. The process shows how you approach problems, how you navigate challenges, and how you respond to feedback. When people see that, they trust you with more complex, more rewarding work. And that’s the work that leads to growth.

Sharing work-in-progress creates connection rather than applause. When you post only completed projects it’s easy to fall into the pattern of chasing approval. Sharing the process shifts the goal. You’re inviting dialogue. You’re saying, “Here’s where I am; what do you think?” That kind of openness brings real critique, ideas you hadn’t considered, and collaborations that matter.

Building in public can feel risky, you might worry about someone taking your idea. You might feel vulnerable showing work that’s not fully developed. And yes, you might get fewer likes. But your idea isn’t what sets you apart. How you bring it to life is what makes it yours. Designers who share their thinking aren’t giving away value, they’re increasing it. Likes might drop, but trust will rise. And trust leads to opportunity.

Likes might drop, but trust will rise. And trust leads to opportunity.

If you’re ready to start, keep it simple. Honestly, we are also about to go all out on this to continue to empower our community. We already have our Office Hours, on a daily basis, which allows us to collaborate and lovingly critique whatever any member of the team is building, but we intend to do more. If you read this far, you too can start by sharing a screenshot of an early wireframe or a sketch. Write two sentences about a design choice, why that grid, why that color, why that layout. Share the option you discarded and explain why. Ask for input that helps you grow. Pick platforms that match your communication style. Use Stories for informal shares, Threads for quick thoughts, or a newsletter for deeper reflection.

Building in public isn’t showing off, it's inviting others in. And in a world full of finished products, that’s what makes your work stand out.

Here’s to designing in public!

Peace!

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The design world has never been noisier. Open Instagram, Behance, or LinkedIn, and you’re bombarded with millions of case studies, viral trends, and endless hot takes (we all know them). The big platforms, once spaces to connect and learn, have become crowded arenas where quantity often beats quality, and visibility depends more on algorithms than merit. In that environment, the most meaningful creative connections aren’t happening in public. They’re happening in micro-communities.

Micro-communities are small (pun very well intended), focused groups of creatives who gather in intentional spaces. They meet on Discord servers with fewer than 100 members, Slack workspaces formed around shared goals, private Telegram or WhatsApp groups, and niche newsletters like Ding! that feel more like personal letters than mass emails. Unlike sprawling forums or social feeds, these small groups foster trust, depth, and generosity.

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The conversation shifts from shouting into the void to having real dialogue.
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Why are these spaces gaining momentum? First, big networks no longer nurture connection. It’s hard to build authentic relationships in a 10,000-person group or under a tweet with 500 replies. The structure of those platforms encourages performance, not vulnerability. Micro-communities reverse that dynamic. They create spaces where people can show unfinished ideas, admit doubts, and ask genuine questions. When you share work-in-progress in a group of 10 trusted peers, the feedback is thoughtful. There’s no race for likes, no fear of trolling, just focused input.

Second, algorithms favor engagement, not depth. The work that gains traction on public platforms is often the most provocative, not the most thoughtful. A punchy visual or a hot take gets attention because it triggers immediate reactions. But thoughtful critique, nuanced discussion, or slow exploration of ideas rarely wins in those settings. Micro-communities change the rules. When your audience is small and intentional, you can prioritize depth over speed, insight over impression.

Third, these small circles foster safety. Big platforms make it easy to feel exposed. Sharing unpolished thinking to a wide audience can feel risky, especially for early-career designers or those exploring new skills. In micro-communities, that fear fades. You’re surrounded by peers who share your values and respect your process. The result?

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You share more openly, take creative risks, and grow faster.

What happens inside micro-communities is different from the big-platform grind. Ideas become intentional because feedback comes from people invested in your growth. Collaboration forms naturally because you know and trust the people in the group. Trends aren’t just noticed, they’re unpacked. In a small space, you can debate why something resonates, what’s behind the aesthetic, and how it connects to culture. That level of conversation rarely happens in comment threads chasing clout.

If we are being honest, micro-communities need intentional effort to thrive. The best ones have clear expectations: participation matters. These aren’t spaces for lurking or passive consumption. Everyone contributes, whether through critique, resource sharing, or encouragement. Kindness comes first. Micro-communities work because the social contract is stronger; members agree to generosity over posturing. And regular rhythm is key.

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Many groups set up monthly check-ins, critique sessions, or shared challenges to keep momentum and connection alive.

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If you’re wondering how to start, you have two paths. You can join a group or build your own. Joining means looking for communities that align with your values and interests. That might mean applying to smaller Discord groups, subscribing to interactive newsletters, or reaching out to designers you admire who mention their circles. Building means starting small. Three to five people is enough. Pick a platform that fits how you communicate; Slack for structured channels, Discord for casual chat, WhatsApp or Telegram for quick exchanges. Set a clear purpose, whether that’s critique, accountability, or shared exploration. Then nurture it.

Here’s how you can act:

• List 3 designers you admire and could invite to form a small group.
• Leave one large, noisy group this week that doesn’t help you grow.
• Set aside 30 minutes weekly to engage meaningfully in a small space; offer critique, ask questions, or share something unpolished.

Micro-communities are a necessary shift. As public platforms become noisier, small circles of trust will define how the best work gets made, how careers grow, and how creative confidence is built.

If you want to thrive in 2025 and beyond, don’t just scroll the feed.

Find your circle or build it. That’s where the real power lives.

Peace.

Curiosity isn’t just about asking questions. At its root, the word meant something else. It comes from the Latin cura; which means care. Attention. To be curious is to care enough to look closer, to wonder why, to sit with the parts that don’t make sense. At a small studio, that’s what we do. Every day. We care deeply, about the people we collaborate with. About what things mean. About getting it right, not fast.

Most of the world moves quickly. Scroll fast, ship fast, answer fast. But curiosity doesn’t move that way. It takes its time. It questions the brief. It pulls at loose threads. It asks again, “What’s this really about?” That kind of slow thinking can be uncomfortable. But it’s how we make work that lasts. We don’t chase clarity. We build it. One question at a time.

You’ll notice it when we talk. Our meetings often begin with questions that don’t seem necessary—until they are. “What does this remind you of?” “What’s missing here?” “What keeps coming up?” These questions don’t come from a script. They come from a habit of paying attention. Clients sometimes come in thinking they need a logo. What they often find is a new way to tell their story. That’s the power of curiosity. It doesn’t settle for the surface.

There’s a difference between polishing and understanding. Many identity studios are good at polish. They know how to make things look clean. But looking clean doesn’t mean being clear. We dig deeper. We ask the uncomfortable questions. We don’t stop when something looks finished. We stop when it feels honest. That’s why our identity systems hold up. They’re not just beautiful. They’re true to the people behind them.

We don’t stop when something looks finished. We stop when it feels honest.

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That mindset of looking harder, listening longer makes us hard to copy. You can replicate a font. You can mimic a layout. You can even steal our color palette. But you can’t copy our thinking. You can’t replicate the moments when we’re asking questions no one else thought to ask or the extra explorations we experimented with because something still doesn’t feel right. That part doesn’t live on a template. It lives in how we work.

Curiosity also changes how we work together. It makes collaboration stronger. It removes ego from the room. When everyone’s trying to learn, no one has to be right all the time. We question our own ideas. We shift direction if something better appears. Because it’s not about winning, it’s about making the work better. Curious people don’t just take up space, they make space for others.

Curious people don’t just take up space, they make space for others.

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It’s also why we’re not trend-driven, we’re not watching for what’s cool next. We’re listening for what matters now. That requires different muscles. The work becomes paced, deeper, more grounded. Because it’s built on real needs, not guesswork. The things we make aren’t made to impress, they’re made to connect.

Even our operating framework reflect this. Identity Architecture isn’t a checklist. It’s a set of thoughtful prompts. What do you stand for? What are your non-negotiables? What do you want to be known for? The answers don’t arrive all at once. They take time. Reflection. Honesty. That’s the point. Our framework is built to invite clarity, not force it.

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Our framework is built to invite clarity, not force it.

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The truth is, we don’t always know. We start with questions, not answers. And we stay open for as long as it takes. Curiosity protects us from arrogance. It reminds us to keep learning, keep listening, keep paying attention. The best design doesn’t come from knowing everything. It comes from being willing to keep looking.

We are curious by design not because it’s a strategy, but because it’s who we are.

Peace.

Good design doesn’t always look impressive. Sometimes it just feels right.

You’ve felt it before. The door that opens with a push when your hands are full. The light switch placed exactly where you expect it. The crosswalk signal that beeps for someone who can’t see the light change. These aren’t flashy. They don’t trend. But they help people move through the world with a little less friction. That’s invisible design.

It happens when someone thought carefully about the details. When they asked, “What will this feel like for the person using it?” and didn’t stop at the obvious answer.

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“What will this feel like for the person using it?”

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At a small studio, we talk about this kind of design often. We try to build it into every brand system, every product flow, every presentation. We ask: does this add noise or reduce it? Does it make someone’s day a little easier? Does it work without needing to be explained?

So when Apple revealed their liquid glass interface, we paid attention. Some people aren’t sure how to feel about it yet. It’s quiet, minimal, and a little abstract. But if they get it right, we probably won’t notice it for long. It will just become part of how we interact. Smooth. Expected. Unspoken.

This kind of design aligns closely with something we’ve explored for years. We often use glass as a part of our visual identity, especially when we talk about radical transparency. Not because it’s trendy. But because it represents clarity and openness without being loud about it. Glass doesn’t hide. It doesn’t shout either. It just lets you see what’s there.

People don’t always remember good design. But they remember how they felt. Calm, clear, respected. And they remember the bad stuff. The broken form, the confusing checkout, the tiny text. That’s why invisible design is powerful. It doesn’t fight for attention. It builds trust quietly, over time. The best design fades into your routine, until it feels like it was always there.

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Invisible design is powerful. It doesn’t fight for attention. It builds trust quietly

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If you’re curious about this topic, there’s a podcast called 99% Invisible by Roman Mars. It’s all about the small details in design that shape our lives. The ones that often go unnoticed but have been carefully considered by someone. From the shape of park benches to the layout of airport signage, it’s a reminder that good design is everywhere. You just have to look.

Invisible design matters. Not because it impresses people, but because it respects them.

Peace.

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As Eme Lawton said last week, it can get lonely as a remote creative. Since COVID hit in April 2020, a small studio has been fully remote. It’s allowed us to recruit remarkable talent from around the world and lead global projects from right here in Cleveland, Ohio.

But I’d be lying if I said I never fantasized about having my team around me. Honestly, I think about it every day. That casual tap on the shoulder. An impromptu walk-and-talk. A spontaneous airbrush session. Come on, that’s how many of us were trained to collaborate. I even catch myself wondering what it would be like to pull an all-nighter again. (These days, all-nighters are reserved for my toddlers.)

Eight years into this journey with a small studio, here’s one truth I’ve come to believe: in-person still matters.

My rule of thumb? One in-person retreat can recharge a remote team’s creative chemistry for at least six months, depending on your culture, much longer. These retreats have taken all forms: a two-night Airbnb weekend, a week in the woods, a campsite near a lake. They’re always overnight, always immersive, and always intentional. I think of them as detox for our culture, filtering tensions, clearing blockages, and energizing us for what’s ahead.

A few weeks ago, I got to experience this firsthand when Jake, Ella, and I met in Wildwood, New Jersey at Jake’s beach house. It was our first time being together in person. It was short, but it was epic. Here’s why:

We lived together.

Jake’s house was just blocks from the beach. We shared awkward good nights and tiptoed around bathroom etiquette. I did burpees outside Jake’s bedroom door because, well, that’s who I am. It was intimate. But in that intimacy, something beautiful happened: we collaborated more naturally. The boundaries were clear, the vibes were relaxed, and because it was Jake’s home, we all felt welcome.

We played together.

Our only formal goal was to align on summer strategy. Outside of that, we intentionally had no agenda. We mini-golfed (I lost), biked to the beach, watched dolphins, and laughed through a surprisingly decent Netflix movie. Ella even challenged me to a martial arts match. (Jake was entertained) It’s in these unscripted moments that you get to know the human behind the Zoom square. According to a 2023 Buffer report, 52% of remote workers say they struggle to feel connected to their coworkers. That stat didn’t apply to us that weekend; we remembered what connection felt like and, for Jake and Ella, established a true connection.

We created together.

Ella and Jake have designed hundreds of things side-by-side, virtually. But this was the first time they got to create in the same space. Each of them with their own process, posture, and rhythm. What’s usually flattened through a screen became animated and alive. They didn’t just make something, they made magic. With an airbrush, a stencil, a laptop, and a healthy dose of curiosity. That energy was contagious. Everything we did together fed that moment. It was the kind of creative synergy that could fuel a team for the rest of the year.

Then we went home. Back to our cities, our screens, and our Slack channels.

But we were different.

The thing about working remotely is you can build a career, complete a project, even scale a business, without ever seeing the people you work with. But when you do see them? When you break bread, breathe the same air, and witness each other’s weird little habits?

You don’t just build better work.

You build trust.

You build momentum.

You build something real.

If you lead any team, find a way to be in person. Even just once or twice a year. It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be intentional.

Because behind every great creative team is a moment where someone finally got to say:

I see you. For real.

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I’m a Gen Z creative who works fully remotely, something I never thought I would say. Let’s talk about it.

As a former a small studio intern, I’d gotten a taste of full-time remote work through my 10-week stint here in the summer of 2023. I was living with my two younger siblings, my dogs, and my mom, who has worked from home as an architect and interior designer my entire life. Having both parents working from their garage-turned-home-studio was my everyday growing up, so for me, working from home was not new at all. In fact, it was expected.

What WAS new to me was sharing a workspace with my mom. Other than some differences in expectations around the acceptable level of office clutter, I absolutely thrived in a shared space with another creative. It was something I’d missed in college, since my senior year was almost entirely remote. I didn’t realize how much I craved this kind of daily connection: sharing tools and resources, getting another set of eyes on my work, casual conversations and brainstorm sessions all added a level of fun to my workflow I had been missing out on.

Fast forward a few years: I moved out, and I’m finally starting to make the shift towards spending more hours with the incredibly talented, fully remote team at a small studio. As I move through this transition, I’m learning a lot about myself, my needs, and how I work best. The biggest roadblock I’ve faced so far was, as an introvert, unexpected: I’ve been feeling incredibly lonely.

If you’re also feeling isolated at your remote job, good news! You’re not alone.

The US Career Network estimates that by the end of 2025, up to 14% of adults in the US will have fully remote WFH jobs, which is about five times more than the 7 million Americans who held those positions pre-Covid. With 70% of Gen Z prioritizing work-life balance, many choose to work from home in order to maintain that balance. That being said, Gen Z proves to be the loneliest out of all generations currently in the workforce, with 79% of remote workers aged 18-24 reporting they sometimes, or often, feel lonely at work. Many also say they feel disillusioned with work, especially those who joined the workforce during the pandemic.

Harvard Business Review points out that remote workers experience three different kinds of virtual distance that contribute to this feeling of isolation:

- Physical distance, which can be exacerbated by working from different time zones or drastically different locations from coworkers.
- Operational distance, including factors that make connection and collaboration more difficult than it needs to be (internet issues, miscommunication, or clunky and inefficient workflows)
- Affinity distance, which refers to the quality of connections created in the workplace.

So what do you do when you start working alone in your bedroom, and those quality conversations and connections become few and far between?

Lean into creative community, something I always took for granted.

I’ve always surrounded myself with people whose creative energy was infused into every interaction we had. These connections not only made my friendships and partnerships exciting and fulfilling, they were also essential for my growth and development as both a person and an artist and designer. Losing touch with these people and environments lead to a feeling of emptiness in my social interactions and lower satisfaction with my own work, even though I’m consistently contributing to meaningful and engaging projects within a small studio.

I’ve had to make a conscious effort to direct my energy into things that make me feel connected to and supported by others, which, in turn, boosts my own confidence and brings my artistic spark back. Some things that have helped me on my mission to fight remote work isolation:

Yap Time
Set up a consistent time to talk to someone who makes you feel inspired and excited. For me, that means two close friends from school who also work remotely in creative positions. We’re all able to get outside perspectives on our artistic endeavors, and support each other through our feelings of remote work isolation.
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Hobby Era
Finding a non-work related creative outlet, and sharing it with others. This could be anything! Fiber arts, illustration, collage, Pinterest boards, collaborative projects - anything that gets you excited to create. Having a buddy to check in with and hold you accountable for these hobbies also creates a little support network when you’re feeling uninspired, and it always sparks a moment of joy and fulfillment when you get to share or receive a part of someone else’s creative journey.
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Sharing is Caring
Exchanging resources, advice, tips and tricks, tools and supplies, or constructive critiques often helps to save time, money, energy, and stress for everyone involved. Sharing what you have, whether it’s a physical item or a new Illustrator shortcut you just learned, can help lower the barrier to entry in these often exclusive or expensive creative fields. It also reinforces the care and trust that are essential to supportive connections, and you might walk away with some new insights and perspectives you wouldn’t have access to otherwise.
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Touch Grass
Literally. Take a walk, go for a run, bike to a coffee shop, lay out in the sun for a few minutes. Any small amount of outside time is better than none, especially when you’re sitting and staring at a screen all day. Getting fresh air and moving my body is my favorite way to ground myself in the physical world, and remind myself that there’s much more to life than Instagram posts and Notion boards. Your friends don’t hate you and you’re not a bad designer, your back just hurts from sitting at your desk for 9 hours, and you should probably have a snack. While you’re at it, maybe drink some water too!
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Get Personal
Community looks different for everyone, so think about what this means for you. It could be a group chat, a club, a coffee meetup, a pen pal, anything that fosters connection with others. This could also include taking the time to get to know your coworkers beyond your 1-on-1s at work. Spending time contributing to these communities, whether it’s in person or virtually, can be an amazing way to encourage mutual support and shared creative energy.

Feeling comfortable putting yourself out into these spaces and relationships takes time, and can feel vulnerable. But sharing that vulnerability with others, and being open to supporting them through their raw moments as well, is what helps community grow.

Trusting these relationships to lean on in times of loneliness and creative block, as well as in moments of accomplishment and excitement, is not an easy thing. But, like most things, community and connection thrive when you choose to put in the work.

At the EOD (End of the Day), these communities and relationships are what you’ll remember, not your level of activity on the team Slack channels.

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At some point, we decided that "diverse teams" only meant gender, race, or role. But there’s another kind of diversity quietly shaping the best creative teams out there: age. The generational mash-up. Gen Z meets Millennials meets Gen X meets Boomers. A group chat or Slack channel full of timelines, work ethics, TikTok references, and font preferences. It can be messy, but it’s also magic.

This isn’t some utopian theory. It’s exactly how the world’s most creative companies actually work.

Look at Pixar. The studio behind Toy Story, Finding Nemo, and basically every animated film that made adults cry into their popcorn (hello Inside-Out). Their founding team wasn’t a youth cult. It was a perfect storm of fresh eyes and battle scars. John Lasseter, the creative Disney exile in his twenties, jammed with Ed Catmull and Alvy Ray Smith, both in their forties and already legends in computer science.

Lasseter pushed the creative envelope. Catmull and Smith engineered the systems that turned the ideas into reality. That mix? That’s why Pixar’s early films didn’t just succeed. They changed animation forever.

Now, take Google. Larry Page and Sergey Brin were two PhD students in their twenties, building a search engine in a dorm room. They had the ideas, but even they knew genius needs guardrails. So they brought in Eric Schmidt as CEO, a steady hand in his forties. He wasn’t there to “fit the culture.” He was there to challenge it, steady it, scale it. The result? Google became more than a smart idea. It became the backbone of the internet.

And then there’s Apple. Everyone remembers Jobs and Wozniak as kids in a garage, but the Macintosh team was a real generational melting pot. Steve Jobs in his twenties, Jef Raskin in his forties, Bill Atkinson in his thirties, plus a mix of old hands and bold upstarts.

The “pirate” culture people love to talk about was not just about rebellion. It was real creative friction between new thinking and the wisdom to actually deliver.

Skip to Figma, one of the biggest design breakthroughs in the last decade(a small studio's biggest love). Dylan Field might have been a twenty-something prodigy, but Figma didn’t win on youth alone. They deliberately recruited seasoned product managers and engineers from places like Adobe and Google.

The result? A platform that’s digitally native and unreasonably intuitive, but also sturdy and ready for enterprise. Figma proves that innovation comes from generational remix, not a monoculture.

Let’s be honest. It’s not always easy. Gen Z think in memes. Boomers think in systems. One group wants to collaborate on Figma. The other wants to talk on the phone or send actual text messages. But the friction is the point. That’s where the fire starts. That’s where the best ideas show up.

Gen Z think in memes. Boomers think in systems.

Younger creatives bring trend instincts, digital fluency, and unfiltered curiosity. They remix, disrupt, and just go for it. Seasoned creatives bring depth, wisdom, and the all-important calm under pressure. In the middle, Millennials keep the ship moving. They speak both Discord and “let’s schedule a call.” They’ve survived rebrands and come out the other side.

When these generations create together, something rare happens. Ideas sharpen. Blind spots shrink. The team gets both speed and perspective. Culture and context.

The team gets both speed and perspective. Culture and context.

But this only works if we stop trying to flatten everyone into one uniform “culture fit.” Let the twenty-three-year-old show the fifty-two-year-old how to edit a Reel. Let the forty-something show the twenty-something how to read a brief with a highlighter. Cross-pollinate the chaos.

Here at a small studio, we don’t care how old you are. We care if you bring your gifts. If you’re curious. If you believe in doing meaningful work with other brilliant humans. The future isn’t young. It isn’t old. It’s built by both. Together.

Peace.

We know how hard reading can be for some creative minds, so we've got this version for you, made with NotebookLM. Just hit play!

Two years ago, when I wrote "My Creative Marathon," I wasn't just sharing lessons about running, I was preparing myself for the toughest season of my life. The marathon was never about the race itself and any endurance athlete will tell you the same thing, it was about building the resilience, purpose, and intentionality I’d need to navigate the unexpected journey ahead. Stepping onto the starting line of the 2025 Cleveland Marathon marked an incredible full-circle moment! Last week, I achieved a goal I set back in 2023, a sub 3-hour marathon running a 2:59:31. The most important stat is that this was 5 minutes faster than I ran before I went through cancer treatment.

For me, this wasn't about finishing another marathon it was about proving to myself, and hopefully inspiring others who've faced cancer or supported loved ones through it, that we can emerge better, stronger, and more purposeful than ever before. As the old saying goes “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Here are some insights that have made me stronger along this journey. Whether you are running a marathon, starting a business, or tackling a new creative project, it’s time to level up.

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“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

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The Spiral of Growth

Life doesn't move in perfect circles, repeating endlessly without change. Instead, it's more like an upward spiral or helix, continuously elevating us to higher levels. After every challenging season of our lives we have an option to elevate through it or sink because of it. Running this marathon again wasn't about returning to where I started—it was about recognizing how far I'd risen since that initial diagnosis. Cancer wasn’t just a season to endure; it became the catalyst for profound personal growth, deepening my empathy, sharpening my focus, and ultimately redefining who I am today.

And if there’s one thing I want you to take away from this, it’s this: you are allowed to grow through the hard things. You are allowed to arrive back at the same place with a new perspective. You are allowed to be stronger, wiser, and more grounded because of what tried to break you. Let your own upward spiral be a testimony, not just to surviving, but to the creative, hopeful, purpose-filled life that can emerge from it. Keep showing up. Keep spiraling upward. Keep becoming your best.

Less Is More

Approaching this marathon, I learned an essential lesson about balance. After accomplishing a bucket list item, completing the Boston Marathon, just a few weeks earlier, my instinct was to train harder because I didn’t technically reach my goal. I missed my PR by seconds. You see, it wasn’t enough that I just completed a marathon after beating cancer and not just any marathon but the most famous marathon in the world. I really wanted to run faster than before. So, my instinct was to train harder. I was so close!

Instead, I chose to rest, to trust in my preparation, and to prioritize recovery. When race day arrived, I felt refreshed, clear-headed, and physically strong. This reinforced an important truth: sometimes, the most impactful thing we can do is less.

If you’re in a season where you feel behind, burnt out, or uncertain let me be the one to give you permission to pause. Sometimes choosing not to push is the bravest move you can make. Recovery doesn’t mean you’ve stopped growing; it means you’re preparing to level up.  Whether you’re facing your own marathon or just trying to get through the next mile of life, remember carrying less on your plate makes it lighter. The lighter you are the higher you can go. It’s simple physics. Trust your pace. Trust yourself.

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"Sometimes, the most impactful thing we can do is less."

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Just Run

My high school coach and longtime friend gave me simple advice before race day: “Just run.” Initially, I rolled my eyes—26.2 miles is a long way to “just” do anything. Also, we released an article last year that said the opposite. But during the race, those two words transformed into something much deeper. “Just run” became an invitation to return to a sense of childlike wonder, a concept we hold close at a small studio.

I found myself soaking in every cheer, every kid looking for an high five, and every power up sign. I yelled “let’s go Cleveland” every chance I got, made the quiet fans feel bad, fist-bumped fellow runners, and encouraged strangers up hills like I was ten years old playing a game I loved.

That sense of awe, of lightness and curiosity, carried me forward. It reaffirmed a value that I had yet to bring into running. We move best when we tap into that wonder. Trust me, it’s not frivolous; it’s fuel. And in the hardest seasons of the hardest miles, it’s the very thing that keeps the joy alive.

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“Let’s go Cleveland!”

It Wasn’t About Me

Hands down, the most transformative insight from this marathon was realizing it wasn’t about me. Unlike two years prior, this run wasn’t driven by personal ambition but by an unwavering responsibility to others. Through founding the Get Off My Butt Foundation, I came to understand that grace isn’t just about receiving help it’s about offering hope freely, without needing anything in return. Over the past two years my goal became clear: to break the silence around butt health to empower young people to recognize early signs, and to encourage open, honest dialogue. I did not know I would be doing this by running marathons.

Every mile I ran was a mile lifted by the stories of others I encountered on this journey. All those friends who went and got a colonoscopy just because the respect they had for me and my health. This marathon was my way of giving back. My way of inspiring hope. Action, when born from grace, becomes expansive. It heals, it uplifts, and it never asks to be repaid. It just gives. And that’s why this race meant more than any I’ve ever run.

Start with grace. Extend it to yourself, to your process, and to the people walking alongside you. The finish line you’re chasing may not look like what you imagined, but the journey can still be powerful, purposeful, and full of hope. Let every step forward serve. Allow every line in your story shine. And no matter what trust that what you’re doing might be lighting the way for someone else.

My Creative Space

Throughout the hardest moments, a small studio was my lifeline. At one point, to ensure the team's survival, I stopped paying myself for four months, a decision I hoped I never have to make, but one I knew I had to share. Radical transparency isn’t just about vulnerability it’s about inviting others into the truth so we can move forward together. I told my team everything. Honestly, they knew before some of my family. I let them into the uncertainty, the struggle, the financial sacrifice, because I believe that honesty builds strength. Having a safe, creative haven where I could show up as I was, kept me grounded.

It helped me stay focused on my creativity rather than my illness. Creativity isn't just about producing work; it's about fostering spaces within yourself and with others where truth is welcome, where healing can happen, and where showing up authentically is the most powerful form of work. That’s what sustained me throughout cancer and that’s what kept our studio alive.

Transparency invites connection. Don’t be afraid to let people in. You don't have to carry the weight alone. In fact, your honesty might be the very thing that inspires others to stay in the race with you. Courage isn’t pretending everything is okay. Courage is saying, “This is where I am,” and trusting that truth will make a way forward.

Today, a small studio is stronger and more vibrant than ever. We've survived challenges most don’t, emerging resilient and refined. Not just as a company, but as a creative village. It hard to grasp how grateful I am for every person who gracefully walked alongside of me during this creative marathon. To my incredible creative partners, you know who you are.

You didn’t just keep the studio alive, you reminded me what it means to belong. In the midst of uncertainty, you showed up. You made space for me during my weakest time. That sense of belonging was our strength. It still is.

As I close the page on this level of my life, I’m proud to be looking down on it from above. This journey has made me better in every aspect of my life. That’s why I can honestly say I am grateful for everything that has happened to me because now I know that every obstacle is just another opportunity to level up.

What are you going to do with your opportunity?

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📸 by: PhotocredNed

We know how hard reading can be for some creative minds, so we've got this version for you, made with NotebookLM. Just hit play!

“Follow your passions.”

Has anyone ever given you the advice to translate your passions into your career? It’s advice that might be less common now following a generation that’s embraced the mindset of working to live rather than living to work. Yet, there are still plenty of us, Gen Z included, who would love to turn our passions into our life’s work. It may not always pan out, but when it does, it can be an extraordinary pursuit.

But for many creatives, our passion revolves around a medium. A medium that started as a hobby and became something more. How many of us continue to create in that medium outside of work after it’s become our career? The answer might be many. It might be a select few. I’m really not sure, but I can say for certain that it’s not me. Quite frankly, I don’t want to do more design work, even for fun, after sitting at my desk for eight hours doing design work.

That leaves one in a tricky spot. Your passion turned into your career, and now you don’t want to do your passion for fun. I guess we’ll all just stop being creative outside of working hours….jk it doesn’t work like that. A creative wants to create, and they’re going to do it to their detriment or not. So, pick up a secondary creative hobby to do outside of work, BUT make it selfish. Create off the job for your fulfillment alone. That means do not attach monetary pressure to your secondary creative hobbies.

Every person at a small studio has creative hobbies that are outside the sphere of design: photography, tufting, stained glass, and illustration. When you constantly put pressure on your passion to support your financial needs, it can become something you resent rather than an unbridled creative outlet. Something that was once intrinsically fulfilling has become an economic necessity. That’s no way to fuel yourself.

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When you constantly put pressure on your passion to support your financial needs, it can become something you resent rather than an unbridled creative outlet.

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I can’t stress how nourishing having a hobby like photography outside of my daily design-oriented career has been. I can do it whenever I want, as much as I want, and take it as seriously or easily as I choose. I feel like I have the freedom to experiment and play as much as I want. I’m not working towards any direction given by a client or working to create anything within a given set of standards. I can only describe these types of creative hobbies as an exhale after sucking in air for long periods of time.

I recently got back from a trip to The Netherlands. These moments of travel are always my favorites for exercising complete creative freedom. Sometimes I have my camera out all day. Sometimes I have it out for five minutes. The only thing that matters is what I want to do in that moment. That’s often the things that can feel the most rejuvenating— not just the photography but the choice of participating in the act.

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That’s often the things that can feel the most rejuvenating— not just the photography but the choice of participating in the act.

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It’s hard these days to escape the pressure of making every passion “worth something.” But value isn’t always measured in income. If you’ve turned your creativity into a career, be proud of it. But don’t forget to nurture the parts of your creativity that exist outside of deadlines and deliverables. At a small studio, we’ve built careers from our craft, but we’ve also learned to protect the spaces where creativity exists purely for joy. That kind of worth—the kind that fills you up instead of draining you—is just as important.

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When most people picture the creative process, they often imagine a wide-open canvas, infinite resources, and no deadlines in sight.

It sounds dreamy, but the truth is, unlimited freedom usually leads to chaos, not brilliance.

Constraints, the budgets, the timelines, the tricky client briefs, are not barriers to creativity.

They can be viewed as strategic pressure points that can turn raw ideas into sharp, timeless work.

Studies from Stanford have shown that constraints actually increase creative output by forcing people to think differently, combine ideas in novel ways, and avoid default solutions. When your choices are limited, your imagination has to stretch wider.

Instead of endless brainstorming with no clear direction, constraints focus your energy, creating a kind of disciplined inventiveness that produces real results.

Whether we are navigating a brand refresh on a tight timeline, designing a system that must work across dozens of formats, or crafting identities for companies still discovering who they are, the boundaries make the work better.

Constraints sharpen ideas because they strip away the indulgent extras and force us to get to the heart of the matter faster.

The classic saying "necessity is the mother of invention" holds up because it reflects how real breakthroughs happen.

Google’s early homepage? A minimalistic marvel born not from aesthetic preference but from technical limitations.

The early design of Twitter(X)? Originally restricted to 140 characters because of SMS constraints.

Even Dr. Seuss famously wrote "Green Eggs and Ham" using only 50 words because of a bet, and it became one of his most beloved works.

Constraints demand that you make decisions. They force you to clarify your ideas instead of endlessly tinkering.

They help you prioritize what matters most, instead of chasing the endless possibilities that, let’s be honest, usually lead to no finish line at all.

We have touched on our mindset on this before in "The Orchestra," where creativity was described as a collective rhythm rather than solo genius. The rhythm exists because there are rules, shared timing, shared understanding.

Without structure, the music would fall apart.

In design, as in music, constraints provide the structure that allows true improvisation and originality to emerge.

They are not there to punish your creativity; they are there to provoke it.

They ask better questions, like:

• How can you tell a complete story with half the space?
• How can you deliver a brand experience with limited time and attention?
• How can you design something powerful for someone who might experience it in only a few seconds?

Those are the questions that lead to better, smarter, more resonant work.

Constraints are not the enemy.

They are the best creative partners you did not know you needed. Treat them that way, and you will not only do better work, you will also find more satisfaction in the process.

Next time a project hands you a tough limitation, do not roll your eyes. Say thank you.

It just handed you the keys to doing something you might not have thought possible.

Peace.

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Hustle culture sold us a very polished lie: that exhaustion is a badge of honor, and if you are not overwhelmed, you must not be trying hard enough.

Thankfully, the science—and the experience of every creative person who has ever burned out—tell a different story.

Multiple studies, including a widely-cited Harvard Business Review report, have found that employees who regularly rest and recharge are not just happier but also significantly more productive.

In fact, taking regular breaks can boost productivity by up to 31% and increase creativity by 50%.

Those are not marginal gains; they are fundamental advantages for anyone trying to do meaningful work.

At the neurological level, rest is even more critical.

Research from the University of California, San Francisco, shows that the brain’s default mode network—the system responsible for imagination, future planning, and memory consolidation—is most active when we are resting, not when we are actively trying to solve problems.

In short, you are more likely to have a breakthrough idea while walking your dog than while staring at your project file at 11 PM.

We are intentional about protecting the space needed for real creativity to emerge, at a small studio.

In "The War on Focus," we talked about the dangers of digital dopamine hijacking our attention. Rest is one of the best defenses against that erosion of mental clarity.

Rest does not just improve how you feel; it improves how you think.

Well-rested brains are more agile, better at emotional regulation, and more capable of making sound decisions.

An MIT study even finds that moments when you are nodding off are sweet spots for creativity. You become even more creative after waking from the earliest stage of sleep.

Companies that normalize healthy rest habits are seeing lower turnover rates too. Deloitte’s recent research highlights that businesses that prioritize employee well-being can reduce voluntary turnover by 50%.

Investing in rest is not just an act of kindness—it is a strategy for better work and stronger teams. We often treat rest as a luxury we can only afford once everything important is done. But rest is not the dessert after the main course of work; it is the essential ingredient that makes the work possible in the first place.

If you wait to rest until you are already depleted, you are not managing your energy—you are gambling with it.

What would happen if you started treating rest as a critical part of your workflow instead of an optional bonus?

Peace.

When people talk about mentorship, they often picture grand speeches, formal programs, and career-altering advice delivered across mahogany desks (the cliche).

In reality, the most transformative mentorships are much quieter. They happen in the cracks of everyday work, often without anyone labeling them as mentorship at all. Formal mentorship programs can sometimes feel stiff, like a networking event where everyone is trying too hard.

Meanwhile, real mentorship unfolds naturally in moments most people overlook—a quick comment on a draft, a casual suggestion after a meeting, a passing compliment that boosts someone's confidence right when they need it most.

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Meanwhile, real mentorship unfolds naturally in moments most people overlook—a quick comment on a draft, a casual suggestion after a meeting, a passing compliment that boosts someone's confidence right when they need it most.

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Research from Gartner shows that team members who have mentors are promoted five times more often than those who do not.

Interestingly, a study by Olivet Nazarene University revealed that over 61% of mentoring relationships form organically rather than through formal programs.

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61% of mentoring relationships form organically rather than through formal programs.

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This organic nature is what makes micro-mentorships so powerful. They fit seamlessly into the rhythm of real work and real life, making them more authentic and accessible.

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We see the effects of micro-mentorship daily, at a small studio.

Whether it is a design critique during office hours, a quick Slack exchange, or the collaborative spirit of a vibecheck, small moments of guidance are baked into how we work.You can see echoes of this approach in "Creative Confidence," where we explored how trust—not bravado—is the true engine of creative growth.

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Micro-mentorships succeed because they lower the stakes, allowing learning to happen without ego or performance pressure.

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They speed up development by providing immediate, practical feedback instead of waiting for a quarterly review. And they encourage a culture where everyone, no matter their title, can be both mentor and mentee. You do not need a formal title or program to be a mentor. See more on this is previous Ding article, “Anyone can be a mentor”.

You need presence, curiosity, and the willingness to share what you know when the opportunity arises. You also need to stay open to lessons arriving in casual, unexpected ways. The best career advice you ever receive might not come in a performance review.

It might come in a five-minute conversation after a meeting you almost skipped.

Where in your day could you start noticing the lessons that are quietly unfolding around you?

Peace.

Is it just me or has there been a huge uptick in the number of people decorating their homes in the past few years? Since the COVID-19 pandemic, something’s been different. People have realized the joy and peace of having a beautifully curated space.

This isn’t new to us, as creatives. We’ve always been inclined to decorate our spaces in ways that express our artistic interests. It seems the world finally realized how depressing four white walls and endless monotone furniture is once they were forced into the captivity of their homes for two years. The result? A maximalist decoration movement🪑.

Everything in art and design is reaction. Art history is just as much about the events of a time period as it is about the painting techniques. The Pop art of the 1960s was a direct reaction to what people felt was an elitism in abstract expressionism. Before that in the 1930s, Surrealism was a direct response to Rationalism and the horrors of World War I.

So what do our decoration trends and their increase in prevalence say about Gen Zs feelings on the pandemic?

It says: damn, those kids were really craving a space to make their own after being stuck at home for years. So much so, that they went out and stuck up anything and everything on their walls.

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It says: damn, those kids were really craving a space to make their own after being stuck at home for years.

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I was certainly feeling this and so were my apartment walls. I, along with many overzealous Gen Z decorators, found a love for surrounding ourselves with what makes us happy– “proper” decoration rules be damned.

As a creative, that’s meant somehow creating a space that encompasses my love for movies, anime, books, mid-century modern, cooking, plants, vinyl, and the refusal to use overhead lighting. It’s come a long way since I first inhabited it at the start of 2024, but at the end of the day, I’ve created a space that inspires me to create.

It’s not perfect, but it’s a place I love existing in. It’s hard to get into a state of unbounded creativity when your office is more reminiscent of a cubicle than a museum. So go design a space that inspires you. You likely do this for brands, clients, passion projects…why should your home be any different?
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So go design a space that inspires you.

It doesn’t have to be perfect. Like we said in the perfect flaw, “There will always be room for refinement. But perfect isn’t the destination—it’s the delay.” It might be intimidating to start, but as we know, most of the fun is in the process of creation or in this case, curation 🖼️🏠🌈.

Artificial intelligence is no longer a distant theory—it’s here, and we’re curiously experimenting with what it can and can’t do. It’s generating mood boards, sketching concepts, proposing copy, creating wireframes etc. These tools are fast, responsive, and oddly insightful. They offer suggestions you didn’t ask for and occasionally solve problems you didn’t know you had. But with all this new speed and power comes a quiet question: where does your instinct go?

Where does your instinct go?

Welcome to the age of algorithmic intuition.

The tools we use today—Midjourney, ChatGPT, DALL·E, Firefly,Manus—are changing our process. They generate ideas in seconds, often presenting us with dozens of options before some of us have even had our first coffee (mine are quite early). That sounds like a dream. But the more decisions a tool makes for you, the easier it becomes to lose track of your own taste. The risk isn’t laziness. It’s detachment. The work gets sleeker, faster, smarter—but does it still feel like yours?

The risk isn’t laziness. It’s detachment.

This is where intuition becomes essential. Algorithms are trained on history. Your instinct is tuned to the present. It’s what notices that a typeface feels too clinical, or a layout too polite. It’s what tells you when a concept is technically perfect but emotionally empty. AI can’t feel nuance, tension, discomfort, or resonance—but you can. And that’s what makes you irreplaceable.

In the article Creative Confidence, we wrote about trusting your process, especially when you’re unsure where it’s leading. In Small Wins, we reminded ourselves that progress is a daily practice, not an instant download. These moments of self-trust matter more now than ever. Because when you’re flooded with options, clarity is your greatest creative tool.

When you’re flooded with options, clarity is your greatest creative tool.

The trick isn’t to resist the algorithm. It’s to stay alert while using it. Let it stretch your thinking, but don’t let it override your judgment. Use it to explore, not to escape the harder parts of the work. Be suspicious of anything that feels too easy to say yes to. When a design pops up that’s "almost right," ask yourself why it still doesn’t feel like it belongs. That gap—that lingering feeling—is often where your best instincts live.

That gap—that lingering feeling—is often where your best instincts live.

And remember, intuition doesn’t mean working in isolation. It means knowing when to pause, when to question, and when to trust that quiet voice in your head that says, “try something else.” Because in a world increasingly optimized for efficiency, originality often shows up in the moments when we hesitate, reconsider, and go off-script. That’s where design still surprises us. That’s where you still matter most.

In a world increasingly optimized for efficiency, originality often shows up in the moments when we hesitate.

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Peace!

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“Done is better than perfect.” We’ve heard the phrase. We’ve probably said it. But living by it? That’s the real challenge. For years, design culture has quietly idolized perfectionism. Flawless decks. Pixel-perfect prototypes. Infinite iterations. The myth that great work must be pristine has not only slowed down creative momentum, it’s quietly burned out entire teams.

But something’s shifting.

More designers are stepping into a new way of working—one that values progress over polish, clarity over complexity, and impact over idealism. It’s the rise of post-perfectionism, and it’s saving our sanity.

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It’s the rise of post-perfectionism, and it’s saving our sanity.

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This isn’t a rejection of high standards. It’s a rejection of paralysis. Perfectionism, research shows, doesn’t actually improve outcomes—it delays them. The American Psychological Association links perfectionism to anxiety, depression, and chronic stress. Harvard Business Review notes that the most effective teams don’t obsess over doing things perfectly—they ship, they learn, they improve. In other words, “good enough” isn’t a cop-out—it’s a strategy.
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In other words, “good enough” isn’t a cop-out—it’s a strategy.

At a small studio, we’ve talked about this before. In Vulnerable Brilliance, we explored the value of showing up, even when things feel unfinished. In My Creative Marathon, we emphasized pace over perfection. These weren’t just feel-good ideas. They were design survival skills.

The post-perfectionism movement redefines what creative success looks like. It’s not about flawless first drafts—it’s about clear intentions, authentic voice, and the courage to stop tweaking. Strategic imperfection invites feedback. It leaves room for evolution. And most importantly, it lets us move forward. Because at some point, more revisions just become fear in disguise.

Because at some point, more revisions just become fear in disguise.

And there’s freedom in that. When we allow ourselves to be unfinished, we make room for other people to participate. We invite critique, conversation, collaboration. We let design breathe. The best work we’ve made as a team didn’t come from grinding alone—it came from releasing control, sharing early, and improving together.

There will always be room for refinement. But perfect isn’t the destination—it’s the delay. Let’s aim instead for real, thoughtful, and alive. Work that reflects the moment it was made in. Work that doesn’t wait to be flawless to matter.

Peace!

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When you start out in design, it’s natural to build what you know. What you like. What you’d use. You center yourself, your taste, your context—and that’s not wrong. But at some point, to create work that lasts, you have to get out of your own head.

The best design doesn’t reflect just you. It reflects the world.

The best design doesn’t reflect just you. It reflects the world. It moves with it, listens to it, grows from it. “Don’t build for you” isn’t about losing your voice—it’s about expanding it. It’s about crafting solutions with empathy, not ego. And that shift? It changes everything.

Self-referential work might win short-term praise. It might get you noticed. But timeless work—the kind that earns trust and stays relevant—comes from a place of humility. It starts by asking, “Who is this really for?” and letting that answer guide every choice.

“Who is this really for?” and letting that answer guide every choice.

We see this in branding. In Branding on Purpose, we shared how identity is not a mirror, but a bridge. It connects your values to your audience’s reality. Similarly, in Designed to Lead, we focused on clarity—not charisma—as the true foundation of influence. Both articles circle the same truth: when you stop creating for applause and start creating for service, your work levels up.

When you stop creating for applause and start creating for service, your work levels up.

Design that lasts isn’t always the flashiest. It’s often quiet. Functional. Subtle. Think of a subway map, a well-loved book cover, a classic pair of jeans. These aren’t about showing off—they’re about showing up. For people, over time. The more you study timeless design, the more you realize: relevance is a relationship, not a trend.

Relevance is a relationship, not a trend.

That kind of relevance requires curiosity. You have to want to know what matters to someone else. You have to listen more than you speak. That means putting down your preferences, resisting the urge to impress, and doing the slower work of observation. When you care about context as much as composition, you start designing with longevity in mind.

And here's the good news—designing for others doesn’t mean erasing yourself. It means evolving. Your voice becomes sharper, not softer. Your taste refines, not retreats. Because when your work is built on generosity, it doesn’t just stand out—it stands up.

When your work is built on generosity, it doesn’t just stand out—it stands up.

Peace!

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Thinking should be easy. After all, it's what our brains are built for. But in a world where decisions are made at the speed of a scroll and opinions are formed in the time it takes to read a headline, real thinking—the kind that refines, questions, and considers multiple perspectives—has become a lost art.

We're bombarded daily with information, arguments, and hot takes. Some are loud, some are persuasive, and some are designed to manipulate rather than inform. It's easier than ever to pick a side without truly understanding it, to react instead of reflect, to assume instead of analyze. But real clarity? That requires effort. It requires space. It requires thinking.

For us at a small studio, every design decision we make is rooted in Identity Architecture—a framework that forces us, and more importantly, our client-partners, to pause and reflect. We don't just build brands; we help shape how people see themselves and how they show up in the world. That kind of work demands authenticity, and authenticity doesn't come from impulse but from deep, intentional thinking.

Before any project launches into the world, we challenge our clients to ask:

What do we stand for?
Who are we speaking to?
What kind of impact do we want to have?

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It's not about just making something look good. It's about making something true.

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Identity Architecture reveals and delivers a creative operating system. It provides a structured way for our client-partners (and us) to evaluate decisions through three essential lenses:

Values: What do we believe in, and how does this choice align with that?
Anchors: What are the non-negotiables that keep us grounded?
Strengths: What unique qualities set us apart, and how can we lean into them?

When every decision passes through this matrix, clarity becomes second nature. Instead of being overwhelmed by endless possibilities or outside opinions, our clients can confidently decide and digest information with precision. It's not about making the "right" decision in the abstract—it's about making the right decision for them.

The ability to think critically has never been more crucial in our personal and professional lives. We live in an era of chaotic perspectives—divisiveness is profitable, outrage spreads faster than nuance, and the loudest voices often drown out the wisest ones. We risk letting the world think for us if we're not careful.

So, how do we cut through the noise?

1. Pause before deciding. Just because something feels true doesn't mean it is. Take a breath, sit with an idea, and give yourself time to process.
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2. Seek multiple perspectives. If everyone around you agrees, you're probably missing something. The best decisions come from a mix of viewpoints, not an echo chamber.
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3.Use a system.Without a structured way to evaluate choices, decision-making can feel chaotic. Identity Architecture offers a repeatable framework for weighing options clearly and effectively.
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4.Know what you stand for.When you're clear on your values, making choices that align with them is easier. Authenticity isn't a brand strategy—it's a way of moving through the world.

Thinking is a small thing to do, but it changes everything. It makes us better designers, better leaders, better humans. It allows us to create work that isn't just visually compelling but deeply meaningful. And in a world that thrives on distraction, making the effort to truly think? That might just be the most radical act of all.

Peace!

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Your smartphones now demand more attention than a toddler with a sugar rush. The battle for our focus has begun, and spoiler alert: most of us are losing gloriously.

Remember when "checking your messages" meant walking to the mailbox once a day? (I doubt you remember that.) Now, we peek at our mobile devices roughly 2,600 times daily—once every 33 seconds of waking life. We've developed what Linda Stone aptly termed "continuous partial attention"—a state where we're perpetually half-listening, half-reading, and wholly ineffective.

Our brains, those magnificent thinking machines that evolved over millennia to solve complex problems, have been reduced to notification-seeking missiles. Each ping delivers a tiny dopamine hit, and like lab rats pressing levers for treats, we've become conditioned to expect and crave these micro-distractions. The result? A collective inability to focus deeply on anything more substantial than a TikTok dance tutorial(eye roll).

You might think that constant task-switching makes you efficient. Wrong! It makes you the cognitive equivalent of a leaky faucet. Research from the University of London found that constant multitasking can lower your effective IQ by 10 points—roughly the same effect as missing an entire night's sleep. Congratulations, your "productive" multitasking habit has effectively turned you into a sleep-deprived zombie.

The costs extend beyond cognitive decline. There's the mounting psychological toll: increased stress levels as your brain struggles to keep up with information overload, anxiety from the fear of missing something important, and decision fatigue from the endless stream of micro-choices ("Should I respond to this now or later?").

When was the last time you had a genuinely original thought? Probably somewhere between "just checking email really quick" and "I'll just scroll for five minutes." Creativity doesn't thrive in fragmented attention; it requires mental white space—something increasingly endangered in our notification-saturated environment.

Creativity doesn't thrive in fragmented attention; it requires mental white space

Your brain isn't designed for constant stimulation but for rhythmic oscillation between focused attention and recovery. Research on ultradian rhythms suggests we naturally cycle through roughly 90-minute periods of peak focus, followed by shorter recovery periods. Fighting this natural rhythm is like swimming against the current—exhausting and ultimately futile.

The neurochemical star of this show is dopamine, which doesn't just reward us for achievement but, more insidiously, for seeking new information. This is why scrolling on Instagram feels irrationally good, even when nothing important comes from it. Your brain isn't rewarding the result; it's rewarding the hunt itself.

Flow state—that magical zone where work feels effortless and time disappears—requires at least 20 minutes of uninterrupted focus to initiate. With the average worker being interrupted every 11 minutes (and taking 23 minutes to fully refocus), genuine flow has become as rare as a distraction-free meeting.

Winning the Focus War: Practical Hacks

Digital Minimalism

Your smartphone doesn't need to be a 24/7 carnival of notifications. Try this radical concept: turn off every notification except calls and messages from actual humans who might need you. Your Instagram followers will survive without your immediate validation of their breakfast photography.

Batch process emails at designated times rather than responding to each one like it's an urgent telegram from the future. Remember: email is someone else's to-do list for you. Treat it accordingly.

Time Blocking

Stop treating your calendar like a suggestion and start treating it like a fortress. Block out deep work sessions—preferably following your natural energy peaks—and defend them with the ferocity of a medieval castle guard. "Sorry, can't make that meeting; I'll be having an intense relationship with my actual job" is a perfectly reasonable response.

Single-Tasking

Multitasking isn't an achievement; it's an admission of poor prioritization. Instead, embrace the revolutionary concept of doing one thing at a time, giving it your full attention, and then—hold onto your ergonomic chair—moving on to the next thing. Your prefrontal cortex will thank you by actually working properly.

The 5-Minute Rule

When facing a task you're avoiding, commit to just five minutes. The hardest part of any task is starting, and this micro-commitment bypasses your brain's resistance. Once momentum builds, continuing becomes surprisingly painless. It's like tricking your brain into productivity—which, let's be honest, sometimes needs a good bamboozling.

Environmental Design

Your workspace should be a temple to focus, not a shrine to distraction. This means no phone within arm's reach (studies show that even having it visible reduces cognitive capacity), a clean desk (visual clutter equals mental clutter), and ideally, some signal to coworkers that interrupting your flow will be met with consequences ranging from mild disappointment to elaborate revenge fantasies.

The modern workplace celebrates the appearance of productivity: endless hours, constant availability, and perpetual busyness. Yet history's greatest achievers—from Einstein to Hemingway—weren't known for their extensive hours but for their intensive focus.

The multitasking myth persists despite overwhelming evidence that humans perform terribly at it. Your brain doesn't actually multitask; it task-switches, which is about as efficient as constantly changing lanes in traffic—lots of movement, minimal progress, and increased risk of accidents.

The war on focus isn't just about productivity—it's about reclaiming your cognitive autonomy in an economy that profits from your distraction. Every notification ignored, every deep work session protected, and every single task completed with full attention is a small battle won in the larger campaign for your most precious resource: your mind.

So the next time you feel the magnetic pull of your phone or the siren song of your inbox, remember: you're not just deciding how to spend the next few minutes—you're deciding who controls your attention. And in the age of digital dopamine, that might be the most important decision you make all day

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Peace!

Digital design has been obsessed with getting things right for far too long—pixel-perfect grids, smooth gradients, rounded corners, and typography so meticulously kerned it could bring a typographer to tears. But lately, something’s changed. A new design movement is storming the web, breaking rules and questioning everything we thought was sacred.

Enter Brutalist and Anti-Design—two rebellious approaches throwing a wrench into the pristine, user-friendly world of digital interfaces. They reject perfection in favor of raw, unfiltered expression. Ugly? Sometimes. Hard to navigate? Often. But that’s precisely the point.

Brutalist design has nothing to do with being rude (unless you count aggressively bold typography). It takes inspiration from Brutalist architecture—think raw concrete, exposed beams, and a general "we don’t care if you think this is ugly" attitude. In digital spaces, it means stark contrasts, harsh edges, unstyled buttons, and an intentional lack of polish.

Remember Bloomberg’s 2016 site redesign? It was a shock to the system. Blocks of text, clashing colors, and layouts that felt like they were built on pure chaos. People hated it. People also couldn’t stop talking about it.

While Brutalism still technically follows the rules of usability, Anti-Design flips the whole table over. It thrives on discomfort—text that overlaps, misaligned elements, navigation that forces you to work to find what you’re looking for. It’s not about being user-friendly; it’s about making the user feel something.

A perfect example? Balenciaga’s website If you’ve ever visited, you probably wondered if you accidentally clicked a phishing link. It exemplifies Brutalist design with its minimalistic layouts, stark typography, and unpolished elements, reflecting the brand's bold and rebellious approach to fashion.

For years, digital design has followed the same formula. Clean, minimal, efficient. But when every brand starts looking the same, what’s left to stand out? Chaos. Aesthetic rebellion. The willingness to be wrong on purpose.

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Lately, brands and artists have been running full speed toward this new wave of design anarchy. Charli XCX’s 2024 album Brat embraced blurry Arial text and a highlighter-green background that practically vibrates. Former Vice President Kamala Harris’ Kamala HQ borrowed from Charli XCX to bridge a generational-divide, that created a cultural vibe that felt more meme than political campaign.

And then there’s Chappell Roan’s "Good Luck, Babe!" music video, which looks like it was made entirely in PowerPoint—with Comic Sans, watermarked clip art, and transitions so stiff they’d make a middle school slideshow jealous.

Jaguar's radical rebranding and the unveiling of the Type 00 concept car showcased a bold departure from traditional automotive design, embracing brutalist aesthetics to provoke and engage audiences.

Not everyone loves it. Critics argue that these approaches sacrifice usability, accessibility, and common decency. And to be fair, they’re not wrong—navigating an Anti-Design website can feel like an escape room with no clues. But for brands looking to shake things up, it’s a breath of fresh air.

If you’re designing a hospital website, maybe don’t embrace Brutalism. But if you’re working on a creative portfolio, an album cover, or a campaign meant to make people stop scrolling—this might be exactly what you need.

For years, we’ve been obsessed with making digital design easier. Maybe it’s time to make it more provoking.

Until next time—keep breaking things (intentionally).

Peace!

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You've heard the stories: the child prodigy who composed symphonies before learning to tie their shoes, the teenage tech genius who built an empire from their garage, the "natural" who seemed to master their craft without breaking a sweat. These tales of innate brilliance have shaped our understanding of genius for centuries. But they're missing the most fascinating part of the story:

True excellence isn't inherited—it's cultivated, nurtured, and sometimes painfully extracted from the depths of persistence.

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For every Mozart who burst onto the scene in diapers, there's a Bach who took the scenic route to greatness. We've all had our moments of stumbling and fumbling, and that's what makes the journey to excellence so relatable.

Most people don't wake up exceptional. They stumble, fumble, and eventually work their way into it, like trying to fold a fitted sheet—it takes practice, patience, and the willingness to look slightly ridiculous along the way.

In "Peak: Secrets from the New Science of Expertise," Anders Ericsson demolished the myth of natural talent through decades of research. His findings? The most accomplished individuals in any field aren't necessarily those with the highest innate abilities—they're the ones who engaged in deliberate practice with the stubbornness of a toddler refusing nap time.

Malcolm Gladwell popularized Ericsson's work in "Outliers," introducing the famous 10,000-hour rule. While the exact number might be debatable, the principle isn't: mastery takes time. Lots of it. And not just any time—focused, intentional, often uncomfortable time. It's the difference between playing piano for 10,000 hours and practicing deliberately for 10,000 hours. One makes you really good at playing the same mistakes; the other makes you exceptional.

Success doesn't come with an expiration date. Eric Yuan was just another tech guy at Cisco until he Zoomed into relevance at 41. Susan Boyle went from local choir singer to global sensation at 47, proving that raw talent has no shelf life. David Baszucki built Roblox at 41, giving kids (and let's be honest, plenty of adults) a whole new way to game. And Stan Lee? He didn't create the Marvel Universe until almost 40, showing that sometimes superpowers develop later in life.

Adam Grant's research in "Hidden Potential" reveals something fascinating: what truly sets high achievers apart isn't their initial talent, but their ability to leverage every opportunity for growth. The most successful people aren't necessarily the ones who showed early promise—they're the ones who mastered the art of turning setbacks into setups. Take Claude Monet—he didn't invent impressionism because he was born with a paintbrush in hand. He developed it through years of experimentation, failure, and a stubborn refusal to paint like everyone else.

Carol Dweck's research on growth mindset shows that our brains are more plastic than we thought. Intelligence isn't fixed—it's malleable like Play-Doh left in the sun. Every time you learn something new, your brain physically changes, creating new neural pathways. You're literally rewiring your brain through persistence, taking control of your growth and making yourself smarter through sheer stubbornness.

Angela Duckworth's work on grit adds another layer. In "Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance," she demonstrates that the ability to stick with something—even when it's hard, especially when it's hard—is a better predictor of success than raw talent.

It's not about being the smartest person in the room; it's about being the one who keeps showing up, day after day, with the determination of a toddler trying to open a closed door.

Excellence isn't a sprint—it's a creative marathon run in costume. It's messy, often unglamorous, and occasionally involves making a fool of yourself in public. But that's exactly what makes it accessible to anyone brave enough to try.

So if you're feeling behind or think you've missed your window of opportunity, take a deep breath. You're exactly where you need to be. Because the best time to start wasn't twenty years ago. It's now. Right now, while everyone else is waiting for their genius to manifest spontaneously. Your journey is unfolding at the perfect pace for you.

Remember: Mozart had a head start, but Bach had patience. And history remembers them both.

Keep going. Keep learning. Keep creating. The world needs more freaks of nurture—those wonderful oddballs who refuse to believe that excellence has an age limit or that mastery comes with an expiration date.

After all, the only real prodigies are the ones who never stop becoming who they might be.

Your time is coming. Actually, scratch that—your time is now.

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Peace!

For decades, we've placed intelligence on a pedestal so high it would give Everest an inferiority complex. High IQ was the golden ticket to success, the measure of human potential, and everything else was considered as substantial as a politician's campaign promise (let’s not dive into this). But let's face it: in today's world, where creativity flows like coffee in a tech startup, and collaboration is more essential than Wi-Fi, soft skills are the true superpower.

Think about it: solving complex problems is impressive, but can you navigate a conversation with your manager about why you deserve a raise without breaking into a cold sweat? You might have a mind brimming with brilliant ideas, but can you convince a room full of skeptics that your plan to revolutionize the company's design system isn't just another passing fancy?

In 1995, psychologist Daniel Goleman dropped a truth bomb that would reshape our understanding of intelligence. He proposed that the ability to understand and manage emotions wasn't just some touchy-feely concept invented by HR departments to justify team-building exercises. It was, in fact, just as crucial as IQ, if not more so.

This isn't just a nice-to-have feature for creative leaders. It's more like a beating heart; you're not going anywhere without it. Creativity doesn't flourish in a vacuum (though scientists might argue otherwise). It needs trust, vulnerability, and human connection, elements that require more emotional intelligence than solving a Rubik's cube blindfolded.

Goleman's research identified four fundamental domains of emotional intelligence;

Self-Awareness, the art of understanding your emotions and how they influence your decisions. It's like having a personal emotional GPS telling you why you're upset (feeling that emotion).

Self-Management, the ability to regulate your emotions under pressure. Think of it as your internal crisis manager, preventing you from sending that strongly-worded email at 3 AM (we've all been there).

Social Awareness follows, which is professional mind-reading minus the crystal ball. It's about practicing empathy and recognizing emotions in others, even when they're trying their best to hide them behind a "per my last email" facade.

Finally, Relationship Management is the grand glue that put it all together to build trust, navigate conflict, and inspire people. It's like being a conductor of an emotional orchestra, ensuring all the feelings play in harmony.

The professional landscape has been dramatically transformed.The traditional model, where raw intelligence, years of experience, and authority were the holy trinity of success, is becoming outdated.

Remote work has flipped emotional connections. Without those spontaneous water cooler conversations and in-person meetings, leaders with high EQ have become more valuable than reliable. They're the ones keeping teams engaged and connected.

Meanwhile, AI is automating hard skills faster than you can say "machine learning." But the kicker is: creativity and emotional intelligence remain stubbornly human traits. No matter how advanced AI becomes, it still can't truly empathize with humans' daily emotions and thoughts.

Unlike IQ, which is somewhat set from birth, EQ can be improved with practice. Thanks to neuroplasticity, the brain's ability to rewire itself based on repeated behaviors. In other words, what you do repeatedly becomes who you are.

Think of it like training a muscle. If you lift weights consistently, you get stronger. If you practice self-awareness, empathy, and emotional regulation, your brain forms stronger neural pathways that make these responses more natural over time.

Building EQ often feels uncomfortable at first. Why? Because it requires slowing down, reflecting, and unlearning old habits. If you're used to reacting immediately, pausing to consider someone else's emotions may feel unnatural. If you tend to avoid conflict, learning to navigate challenging conversations with empathy will push you outside your comfort zone. But just like any skill, the more you practice, the easier it gets.

If you want to strengthen your EQ, start here:

1. Listen like you mean it. Focus entirely on the speaker instead of mentally preparing your response. People can tell when you're truly present.
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2. Clarify before reacting. Before offering your opinion, reflect back what you heard: "So what I hear you saying is…" This builds understanding and prevents miscommunication.
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3. Ask better questions. Instead of jumping to solutions, ask, "How do you feel about this?" or "What do you need?" This shifts conversations from transactional to meaningful.
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4. Practice emotional regulation. When something frustrates you, take a breath before responding. Emotions are normal, but how you manage them defines your leadership.

This results in stronger relationships, better collaboration, and an increased ability to inspire and lead. EQ is a long-term investment in how you connect with the world around you.

Consider the best leader you've ever had. Now think about the worst one. The difference probably wasn't their ability to design with exception or recite company policies. It was likely their emotional intelligence or lack thereof.

A leader with high EQ creates an environment where people feel more valued. They understand that emotions are as contagious as a yawn in a meeting, and they use this knowledge to spread positivity rather than panic.

Our secret at a small studio is the ability to understand and connect with every team member, as humans first and employees second. Creating an environment where mistakes are learning opportunities, not career obituaries, and creativity flourishes because people feel safe enough to take risks.

The implications of enhanced emotional intelligence extend far beyond office walls and Zoom meetings. A society that values EQ creates stronger communities where understanding beats judgment, and empathy isn't just a buzzword in a corporate mission statement.

It fosters leadership that prioritizes long-term sustainability over short-term gains, and accountability over ego. When leaders truly understand the emotional impact of their decisions, they're more likely to consider the human and environmental costs of their actions.

The Future is Feeling

Our world is becoming increasingly automated, but where your power and mine come in is, as humans, emotional intelligence. While hard skills might get you through the door, your soft skills will keep you in the room, help you read the room, and eventually own it.

The future belongs to those who can combine the processing power of IQ with the human touch of EQ.

At the end of the day, people don't remember what you did or said nearly as much as they remember how you made them feel. And that's something no algorithm can replicate.

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Peace!

The romance of the tortured artist has evolved from observation into aspiration, morphing from a description of creative struggles into a prescription for creative success. It's a peculiar transformation; what began as a documentation of artists' genuine hardships has become a blueprint emerging creatives feel compelled to follow.

Van Gogh didn't choose his psychological struggles. Frida Kahlo didn't elect to experience chronic pain. Yet somewhere along the way, our creative culture began to view their suffering not as obstacles they overcame to create but as essential ingredients of their genius. This misreading of history has led to a dangerous pattern: emerging artists unconsciously adopting destructive behaviors in the belief that they're following in the footsteps of the Masters.

The irony is stark. While the icons we reference were often creating despite their challenges, not because of them, today's creatives frequently seem to be manufacturing chaos, as if disorder were a necessary studio supply. We've turned suffering from a circumstance into a strategy.

Singer, Grimes (real name Claire Boucher) famously claimed to have been inspired by the 12th-century composer Hildegard Von Bingen, she locked herself away for 2 weeks, trying to do everything possible to actually go insane in order to make her ‘Visions’ album.

But here's what the research actually tells us about creativity and well-being:

Studies from the University of Kent have shown that positive mood increases creative problem-solving and cognitive flexibility. The Harvard Business Review reports that happiness raises worker productivity by 31%, with creative professionals showing even higher gains. Research published in the Creativity Research Journal demonstrates that regular exercise enhances creative thinking for hours afterward, with aerobic fitness being positively correlated with creative output.

Well-being doesn't dampen creativity – it amplifies it.

Let's even consider sleep for a moment. While we romanticize the image of the artist working through the night, sleep deprivation actually impairs divergent thinking—the exact cognitive process crucial for creative work. The American Academy of Sleep Medicine has found that good sleep hygiene significantly improves novel problem-solving abilities.

Meditation and mindfulness, practices that reduce chaos rather than court it, have been shown to enhance creative thinking. A study in Frontiers in Psychology found that even brief meditation sessions can lead to better creative performance. The calm mind, it turns out, is better at making unexpected connections than the tortured one.

Yet our creative culture continues to perpetuate this myth of necessary suffering. We see it in how we talk about the creative process ("bleeding onto the page"), in how we structure creative work (all-nighters as badges of honor), and in how we celebrate creative achievements (often focusing on the struggle rather than the strategy).

This unconscious embrace of the tortured artist archetype manifests in subtle ways. For example, creatives who feel guilty about taking breaks view their anxiety as a creative fuel they dare not quench and wear their exhaustion as a badge of authenticity. We've created a culture where taking care of oneself is somehow seen as less committed to the craft.

What if the great artists of the past created not because of their suffering but despite it?

But what if we've been reading the historical evidence backwards? What if the great artists of the past created not because of their suffering but despite it? What if their work was great not because they suffered, but because they found ways to channel their unavoidable pain into something meaningful?

The truth is that many of history's most prolific creators also had strong self-care practices. Mozart was known to be an avid billiards player, finding relaxation and social connection in the game. Dickens took long walks through London, often covering miles a day, crediting these walks with keeping his creativity flowing. Georgia O'Keeffe maintained a disciplined lifestyle that included healthy eating and regular exercise well into her later years.

Contemporary neuroscience supports what these artists intuited: the brain's default mode network (crucial for creativity) functions best when we alternate between focused work and genuine rest. The constant stress of manufactured chaos inhibits the cognitive processes we're trying to enhance.

It's time for a new creative culture, which is very much what we are building at a small studio. One that recognizes that well-being isn't the enemy of creativity but its foundation. One that understands that routine, health, and stability don't dampen the creative fire – they give it the oxygen it needs to burn brighter and longer.

Well-being isn't the enemy of creativity but its foundation

Our dedication to this new creative culture is constantly being displayed by the existence of this medium, the incredible projects delivered by our interns; Creative Check-up, and our open invitation for creatives to connect with us, because we know for sure that it is an industry of anxiety.

Your creativity doesn't need your suffering. It needs your clarity, energy, and presence. Most importantly, it needs you to be well enough to show up for it day after day, year after year.

Your creativity doesn't need your suffering. It needs your clarity, energy, and presence.

The next generation of great creativity won't come from those who best perform the role of the tortured artist. It will come from those who dare to be well, who have the courage to care for themselves, who understand that creativity flourishes not in chaos but in the fertile soil of a healthy mind and body.

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Give yourself some grace. And the words of the Man at the Garden, Kendrick Lamar;

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You deserve it all!

"Greatness is in the agency of others."

I don't know who said it first. I wish I knew because I'd thank them. This idea has rung true for me every day since I first heard it. Greatness isn't about one person, one idea, or one perspective. It happens when different minds come together, individual talents align, and trust allows something bigger to emerge.

That's precisely what a small studio has stood for since we started seven years ago. Creativity isn't a solo act; it's a symphony. My role has always felt like that of a conductor, not dictating every note but ensuring that when we play, we create something greater than the sum of its parts.

Building this team has been one of the greatest privileges of my life. Every person here brings their own sound, rhythm, and way of seeing the world. And yet, we're always on the same wavelength. Without forcing it, we sync. It's always so harmonious; sometimes, it feels other-worldly.

Everyone at a small studio passes the vibecheck. There's an unspoken understanding, a shared rhythm that keeps everything moving. We all play with full authority, unrestrained and uninterrupted. And still, every note, every detail, every idea fits into a composition that moves. Our client-partners feel it. They don't just see our work; they experience it. They hear the rhythm we create, and it resonates.

We've shared a few editions of Ding! about our culture and why it works. About how we find our flow (Find Your Vibe), how we listen to each other (Active Listening), how we collaborate (The Creative Assist), and how we embrace a bold generation to do their best work (Is Gen-Z Lazy?). Each of these pieces speaks to what makes us who we are; why, regardless of our differences, we create in perfect sync.

Despite our different strengths, we always seem to read from the same manuscript. The vision is clear. The destination is composed. Ultimately, we create something that brings peace to us and the partners we collaborate with.

I couldn't be prouder of this team. Every single person, every single note, has mattered. It's been an honor to compose alongside you.

We're about to deliver our best piece for peace this year, and I can't wait!

✌🏾

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Picture your organization as a boat navigating unpredictable waters. The structure—your strategies, goals, and processes—might be expertly crafted, but the crew and their shared understanding keep it moving forward through calm and storm alike. That shared understanding? It’s your culture.

Culture is your compass, guiding decisions. It’s the sails that catch opportunity and the anchor that steadies you when challenges arise. Without it, even the most sophisticated boat can drift aimlessly or struggle to stay afloat in a shifting body of water.

The phrase “culture eats strategy for breakfast” isn’t just a clever saying; it’s the truth. Strategy sets the course, but culture determines how the journey unfolds. Bain & Company reports that nearly 70% of business leaders view culture as their most significant competitive advantage. Forbes found that companies with strong, intentional cultures grow revenue four times faster than their peers. These organizations innovate better, attract top talent, and inspire loyalty.

I’ve seen this firsthand. Building a culture that emphasizes collaboration, trust, and empathy doesn’t just make work more productive—it makes it meaningful.

A well-designed culture doesn’t happen by accident. It requires intentionality and the willingness to reflect, refine, and invest in what truly matters.

Culture isn’t a catchy slogan stitched onto your sails or the glossy paint on your boat—it’s what happens below deck. It’s visible in how you celebrate wins, manage setbacks, and communicate under pressure. It’s shaped by your organization’s purpose, values, and people.

As Tahir Qazi once said, “A company’s culture is not created arbitrarily but emerges from its unique existence.”

To build something enduring, you have to start with clarity. What do you stand for? What do you prioritize? What’s your North Star?

At the studio, we focus on practices that reflect our values and set the tone for how we work together. Here are a few:

1. Vibechecks: Weekly team gatherings to align and recalibrate. A shared moment to define how we want to work and support each other for the week.
2. Autonomy: Micromanagement has no place here. We trust our team to own their work, which fosters creativity and accountability.
3. Empathy: People come first. Always. This means celebrating wins, offering support when challenges arise, and making space for life outside work.
4. Radical Transparency: Collaboration thrives when everyone has access to the same information. Open communication and shared goals keep us aligned.

These aren’t extras—they’re the foundation for everything we do.

Every great boat needs a North Star. A purpose-driven culture connects your team to something bigger than profit, creating a shared sense of meaning and direction.

As Rodolphe Durand and Ioannis Ioannou put it, “Companies may profess a commitment to purpose, but without a supportive culture aligned to that purpose, employees won’t be supported to enact shared values in their work.”

Purpose transforms a corporate statement into a lived reality. But alignment between purpose and culture doesn’t happen on its own. This belief inspired us to develop Identity Architecture—our trademarked framework that delivers a creative operating system that helps organizations define their values, strengths, and identity statement. It provides a solid foundation for building an authentic, long-term culture that drives performance and sparks creativity.

Culture starts at the top. Captains don’t just issue commands; they set the tone and lead by example.

Culture starts at the top. Captains don’t just issue commands; they set the tone and lead by example. McKinsey’s research on cultural transformation emphasizes action:

“Don’t just tell—show. Don’t assign—enroll.”

Leaders must model the values they want to see. Empathy, accountability, and transparency aren’t just buzzwords—they’re behaviors that need to be visible every day. Through Identity Architecture, organizations can uncover the key cultural strengths and growth areas that empower leaders to act with intention and authenticity.

A strong culture also requires a growth mindset. Leaders who embrace curiosity and experimentation, create environments where progress is celebrated, not perfection. This fosters innovation and builds resilience, two traits essential for navigating a changing body of water.

Building culture isn’t a one-time effort. Like maintaining a boat, it requires regular attention, reflection, and adjustment.

Building culture isn’t a one-time effort. Like maintaining a boat, it requires regular attention, reflection, and adjustment. Practices like vibechecks and open communication ensure that teams remain aligned and adaptable.

For organizations ready to dive deeper, Identity Architecture helps uncover the unique rhythms and values that inform their culture. It’s not about copying trends or mimicking competitors—it’s about building something authentic that supports long-term success.

Culture is the wind in your sails; it’s the system that keeps your boat moving forward. It shapes how you navigate challenges, celebrate wins, and inspire your crew to stay the course. With the right tools and intentionality, you can build a culture that doesn’t just survive but thrives.

Define your values. Align your actions. Invest in empathy and trust. When culture takes the helm, there’s no limit to where your organization can go.

Until next time, stay focused, stay curious, and keep building something meaningful.

The word confidence often conjures images of boldness, certainty, and bravado—a performer center stage, fearless and captivating. But the root of the word tells a quieter, more profound story. Derived from the Latin confidere, it means "to trust," while creativity comes from creare, "to make, bring into being." Together, creative confidence isn't about ego or perfection. It's about trusting oneself to bring something new into existence, even when the outcome is uncertain.

Just a few days ago, as we reflected on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s legacy, his life offered a powerful example of creative confidence in action. Dr. King trusted his vision of equality and justice, even when the odds were overwhelmingly against him.

Consider his decision to write and deliver the now-iconic "I Have a Dream" speech during the 1963 March on Washington. King faced immense pressure—political tensions were high, and countless voices critiquing his approach to civil rights were present. Yet, despite the uncertainty and the weight of expectation, he trusted his ability to craft a message that would resonate deeply.

Many don't know that Dr. King improvised part of his famous speech. The line "I have a dream" wasn't in the original draft. In a moment of inspiration, he pivoted from his prepared remarks and spoke from his heart. That act of creative trust—rooted in years of preparation and unwavering belief in his message—changed the course of history.

Dr. King improvised part of his famous speech. The line "I have a dream" wasn't in the original draft.

Dr. King's story reminds us that confidence isn't about the absence of doubt or fear. It's about trusting your voice, even when the stakes are high, and believing your contribution can create meaningful change.

Emerging and seasoned creatives often misunderstand confidence as an innate, unshakable trait when it's actually a practice. True confidence is not about knowing all the answers; it's about trusting your process and showing up authentically—even when doubt creeps in.

This distinction is crucial in today's AI-driven creative landscape. As tools like generative AI become increasingly capable of automating tasks, it's easy to feel threatened, even obsolete. After all, who can compete with software that drafts ideas in seconds or polishes visuals with pinpoint accuracy? But here's the secret: authenticity, intuition, and the messy brilliance of the human touch remain irreplaceable. AI may optimize creativity, but it cannot originate the soul of it. Confidence in your unique perspective is what keeps your work distinct and relevant.

Authenticity, intuition, and the messy brilliance of the human touch remain irreplaceable.

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For emerging creatives, building confidence can feel like standing at the bottom of a mountain, gazing up. You may wonder, "Do I belong here? Is my voice enough?" But confidence grows in action, not stillness. Share your ideas, seek feedback, and embrace imperfection. Remember that creativity thrives in vulnerability—when you risk being wrong, you unlock your potential to create something truly original.

For seasoned creatives, confidence isn't static. Even with experience, impostor syndrome can knock on the door. The solution? Continual learning and adaptability. Challenge yourself to collaborate with others, explore unfamiliar mediums, or even mentor those just starting out. In sharing your knowledge, you'll reaffirm your value while empowering others to find their footing.

The rapid evolution of AI highlights a crucial truth: skills alone won't safeguard a creative career. Authority and authenticity (which comes from clarity) will. Clients, collaborators, and audiences crave voices they can trust—not only for technical expertise but for insight, storytelling, and connection.
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Skills alone won't safeguard a creative career. Authority and authenticity will.

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2025, is a pivotal moment for creatives to reclaim their voices and redefine confidence. While barriers to entry have fallen, the deluge of content demands discernment. Creatives who step forward with authority, offering depth and authenticity, will set themselves apart from the noise.

At a small studio, creative confidence is woven into every aspect of our culture. When hiring, we look beyond portfolios and technical skills, seeking individuals who trust their instincts and approach challenges with curiosity. In mentoring, we empower emerging creatives to own their unique perspectives, helping them understand that doubt is part of the process—not a sign of failure.

Collaborating with corporate partners, we bring our confidence to the table, not as arrogance but as quiet trust in our ability to deliver innovative and meaningful solutions. This approach has allowed us to foster relationships built on respect and mutual understanding—essentials for long-term success.

Let this be the year we honor the sanctity of craft and the sanity of creators. The world needs voices willing to trust their instincts, to challenge the status quo, and to create with conviction. Creative confidence is a practice—an ongoing trust in our ability to bring new ideas into being, no matter how uncertain the path.

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Creative confidence is a practice—an ongoing trust in our ability to bring new ideas into being, no matter how uncertain the path.

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To all creatives, whether you're just starting or redefining your place in the field, know this: Your voice matters. Trust it. Amplify it. And most importantly, show up with authenticity at every opportunity. Because creativity, at its core, is an act of faith—in ourselves, our craft, and the infinite possibilities waiting to be made real.

Peace!

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Happy New Year! 🛎️ As we step into 2025, let’s talk about resolutions. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming big—“new year, new me” has a nice ring to it. But what if we told you that the real magic doesn’t come from radical transformation, but from the quiet power of small, intentional actions every single day?

Simon Sinek, in The Infinite Game, points out that success isn’t about winning—it’s about making consistent contributions toward progress. Success doesn’t need to be showy or instant. It’s the result of small efforts, repeated over time, stacking like bricks to form a foundation of growth.

Stephanie Harrison, author of The New Happy and a frequent collaborator with a small studio, echoes this beautifully. She challenges the belief that we’re static beings—just one version of ourselves. Instead, she suggests we’re in constant evolution, molded by our experiences and daily actions. The secret is to embrace this transformation and recognize the value of small steps that shape who we are.

The science is clear: tiny, consistent actions build momentum and lead to lasting change. Research from Harvard Business School’s Teresa Amabile revealed that small, daily progress boosts motivation and happiness. In her Progress Principle study, Amabile found that when individuals see evidence of incremental achievements—no matter how small—they experience an emotional uplift that drives them to keep going. It’s not about perfection; it’s about persistence.
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It’s not about perfection; it’s about persistence.

Another study from the University of California showed that gratitude exercises, like sending a kind text or reflecting on positive moments, measurably improve emotional well-being and relationships. Small actions ripple outward, creating compounding benefits over time.

Take Jerry Seinfeld, for example, who famously credits his success to a simple habit: writing jokes every day. He once shared his secret to productivity with a young comedian: get a wall calendar and mark off a big red X for every day you accomplish your goal. “After a few days, you’ll have a chain,” he explained. “Just keep at it and the chain will grow longer every day. Your only job is not to break the chain.”

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“After a few days, you’ll have a chain, just keep at it and the chain will grow longer every day. Your only job is not to break the chain.”

This habit didn’t rely on grand leaps of creativity but on small, steady actions that compounded over time. Seinfeld’s daily commitment to writing jokes—good, bad, or in between—helped him build one of the most successful comedic careers of all time.

This philosophy of intentionality isn’t just something we admire—it’s woven into how we work. At a small studio, we created Identity Architecture to help individuals and organizations uncover who they are and who they aspire to become. It’s not a one-time discovery—it’s a daily practice, and why we often refer to our output as a Creative Operating System, which continues to evolve, but has foundational principles.

Identity Architecture is rooted in the idea that meaningful change happens incrementally. It invites people to reflect on their values, strengths, and impact as individuals and as a collective. Whether it’s the simple act of writing 100 words, taking 15 minutes to explore a design trend, or reaching out to someone you care about, these seemingly small actions define who we are.

Success isn't a single monumental leap.

As we move through 2025, let’s remember: success isn’t a single, monumental leap. It’s a series of steps—a quiet text to a friend, a longer hug, or five extra minutes of research on a topic you love. These actions may feel insignificant in isolation, but they’re anything but. They’re the seeds of transformation.

This year, we’re leaning into the philosophy of small wins. Not just as individuals, but as a studio. Each tiny effort contributes to a bigger picture, shaping the stories we tell, the identities we design, and the peace we strive to create.

So, take a small step today. Your future self is already grateful. And here’s the best part—you don’t have to do it alone. We’re right here with you, cheering you on.

Here’s to a year of intentional actions and compounded outcomes!

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If you’ve ever used a computer, you probably know what Ctrl_Z does (chill, Mac users, we know). For those who don’t, Ctrl_Z is a shortcut to undo your last action on most programs. It might just be as satisfying as using an eraser.

Sadly, in today’s marketplace, the creative industry is hitting Ctrl_Z on the next generation of talent.

With layoffs continuing regularly, we’re running out of that eraser. Soon, the paper is going to rip, and we’ll be left with a talent shortage.

After moving back to Cleveland in 2021, I realized the stark contrast between West Coast design talent and that of my hometown. Honestly, I wasn’t impressed with much coming out of the major corporations or agencies. It was hard for me to come to terms with this. However, as I slowly integrated into the design ecosystem, I found that older professionals had opportunities to showcase themselves, but emerging creatives were left to fend for themselves.

Panel after panel after panel… after panel (stop doing panels, people, I beg you), it was always the same thing: older professionals telling a crowd of younger ones what they should do. Honestly, most of the panelists had no idea what they were talking about and zero experience outside Cleveland. I digress.

Maybe I’m biased, but I don’t want to hear from the current regime. I want to hear from the next regime.

I want to know about the technology they love, the trends they find interesting, and how they see the world. In my last article, Is Gen Z Lazy, or Are You Just Basic?, I wrote about how impressed I am with this emerging generation.

For these reasons, we started Ctrl_Z to simply showcase the next generation of designers in Cleveland. Nothing more, nothing less. Why? Because it makes sense.

We partnered with AIGA Cleveland, which is led by Gen Z and has student chapters at the Cleveland Institute of Art, Kent State University, and Cleveland State University. It was a no-brainer to make it an open showcase for anyone in that generation. No competition, no judges, no red tape. Hopefully, this becomes more common.

This has been a beautiful way to wrap up an incredible year. Without the next generation Jake Lawall, Ella Choi, Sarah Cantor, Kyra Wells, Lauren Zawie, Audrey Pierson, Alex Miller, and all the creatives who submitted to the showcase this year none of this would be possible.

Thank you for being new.

Cleveland. To many, its name carries an air of misunderstood charm, if you know, you know. Since I met John, the Principal of a small studio, he has extolled his home city and its virtues. According to him, the world has overlooked this city's boundless potential and has been sleeping on all the incredible opportunities it offers.

Intrigued and perhaps skeptical (of his love and unending admiration for the 216), I packed my bags last week, left London behind, and crossed the Atlantic to experience and explore Cleveland, once more.

I found a city brimming with inspiration, resilience, and a surprising knack for embedding itself into your soul.

For me, the Cleveland experience started at the Gratitude Breakfast hosted by Stella Maris. I wasn't entirely prepared for how profoundly moving it would be. In that room, surrounded by people who had turned their lives around through connection and support, I felt a wave of humility. Their stories were raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. It was a vivid reminder of why an organization like Stella Maris is a lifeline and demonstrates how collaboration can rebirth a person, and in turn the community.

Then, we switched to work mode, presenting to the leadership team of one of the United States' most esteemed behavioral healthcare organizations. For over seven decades, they've been trailblazers in their field, yet when we revealed their Identity Narrative, it was as if they were seeing their reflection for the first time. Watching their faces light up as their story took on new clarity was deeply gratifying. It was a testament to the power of a small studio's creative operating system, Identity Architecture. That moment was a great reminder that the right visual and verbal identity can bring renewed purpose to even the most storied institutions.

The right visual and verbal identity can bring renewed purpose to even the most storied institutions.

I then met with Michael, a visionary partner spearheading a real estate revolution across the Great Lakes region. If you've seen Patina, you'll know what I mean when I say his ambition is nothing short of extraordinary. As we delved into his vision for the region, it was clear that Cleveland isn't just rebuilding; it's rethinking how cities, and individuals can thrive. Asides meeting Michael, I got to connect with Gavin, someone who has known John, all of his life, we toured the grounds of The iconic Westinghouse together, and I also enjoyed how Gavin teased John with warmth, admiration, and memories they made decades ago. It honestly made me regain an appreciation for anyone, and everyone who knew us growing up- the dynamics of the relationship is always so refreshing, because they are the ones who know how proud your younger-self would be of your current-self.

And not to forget the fact that I had a wonderful conversation with Adam, the founder Lounges, got a fresh-fade from him on the house, had an unbelievably fun photoshoot session, got exposed to artwork from emerging creatives across Cleveland, and got to record content with John too. All happened within the same space, it was like a Willy Wonka factory of intentional experiences. Now, I totally understand, why John favors the Lounges experience on certain days of the week. The spot is such a Vibe!

I also connected (in person) with the brilliant minds behind New Valley Labs, Dakota, and Rena. Over drinks, we traded dreams and ideas with the ease that comes from being among kindred spirits. They're not just fostering a startup ecosystem; they're really creating that "Greenhouse of a Founder revolution," which came out of our collaboration with them in rebuilding the identity of their company. Both founders are really reimagining how founders can be nurtured to grow on purpose. Their energy was contagious, their charm undeniable, and our conversations will likely echo in my mind for years to come.

Of course, no visit to Cleveland would be complete without exploring its cultural treasures. The Cleveland Museum of Art was breathtaking. Walking through the galleries, John and I wondered what artifacts our generation might leave behind. Will future museums showcase social media "tombstones," early iPhones, or even augmented reality relics? That playful speculation carried us through the exhibits, fueling conversations that seemed to stretch beyond time itself. We were lost in all the right moments of time.

Between meetings and musings, John made it his mission to show me the city's best coffee spots, too. According to him, Cleveland might just have the best coffee experience in the world (just kidding, he didn't say that), but I thoroughly enjoyed the endless caffeine-fueled conversations and experiences. Each café felt like a hidden gem, adding warmth and charm to what Cleveland represents.

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Throughout the trip, Kendrick Lamar's newly released album, GNX, was my soundtrack. Its layered beats and reflective lyrics seemed to align perfectly with Cleveland's rhythm. It turned every moment into something cinematic, whether I was presenting to a room full of executives, walking through an art gallery, or simply soaking in the city's energy.

As I write this back in London, it's clear this wasn't just a work trip. It was a far more profound mental and emotional nourishment that will shape a small studio's work in the coming months.
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In all its overlooked glory, Cleveland left a mark on me that I didn't expect.
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So, to John, thank you for being the most authentic host and ambassador Cleveland could ask for. You showed me a city full of promise, resilience, and an undeniable soul. And to Cleveland, thank you for being exactly what John said you'd be: a city with potential that feels like a secret you're lucky enough to uncover.

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✌🏽.

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Last week, I packed my bags, said goodbye to the East Coast, and flew solo to San Francisco to spend some face-to-face time with the Marketing UX Design Team at Niantic Labs! After years of collaborating remotely, finally working in person with the team was such a breath of fresh air—and let me tell you, their energy (and office) did not disappoint.

We believe that great design starts from a profound understanding of identity. That’s why we crafted our Identity Architecture framework and workshops that don’t tell you who you are (because no one really can) but introduce you to yourself with a refreshed perspective.

These workshops done in collaboration with large design teams, university students, founders etc. guide creative leaders to reflect on their deepest emotional-motivations to build what we fondly call a "creative operating system" for navigating life and work. After all, knowing what drives you is as essential as the work itself.

This philosophy and approach isn’t just a studio secret; it’s echoed in centuries of philosophical musings. David Hume, an 18th-century philosopher, famously claimed: “Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions.” To Hume, we are not purely rational beings moved by clear beliefs. Instead, emotions pull the strings, determining when we act, and when we don’t.

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Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions.

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Rodrigo Díaz, in his recent work “Do Moral Beliefs Motivate Action?”, dives deep into this debate. He asks: do we follow our moral compass because we believe it’s the right path, or do we follow it because our feelings push us? For instance, think of the subtle, everyday choice to check on a neighbor’s well-being. Is it because you rationally know community matters, or is it the warmth of empathy that drives you?

Díaz’s studies provide evidence with two powerful experiments. During COVID-19, he explored whether people adhered to health guidelines out of belief or emotion. Spoiler: emotions led the way. When moral beliefs and emotional responses were compared, only emotions held the significant motivational power.

A second study used the “Dictator Game,” where participants had to decide how to split raffle tickets in low-stakes (a chance to win £10) versus high-stakes (£300) scenarios. In low-stakes situations, reason played a larger role. But when the stakes climbed, emotions took the wheel, leaving moral reasoning as little more than an adviser.

Díaz’s findings hint at a truth many of us feel but rarely admit:

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While we like to imagine ourselves as rational architects of our actions, our feelings often steer the ship, especially when the waves get rough.

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This doesn’t mean beliefs are empty words. They are the framework, but it’s our emotional energy that fills them with life.

During Identity Architecture workshops, participants often experience a range of emotions, from exhilaration to deep introspection, gaining unprecedented clarity about themselves. This journey unveils the raw truth: most designers pour an immense amount of emotion into their work—it’s often deeply personal.

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Understanding these emotional roots helps them harness their passion in a way that aligns with their values and serves their partners(clients) with greater authenticity.

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In the end, this process confirms why having a creative operating system grounded in clear values is crucial. It ensures that when emotions inevitably take the wheel, they’re driving toward a purpose aligned with who we want to be. It’s a testament to our humanity: we aren’t just machines of reason.

We’re beings moved by both the gentle nudge of belief and the powerful push of feelings(passions). And that’s what makes us not only relatable but resilient, serving with heart and intention.
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If you made it this far, you should sign up for our next Identity Architecture Workshop→ to unlock what makes you tick.

Inspired by Big Think→
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NB: The image featured in this Ding Article was created with AI.

I remember my first days as a creative professional. Freshman year of college, sitting in architecture studio with about a hundred other students, our professor told us bluntly that half of us wouldn’t make it through the year. And by graduation, that number had shrunk even more. Those intense college years have a way of staying with you. I still wake up some nights with my heart racing, thinking I’m minutes from a critique with an unfinished project. Waking up in cold sweats, out of breath, heart racing. The dread, fear, and anxiety—that stuff sticks.

Am I alone in this consistent dream?

But here’s the thing: it shouldn’t have to be this way. It’s frustrating to think that so many of us come out of school already conditioned to feel anxious. And now, fifteen years later, as I work with more and more young creatives, I see it all the time. The pressure is real—constant deadlines, client feedback that’s hard to pin down, competition with peers, worrying about job security.

Anxiety is baked into our industry!

Some people will say, “That’s just how it is.” But is that good enough? I don’t think so. When I look at how this industry works, I see anxiety driving much of it. It’s become part of the creative world’s culture, shaping how we work, how we view ourselves, and ultimately, how we handle our mental health.

It took me years of conversations with other creatives and countless replays of Inside Out 2 with my two-year-old to really see this. Whether it’s young designers starting out, seasoned pros, or clients managing huge budgets, there’s a common thread: anxiety.

Think about it. Anxiety, by definition, is “intense, excessive, and persistent worry about everyday situations.” Sound familiar? In architecture school, we had critiques 3 times a week. Now, in the industry, we’re evaluated by managers, clients, and colleagues daily. The pressure never really eases up, and this isn’t just “paying your dues.” We’re facing real, measurable fallout from this stress:

• 70% of media, marketing, and creative professionals experienced burnout in the last year, according to the 2024 Mentally Healthy Survey. In that same survey, young professionals under 30 report some of the highest levels of anxiety and depression, driving even higher burnout rates.

• 71% of agency workers felt burned out, with 65% saying their mental health declined because of work stress, according to a 2021 survey by The Drum.

I keep asking myself: why do we just accept this as “normal”? Yes, we could chalk it up to capitalism, but that’s the easy way out. Here’s the hard truth: if I burn out, that’s on me. Why? Because we all have some level of control over where we work, who we work with, and how we engage in this industry. But college didn’t teach me that.
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Instead, we were trained to follow orders or risk failure. We paid for the privilege of doing whatever the professor—i.e. the client—said. That might work in school, but it’s no way to build a sustainable career.

It’s time to make it plain for everyone to hear…anxiety and burnout are related. Surprise surprise! Below are five perspectives to showcase how anxiety feeds into burnout, and why it’s so common in creative fields:

• Anxiety fuels burnout. It drives us to meet deadlines, strive for perfection, and avoid mistakes at all costs. This “fight-or-flight” mode drains us over time, leading to burnout.

• Anxiety keeps us working too much. To avoid criticism, we work longer hours, avoid delegating, and pile on projects. This creates a vicious cycle that pushes us faster toward burnout.

• Anxiety and burnout create exhaustion. Anxiety drains us through constant worry, while burnout saps us through prolonged overwork. Together, they leave us mentally and emotionally exhausted.

• Anxiety makes recovery harder. Even when we see burnout coming, anxiety stops us from taking a break. We worry about letting people down or missing out on opportunities, which keeps us in the burnout loop.

• Anxiety drains creativity. It feeds self-doubt and perfectionism, while burnout saps our motivation. Together, they make it hard to create, innovate, or even feel inspired.

Understanding the link between anxiety and burnout reveals how they perpetuate a cycle that’s hard to break in creative industries. Recognizing this, we can understand why some see design as becoming a commodity, or why Gen-Z, often labeled “lazy,” might actually be on to something. Stephanie Harrison’s New Happy may indeed be what we need right now.

So, what can you do? This might sound tough, but here it is:
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‍Take control of your creative health. The industry doesn’t define your well-being—you do.

No deadline or project is worth your mental health. If a role or environment feels off, it probably is. You have a responsibility to protect your creativity and well-being, even when it means pushing back against what’s “normal.”

You deserve a career that respects your mind and nurtures your creativity. Start demanding that respect now—from professors, bosses, and clients. If you don’t, anxiety will take the wheel, and burnout will be right around the corner. But if you take steps to protect your mental health, set boundaries, and work with people who value you, you’ll build a career that’s sustainable, fulfilling, and creatively rich.
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Your creativity is one of a kind. Only you can bring it to life. Protect it, nourish it, and don’t let this industry’s culture of anxiety erode what makes you, you. ‍
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The cycle can end with us. Let’s make sure this industry empowers creativity instead of burning it to ashes.

If you are an advocate for creative health, we want to work with you. Let’s talk.

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I remember my early days as a creative professional, sitting in an architecture studio surrounded by the nervous energy of peers, all tense and wide-eyed as we heard that not all of us would make it through the year. Those moments carved a groove of anxiety that stayed with me, surfacing sometimes in late-night jolts, heartbeat quickening at the memory of unfinished work and relentless critiques.

But today, this anxiety isn't just personal or professional; it’s collective.

The United States has just navigated another seismic election cycle, and the results have left many waking in the same cold sweats I know so well.

For countless individuals—immigrants, LGBTQ+ communities, women seeking bodily autonomy, and those who live with the reality of systemic bias—uncertainty can grip like a vice. The fear of what’s next hangs heavy in the air.

Yet, this shouldn't be the way we exist. It shouldn’t be normal that national moments leave us on the edge of breathlessness, as if waiting for a critique that could define our futures. Just as I saw the creative industry conditioned to accept anxiety as a given, we as a nation have internalized this worry as the price of living through tumultuous times.

Anxiety, by definition, is “intense, excessive, and persistent worry about everyday situations.” And right now, that rings familiar, doesn't it? It reflects not just in the professional world or college memories, but in our living rooms, on our news feeds, and in whispered conversations.

Here’s where we stand, with some eye-opening data that might resonate:

• 70% of media and creative professionals reported burnout last year, echoing broader public sentiment, as per the 2024 Mentally Healthy Survey.
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• In surveys of younger adults, many indicate that societal anxiety contributes to both their professional and personal stress.
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• 71% of agency workers felt their mental health decline due to workplace stress in past years—a mirror to national trends exacerbated by political and social turbulence.

This perpetual cycle isn't just “paying our dues”; it’s a clear sign we need change. As individuals, we have the power to reclaim some control. This isn’t a naive declaration that everything can be changed overnight or solely by our will. But in the face of an anxious society, we have choices: to breathe deeply, to pause, to reclaim how we approach the future with curiosity, grace, and intention.

Five Perspectives on Navigating a Nation of Anxiety:

• Anxiety feeds fatigue. When driven by worry, we may find ourselves in a constant state of vigilance that drains us over time.
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• It fosters overreaction. To quiet our fears, we might make quick decisions without the space for thoughtful reflection.
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• It stifles collective progress. Persistent worry discourages innovation and breeds mistrust.
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• Recovery feels daunting. Even when seeking solace, anxiety whispers that rest is a luxury we can’t afford.
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• It erodes resilience. Anxiety chips away at the creativity needed for collective solutions.

We don’t have to surrender to this narrative. What does this mean in practical terms?

Take that deep breath. Assess your reality not just through the lens of fear but curiosity. Embrace grace as you encounter differing perspectives and seek out allies committed to a kinder future.

We have the responsibility, as creatives, citizens, and humans, to demand better—for ourselves and each other. Anxiety may be baked into the present, but our response can shape the future. Let’s insist on that deep exhale. The world, and our individual creativity, need it.

If you are struggling with anxiety as a creative, feel free to reach out for how we can support here.

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Breathe in…and then breathe out. That moment of pause is akin to the Japanese design philosophy of Ma- a design concept rooted in Zen Buddhism and Japanese culture, that transcends minimalism to create beauty and meaning through deliberate use of empty space.  

The Ma aesthetic is an ancient one, which represents the spaces between, enhancing rather than diminishing what’s there. Like the interlude in a song or silence in a conversation, Ma creates room to breathe, reflect, and appreciate.

The kanji character for Ma (間) combines the symbols for "gate" (門) and "sun" (日), visually representing sunlight streaming through a gate: a momentary glimpse that captures the essence of transient beauty. This imagery encapsulates the idea that Ma is about the intervals that allow for moments of reflection and appreciation.

Ma emphasizes the idea of “in-betweenness,” the value of what’s not explicitly present. It’s seen in the spaces within temples, the rhythm in Japanese poetry, and the structure of Japanese rooms that use sliding panels to create versatile, open layouts.

Ma invites mindfulness and intentionality, reminding us that design is as much about the spaces we leave untouched as the ones we fill.

Whether it’s fashion, interiors, or digital interfaces, Ma is about the art of subtraction, making the remaining elements resonate powerfully.

In today’s visually overloaded world, Ma brings a refreshing counterpoint. It's the touch that turns simplicity into sophistication. Brands and creatives leverage Ma to evoke calm, clarity, and elegance, fostering a sense of completeness with less. Here’s how it unfolds across different design landscapes:

• Fashion: Japanese designers like Issey Miyake and Yohji Yamamoto are masters of Ma. Their work often incorporates voluminous shapes and negative space, letting fabric and form breathe. It’s no accident that their designs feel both minimal and deeply expressive; each piece communicates a quiet luxury where less truly becomes more.
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• Digital Design: Apple’s interface design is a shining example of Ma in the digital realm. With generous white space around icons and a clean, uncluttered UI, the brand invites users to navigate with ease and intention. This strategic simplicity fosters focus, making each interaction feel meaningful and elegant.
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• Illustration and Graphic Design: Ma is not just about empty space but deliberate placement, too. Look to Muji’s packaging design: simple, unadorned yet full of quiet sophistication. By giving each element space, the design allows consumers to focus on the essentials, evoking a sense of calm and order.
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• Furniture Design: Furniture Design:Ma shines in the aesthetic of Scandinavian brand Muuto. Through embracing space, silence, subtle color palettes, and clean lines. Each piece by Muuto is crafted to honor both its functional purpose and the empty space. It's about creating furniture that feels spacious, grounded, and intuitively welcoming.

Embracing Ma requires a shift in perspective: it’s about creating space, not filling it. Whether you're designing a brand or organizing your workspace, think of Ma as the air that breathes life into form. Imagine your work as a conversation where silence plays as much a role as the words spoken.

Ma invites us to approach our creative processes with intention, leaving room for interpretation and experience. It’s more than just a design principle; it’s a reminder to pause, reflect, and embrace the beauty of what lies between.

Identity Architecture is a small studio’s manifestation of Ma, as a deliberate pause to gain clarity of identity for individuals and organizations. We have just concluded a new identity work that epitomizes the thought-process of Ma, and we will be sharing it with you soon.

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A powerful distinction often goes unnoticed in our creative world: the difference between a "vitamin" and a "painkiller." This little mental shift can redefine your value to partners and turn your work from transactional to transformational. Think of it this way: Are you offering something that's a nice-to-have, or something they simply can't live without? Let's explore this idea a little more.

Let's be honest; vitamins are great; they keep you healthy and add that little spring to your step, but they are also notoriously easy to forget. How often have you stared at a bottle of multivitamins, shrugged, and said, "Eh, I'll remember tomorrow"? That's precisely how your work is perceived if it's seen as just adding some flair. It's beneficial, sure, but easily deferrable. If your partner doesn't feel the urgency, your dazzling design or strategic touch might be left in the proverbial medicine cabinet; nice, but not critical.

Imagine a partner who wants to "freshen up" their website. They think, "Let's make it look nice, add some shiny graphics. "That's vitamin thinking; good for long-term health, but they could live without it. But if you point out that their outdated site is losing customers daily because people can't navigate it (ouch, the pain!), suddenly, your redesign is no longer just a nice add-on. It's a pain killer. The kind they needed yesterday.

Painkillers are absolute necessities. If you've got a splitting headache, you won't say, "I'll deal with this next week." No, you need that painkiller now. It's the same with creative work. The secret is showing your partners how you can solve their urgent, can't-sleep-at-night kind of problems. Whether it's cutting through a cluttered market, nailing brand resonance, or getting them out of a sticky identity crisis, you're not just a nice embellishment; you're the answer to their current agony.

For example, your partner thinks they need a new logo. They need a redefined brand that helps their customers connect with them on a deeper level. A shiny logo might look great (yay, vitamins!), but without a deeper strategy, it's just that; a logo. However, a visual and verbal identity that authentically resonates? That's the kind of stuff that makes headaches go away. You're not just putting a band-aid on the symptom but eliminating the cause.

Your partners may walk in saying, "We need a fresh campaign." But it's your job to dig deeper and ask, "Why?" Maybe they need to gain traction, their competitors are pulling ahead, or their messaging is about as clear as a foggy windshield. You need to diagnose the real problem, not just treat the symptom. When you do this, you're no longer seen as just another service provider; you're the one who truly understands their needs; the one administering the cure they didn't even know they needed.

To be a painkiller, empathy is critical. You must understand what keeps your partners tossing and turning at night.

When you actively listen and demonstrate how your work directly solves those sleepless nights, things shift from transactional to transformational.

If your partners ask for a flashy video, and you realize they need a consistent brand story that emotionally connects with their audience, deliver that more profound solution. They'll see you as indispensable, not just someone who followed orders.

Take, for instance, a partner who says, "We want more engagement on social media." Instead of serving up a graphic (vitamin), dig deeper; maybe their brand voice is inconsistent, or the content doesn't meet their target audience's needs. By offering a strategy that resonates and connects, you're giving them the painkiller, a solution that cuts right to the root of their struggle.

Here's a good rule of thumb: after a project wraps, if your partner can clearly articulate what's different, tangible growth, clearer messaging, and increased engagement, you've successfully delivered a painkiller. But if they shrug and say,"Well, it looks better,I guess" you've handed them a vitamin. The difference is in how you solve problems and how visible that impact is.

Don't let your work be forgettable. Make it vital, make it transformative. You're not just adding a garnish to their business; you're helping them move forward, solve real problems, and find clarity and purpose.

Be the painkiller, not the vitamin.

Because when you're the painkiller, your partners will never forget to come back for their dose. Next time you're working on a brief, ask yourself: am I just making this pretty, or am I genuinely solving their deepest pains? Make it the latter, and your partners will keep coming back, not because they should, but because they absolutely need to.

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Painkiller, anyone?

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Ps: The podcast version was created using Google's NotebookLM

Not your typical studio—no walls, no beams.

We left architecture behind to build on dreams.

It’s not just business; it’s bigger than that,

A place where purpose and peace have a chat.

We don’t follow the rules, we’re a radical tribe,

Where brands drop the mask and find their vibe.

A space for those who crave something real,

Where design isn't just made—it's felt, it's healed.

If you’re looking for labels, you won’t find them here,

Just people, their stories, their voice in mirror.

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I’m an identity architect—that’s my lane,

Not just design, but the soul of the game.

Helping brands strip back to what’s real,

Identity work you can actually feel.

In a world that’s copy-paste, all the same,

Identity’s the one thing we refuse to tame.

It’s not about trends or the next big wave,

It’s about digging deep, finding the brave.

It’s uncovering the story beneath the noise,

And giving that story its own voice.

Because in a world that never slows,

Only the real ones keep their glow.

Here, identity’s more than a name,

It’s a compass, a light, it’s fuel for the flame.

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And Troy—he was there from day one,

His passion, his skills, baked into everything we’ve done.

That smirk of his? Yeah, it’s still around,

In every new idea, every way we break ground.

He’s the vibe check when things get unclear,

That voice saying, “Look closer, it’s right here.

”It’s not just design; it’s trust, it’s grit,

A journey we took, lesson by lesson, bit by bit.

His mark lives on in every brand we mold,

In every gap we close, every story told.

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But life doesn’t play by the rules—

Back in Cleveland, feeling the pull.

Came back to the streets that built me up,

But now I’ve got new stories, new stuff.

Those roads I knew like the back of my hand?

Now they echo, like ghosts in the land.

I’m not the same, I’ve outgrown the past,

A stranger here, but I’m holding fast.

Trying to plant what I’ve learned, what I know,

In a city that shaped me, but feels too slow.

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Cancer hit, but the studio couldn’t wait—

Clients, projects, dreams at stake.

I led through the treatments, through endless nights,

Guiding my team while waging my fight.

Every setback a test of faith and will,

Yet we pushed forward, even when money stood still.

I showed up for them, as they did for me,

Holding onto the vision, refusing to flee.

Because even in the darkest of days,

This studio was my reason, my light, my way.

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And through it all, one constant stayed,

My wife, my rock, in the hardest days.

She held me up when I felt small,

Her strength and grace guiding it all.

A partner, my right hand, steady and true,

Building this dream as much as I do.

Sarah, you stood with me when the world fell apart,

Held my fears, my hopes, my fragile heart.

In every battle, you were my calm, my fight,

My anchor in darkness, my beacon of light.

Without you, none of this would be,

This studio, this life—our shared legacy.

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Today the legacy is built on gratitude, not fear,

Thanking God every day that I’m still here!

In an industry that's too fat, too safe, too stale.

They sell fast and cheap, while creativity’s in the pale.

No time to pause. No patience for a mirror.

We won’t just do it, our mantra is clear.

This studio’s proof that peace is power,

That clarity can rise in the darkest hour.

We’ve got your back when they shut the door,

When the world feels heavy, and you can’t take anymore.

Calling all the radicals, far-reaching and thorough,

Bringing peace today and tomorrow.

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Welcome to the dark side, where your designs shine a little brighter. Dark mode is the sleek, casually rebellious cousin of the traditional bright, airy user interface. What started as a feature for night owls and developers burning the midnight oil has become a design staple for nearly everyone, especially the younger generation. If you’ve spent time on Twitter (now X), Instagram, or TikTok, you’ve probably noticed one thing, the platforms are catering more to their Gen Z audience with dark mode, and they’re not switching back anytime soon. And if you ask any of the gifted Gen Z designers at a small studio, all of them are permanently in dark mode across devices.

For designers, this shift isn’t just a trend, it’s a tectonic move in how we need to approach our craft.

Let’s explore why Gen Z has made dark mode their default and what brands should consider when deciding if it’s time to embrace the dark side.

Gen Z, the digital natives who were practically raised with a screen in hand, view dark mode as the norm. In fact, research shows that over 80% of Gen Z users stick to dark mode once they’ve switched, hardly looking back. But why?

1. Eye Comfort and Health: Dark mode is easier on the eyes, especially in low-light settings. With Gen Z spending upwards of 10 hours a day across devices, the reduced strain dark mode offers can make a noticeable difference. The harsh glare of a white background can cause discomfort, especially at night, when many of us are doom-scrolling in bed (you know who you are).
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2. Aesthetic Appeal: Gen Z’s design tastes lean towards the sleek and minimal, and dark mode perfectly fits this aesthetic. It’s modern, understated, and in many ways, more visually striking than traditional light themes. The contrast of bright colors, bold typography, and vibrant images against a dark background creates an undeniably cool vibe.
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3. Battery Efficiency: Battery life is another practical reason why Gen Z sticks with dark mode. On OLED screens, which are common in newer smartphones, dark mode can actually save battery by turning off the pixels in black areas. For a generation that’s constantly on the go, saving those precious extra minutes of battery life is a big deal.
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4. Feels Personal and Customizable: Dark mode, to many Gen Z users, feels more personal. It’s not just about aesthetics or battery life; it’s about having control over their experience. Customization is key to this generation, and choosing dark mode feels like a way to make their devices their own.

For designers and brands, dark mode isn’t just a passing phase, it’s a fundamental shift in how we approach UI/UX design. But jumping on the dark mode bandwagon isn’t as simple as flipping a color palette. Dark mode comes with its own set of challenges and opportunities.

In dark mode, contrast becomes the main player. Colors that pop on a light background can feel muted or muddy on a dark canvas. High contrast is essential for readability and accessibility, but it’s also key to making sure your designs remain visually striking. Consider how your brand colors interact with dark backgrounds.

If your palette relies heavily on dark tones, you may need to introduce lighter, brighter accents to maintain balance.

Certain colors, particularly mid-tones like grays and muted pastels, can lose their punch in dark mode. What might appear sleek and minimal in light mode can look dull and flat when placed against a dark background. Test your designs across light and dark modes to ensure your visuals don’t lose their impact.

Light-colored text on a dark background can feel like it’s jumping off the screen, which is great for making a bold statement, but it can quickly become overwhelming if not handled carefully. Go too light with the font weight, and readability suffers. Go too heavy, and the design feels clunky.
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Brands must strike the right balance in font weight and size to ensure text is readable and visually appealing.

In light mode, subtle shadows and gradients can add depth and nuance to a design. But in dark mode, these elements often disappear or feel out of place. Designers need to focus on flat designs, bold lines, and clean layouts to make the most out of dark mode. Depth is created more through contrast than visual effects like shadows.

Should Your Brand Go Dark?Now comes the million-dollar question: should your brand fully embrace dark mode? The answer is more nuanced than you might think.

1. Know Your Audience: Gen Z? Absolutely. If your brand is targeting younger, tech-savvy users, dark mode should definitely be on your radar. This generation not only prefers dark mode, they expect it. In fact, brands that don’t offer dark mode options can seem outdated or out of touch with their preferences.
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2. Consider the Experience: If your brand’s app or website involves long reading times or intensive visual engagement (think news apps, social media, or e-commerce platforms), dark mode can enhance user comfort and extend their browsing session. However, for brands that rely on highly detailed or brightly colored visuals, like fashion or food, you might need to carefully tweak your dark mode design to maintain vibrancy.
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3. Think About Your Brand Identity: Not all brands are a natural fit for dark mode. If your brand identity is rooted in light, bright, and airy aesthetics, fully embracing dark mode could feel inauthentic. However, offering it as an option, rather than the default, can be a way to please dark mode lovers without compromising your core brand look.
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4. Test, Adapt, and Test Again: The best designs are flexible. Just as we design responsive layouts for different devices, we need to design for different modes. That means testing your brand’s visual identity in both light and dark modes and adapting accordingly. The goal isn’t to create two separate experiences but a cohesive one that works seamlessly across both environments.

Dark mode is a shift in user behavior, and it’s here to stay.

Understanding why Gen Z has made dark mode their default for brands and designers is crucial in adapting your design strategy. Dark mode offers a way to create bold, modern experiences, but it also requires thoughtful execution to ensure your brand’s identity and message shine through.

As with any design decision, the key is balance. The dark side can be sleek, chic, and incredibly cool, but only if it’s done right. Just like Gen Z has chosen to stick with dark mode, your brand can thrive in it too with the right approach. You can know more about the Gen Z vibe, from our last article.

Ready to take your brand to the dark side with authenticity? We specialize in crafting experiences that work in light and the dark. Let’s start some small talk about a digital identity that shines, no matter the mode.

Oh Gen Z, what a beautiful title for such an eclectic collection of individuals. The last letter of the alphabet and the least common in our common English vocabulary. Coincidence? Never. Just like the English language the current state of our workforce is volatile and chaotic and just like the letter Z in Scrabble many industry leaders have struggled utilizing this incredible generation of talent. The question is why? I’d like to debunk this myth by sharing my experience building an international design agency with majority Gen Z employees.

Gen Z, also known as Digital Natives, Artivist (my favorite), and Zoomers (my least favorite), entered the workforce during the pandemic age. Let’s take a moment and just feel that statement. I could not imagine starting my first job during a time when everyone was scared of each other, fighting for their lives, and taking meetings from the bedroom nightstand because their roommate called dibs on the couch. Let’s be honest, none of us would have survived our first job, if we got one at all. Sadly along with all of these, Gen Z is often labeled unprepared for work (whatever that means), entitled, poor work ethic, chronically ADD, difficult to work with, and disloyal. Is it me or does the business world say this about every new generation entering the workforce?

I am pretty sure I heard the same thing about Millenials when I entered the workforce following the housing crisis of 2008.

Shame. Shame. Shame. We have and always have had a responsibility to empower the following generations so that they can be better and better off than we were. However, it seems that the common narrative is to make them adapt to us rather than the other way around. To label a whole generation anything is more ridiculous than labeling a nationality anything. Yet another attempt to allow our small, sterile, and unimaginative minds to make sense of something that is beyond our control.

Ok, enough of my disdain for the traditional marketplace, here are three things you might be but Gen Z is definitely not.

Gen Z isn’t Disloyal, your vision is basic.‍

Gen Z is often labeled as “job hoppers,” but that’s because they’re not like older generations and have more job options than ever, whether working from their parents' basement or living in their cars. Let’s get real.

This perception of disloyalty stems from their high expectations for purpose-driven work and alignment with company values. Gen Z can spot BS from a mile away—they know if you’re building your business for yourself or to make the world better. Company values and vision matter now more than ever; Gen Z won’t compromise their principles for a paycheck. According to a Deloitte study, over 70% of Gen Z would quit if their work lacked meaning or didn’t align with their values. So, if your Gen Z employees are leaving, it’s either because you deceived them or your values shifted.

With a basic vision, why would the most technically capable generation work for you when they can go anywhere else?

To illustrate, I hired a Gen Z designer in late 2021 after sorting through over 500 applications. Shortly after, she told me, “John, I’m never leaving. a small studio is the place I always dreamed of creating. I thought I’d have to build it myself!” And guess what? She’s still here, often repeating that sentiment. Why? Who knows—maybe she’ll write an article about it (wink wink). I’m just glad to share a story about a 24-year-old who felt this way.

Gen Z isn’t lazy or entitled, your leadership is.

2020 forced us to realize how unsustainable and unhealthy our work lives were. Cue the Great Resignation, when people finally said, "Nope, my health matters more than your endless grind." Now Gen Z gets ridiculed for learning that lesson—how dare they prioritize mental health over 12-hour workdays and chasing pointless promotions? Shame on them for not wanting to spend hours commuting just to sit next to Bob, the guy who clips his nails at his desk, or for expecting employers to care about their well-being in a world where mental illness and suicide rates are skyrocketing.

It’s not laziness; it’s a shift toward healthier, smarter work practices.

For too long, business leaders have equated success with profit margins alone. Gen Z is pushing for a new definition of leadership, and if you don’t adapt, you’ll miss out on the best talent of a whole generation.

Take my experience at a small studio: I realized middle management was unnecessary, a roadblock. So, I let my employees work directly with clients. The result? A 23-year-old led our most successful branding project—completed faster, better, and with less management than ever before. Why? Because I trusted him. Then, another younger employee, inspired by the work, created one of our first animated case studies. She did it because she was empowered, not micromanaged.

So, if you think Gen Z is lazy or entitled, ask yourself: Are you a lazy or entitled leader?

Gen Z isn’t chronically ADD, your meetings are unnecessary.

I get it—every time I see a group of youths (yep, that’s what I call them) recording a TikTok in a parking lot, I can’t help but wonder why that’s their focus. But let’s be real: Gen Z has an attention span of 8 seconds compared to millennials’ 12. That’s a third of their focus gone. Business leaders, take note: PowerPoint isn’t your friend here. Just don’t.

Now, a shorter attention span doesn’t mean Gen Z can’t focus. It means they process info faster and tune out what they deem unnecessary. If your Gen Z employees aren’t paying attention to your presentation, it’s because they’ve either already figured it out or don’t find it relevant.

Are you still presenting like it’s 2004? It’s time to change your approach.

The necessity of meetings today is up for debate. But trust me, Gen Z would rather be doing something else. That’s why we keep meetings minimal at a small studio. Unless your meeting sparks creativity, cultivates collaboration, or strengthens relationships, it’s probably not worth the time. Do everyone a favor—send an email or, better yet, a Slack message.

At a small studio, we kick off Mondays with a 45-60 minute “Vibe Check.” It’s exactly what it sounds like—an opportunity to catch up, set the tone for the week, and share the energy we want to bring into our projects. The first 10 minutes? Squirrel time—talk about life, news, whatever. Then, we listen to a song that sets the vibe for the week and discuss it. The insights are always thought-provoking (because why not? We’re a creative agency). We close by reviewing client work and internal projects, giving everyone a chance to share concerns and stay aligned.

It’s not just about productivity—it’s about engagement.

Throughout the week, we hold a 60-minute gathering called Office Hours. It’s optional, but no one ever misses it. Instead of endless check-ins for each project, we’ve consolidated them into one space where anyone can get immediate feedback. It also allows the whole team to see the work, improving its quality through collective input. A perfect environment to nurture young talent.

These are just a few ways a small studio has not only embraced Gen Z but thrived along side of them. I’m sharing them to empower Gen Z creatives who might feel like they don’t belong or are not enough. There are places out there that value you, and leaders willing to create spaces where you can thrive. If you can’t find them, shoot me an email —I’ll help you. Regardless, don’t give up. We need you, Artivist.

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With the latest design rebrand making the news, the quiet power of the design trend labelled The Balenciaga Effect rears its head once more. Aptly named after the luxury fashion house's surprising move to a stripped-back logo in 2017, the trend has sparked a wave of brands embracing minimalist, classic aesthetics. This trend isn't just about sleek visuals; it's a return to heritage and authenticity (of sorts), signaling a brand's core identity in an increasingly cluttered world.

When Balenciaga revealed its Helvetica-esque logo, inspired by the clarity of public transportation signage, it caught the industry off guard. Known for its avant-garde designs, Balenciaga's choice to pare down seemed almost rebellious against the loud, maximalist trends of the time. Yet this decision was no accident. The logo's simplicity allowed Balenciaga to cut through the noise with clarity and sophistication, setting the stage for a broader shift in the design world.

Burberry, another storied luxury brand, followed suit, ditching its intricate knight-and-banner crest for a streamlined sans-serif logo. The redesign, driven by new creative leadership, signaled both modernity and a return to Burberry's roots. By removing visual complexity, Burberry highlighted its legacy while modernizing its identity for a new generation of consumers.

Similarly, Balmain embraced this minimalist trend by simplifying its iconic monogram. Known for its dramatic, high-fashion designs, the brand scaled back its logo in favor of a refined, geometric look that still exudes luxury, but in a way that feels more timeless and approachable.

At first glance, "Who's there?" seems like a simple question. But when Hamlet's guard opens the famous play with this line, it sets the stage for a deeper exploration that resonates with each of us centuries later. Hamlet's journey is more than just about avenging his father's death; it's about the tug-of-war between societal expectations and personal Identity.

This is where we all enter the scene. Because, in some way or another, we've all asked ourselves, "Who am I supposed to be?" and "Who do I want to be?"

For us at a small studio, these questions are the very foundation of our work. When we talk about Identity Architecture for our client partners, we're not just talking about colors, logos, and typography (though those are vital, of course). We're talking about the core of a brand. Its story. Its why. It's not unlike Shakespeare's Denmark, filled with ambition, love, betrayal, and, ultimately, the search for something more profound.

Back in Hamlet's day (and for the thousands of years before it), someone else would have defined the answer to that question: society, the church, the king.

Our ancestors lived through the lens of the collective, with their Identity shaped by external forces, rather than individual introspection.

But fast forward to today, and the paradigm has flipped. Now, in our main-character-energy, hyper-individualized world, we look inward, trying to define "me" in a way that feels true yet connects with the external world. This balancing act is what makes Identity Architecture so crucial in today's business landscape.

We empower founders, and teams to answer, "Who's there?" for themselves and their brands by first helping them look inward and understand the values, purpose, and story that makes them tick.

Like Hamlet, they have to confront their own conflicts: who are they versus who the world wants them to be?

But here's the twist: Your Identity doesn't stop with "you." It's not just about your internal musings or existential crises. It's also about how you engage with others; your clients, your team, your community.

Psychiatrist Dan Siegel puts it beautifully:

"The brain is a social organ, made to be in a relationship."

Like Siegel's description of the mind, our identities are shaped as much by our relationships with others as by our internal thought processes. A brand, therefore, isn't just a standalone entity, in our opinion it's a living system that thrives on interaction, conversation, and empathy.

This is why we provide a creative operating system for our partners to ensure they do not operate as islands. They are empowered to know what to let in and keep out while maintaining an identity that is distinct yet connected to the world around them.

In today's world, the brands that resonate aren't the loudest or the trendiest. They're the ones who can step into the shoes of others and understand their customers, their competitors, and themselves. This is where empathy becomes a superpower. According to social theorist Jeremy Rifkin;

Empathy isn't just good PR; it's a business strategy. Brands that cultivate empathy internally (think a supportive team culture) and externally (create products that matter to people) are the ones that not only survive but thrive.

Our mission with Identity Architecture is to empower our client partners toward becoming "one of none"; unique, irreplaceable, the Hamlet of their category. How? By designing their Identity in a way that empowers them to stay true to who they are, while also embracing the dynamic, ever-shifting world around them. We ask the tough questions. We dive deep into their "why." And, yes, we help them see beyond just the logo, fancy colors, and tagline to the real heart of their brand.

Because, at the end of the day, the world doesn't need another cookie-cutter brand; it requires authenticity. And when you figure that out, you won't have to wonder, "Who's there?" anymore.

Inspired by Sam Chaltain’s Nature’s Design Principles→

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Have you ever worked on a project where everything just clicked? Where you and your team moved in sync, like the gears of a well-oiled machine? That, is chemistry, a magical but genuine connection between people that can turn a good idea into a great project.

Chemistry isn't just about romantic sparks or lifelong friendships. It's about finding the right fit, whether it's a team member, client, or partner, who elevates your game and multiplies the odds of success. It's when working together feels as natural as breathing that creativity and productivity grow exponentially.

In the 58th edition of Ding, which we titled; Beauty Bias, we were buzzin because we had a particular client-partner that we had incredible chemistry with, and the result of that project "Patina" which we foreshadowed in the article speaks for itself. Patina was a delight to name, and eventually translate into a visual brand identity across touchpoints. It was pure chemistry from the get Go, with our client-partner.

Honestly, Chemistry isn't just poetic language. It's backed by research. Studies in neuroscience have shown that when we engage in positive, collaborative efforts, our brains release oxytocin; the bonding hormone. Oxytocin fosters trust, empathy, and cooperation, making it easier to work through problems and innovate together.

Basically, it's the brain's way of saying, "This is working. Keep going."

Further, research on teams by Google (famously called "Project Aristotle") found that psychological safety- knowing you can express ideas, take risks, and admit mistakes without fear was the number one factor in high-performing teams. When we click with others, that sense of safety and trust skyrockets, allowing us to do our best work without hesitation.

Think about some of the most successful creative partnerships. From Lennon and McCartney's iconic music to Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak's technological revolution at Apple, chemistry was the key to their magic. Their complementary skills and mutual respect elevated their work beyond what they could have achieved alone.

This same principle applies to you, whether you're hunting for the perfect collaborator or client. It's not just about what they bring to the table; it's about how your combined energy transforms the work. Chemistry allows you to go beyond the expected and reach that sweet spot of collaboration where 1 + 1 equals 10.

How to Find Your Chemistry Match

1. Be Yourself: Authenticity is a magnet for the right people. Whether you're looking for a client who shares your design philosophy or a team member who vibes with your workflow, showing up as your authentic self creates the opportunity for genuine connections. Chemistry happens when people feel they can be real around each other.
2. Ask the Right Questions: Whether in a job interview or a first client meeting, skip the cookie-cutter questions. Get to the heart of what makes the other person tick. What motivates them? How do they approach collaboration? You'll quickly see if there's a spark; an alignment of values, goals, or vision that suggests you'll work well together.
3. Pay Attention to Energy: Have you ever had a meeting where the energy just drags despite everyone's best intentions? Conversely, you've probably had conversations where the ideas bounce effortlessly back and forth. That's chemistry or the lack of it in action. Pay attention to those energy shifts. Feeling the energy lift is a good sign you've found someone worth partnering with.

The beauty of chemistry is that it isn't just about instant connections; it can be nurtured. Trust, after all, isn't built in a day. Here are a few tips to build and strengthen chemistry over time:

• Over-Communicate: In both creative partnerships and personal relationships, clear communication is essential. Don't assume the other person knows what you're thinking; share it.
• Celebrate Wins Together: Small or big, success is best when shared. Celebrating milestones with your team or client deepens bonds and reinforces the sense that you're in this together.
• Stay Curious: Ask questions. Not just about work but about who your partner is as a person. Genuine curiosity breeds trust, and trust is the bedrock of chemistry.

In creative partnerships, we often get caught up in finding the "perfect" person who ticks all the skill boxes. But here's a little secret:

Chemistry beats perfection. The right fit is someone whose energy elevates yours, whose ideas inspire you, and who makes work feel less like a grind and more like magic.

If you're a creative looking for that partner, whether it's a business collaborator, a team member, or a client, focus on chemistry. When the connection is right, everything else falls into place, multiplying your odds of success in ways you didn't even imagine.

And trust me, once you've experienced that chemistry, you'll never settle for anything less.

Go find your alchemy partner in love and work. Because with the right person by your side, the odds of success are infinitely multiplied.

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"Less is more." It’s not just a minimalist mantra; it’s the secret sauce for a more productive, happier, and creative workforce. And guess what? The four-day workweek is leading the charge. Once a fringe idea, the concept of working fewer days is now making headlines worldwide, and for good reason. Companies that have embraced this model are not just surviving; they're thriving. So, let’s dive into the why and how of this revolutionary approach.

The Science Checks Out

If you’re skeptical about shaving off a workday, the numbers might convince you otherwise. In 2022, a massive trial in the UK involving 61 companies and almost 3,000 employees found that a four-day workweek led to a remarkable 71% drop in burnout levels. Productivity didn’t just hold steady; it improved by 1.4% across the board. Employees reported feeling more balanced, engaged, and—this is the clincher—creative.

New Zealand’s Perpetual Guardian, a financial services company, reported a 20% increase in productivity after switching to a four-day workweek, with staff stress levels dropping from 45% to 38%. Even more impressive, Microsoft Japan saw a whopping 40% increase in productivity during a month-long trial in 2019.

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Why Creatives Benefit the Most

Creatives are a unique breed. We thrive on inspiration, spontaneity, and the occasional squirrel moment. The rigid 9-to-5, five-days-a-week structure? Not so much. Creativity doesn’t punch a time clock, and sometimes the best ideas come when we’re not at our desks.

The four-day workweek gives creatives the freedom to breathe, explore, and recharge. With that extra day off, we’re more likely to stumble upon the next big idea while hiking a trail, binge-watching an artfully designed show, or even doodling in a coffee shop. Those “Eureka!” moments don’t follow a schedule, but they’re more likely to appear when our minds are rested and our stress levels are low.

The Small Studio Way: Fridays Are For Freedom

At a small studio, we’ve taken the four-day workweek and sprinkled in our own brand of magic. Fridays? They’re not for work. Instead, they’re for planning, playing, and decompressing. It’s the day we give ourselves permission to step away from the grind and lean into whatever makes us feel alive. Want to jam on a personal project? Go for it. Feel like heading to a museum or catching up on the latest design trends? That’s encouraged. Need to just...do nothing? Absolutely valid.

This freedom fuels our creativity and keeps burnout at bay.

By the time Monday rolls around, we’re not dragging our feet back to our desks. We’re excited to dive into new projects, refreshed and recharged from a weekend that feels just a bit longer and a lot more fulfilling.

What the Future Holds

As more companies around the globe embrace the four-day workweek, it’s clear that this isn’t just a passing trend. It’s a shift in how we think about work, productivity, and, most importantly, well-being. The data doesn’t lie: happier, healthier employees produce better work. And for creatives, the benefits are even more pronounced.

So, if you’re in the position to advocate for a four-day workweek, do it. Your team will thank you, your clients will notice the difference, and you’ll likely find yourself wondering why we didn’t make this shift sooner.

Remember, four is enough. It’s not about working less; it’s about working smarter and living better. And who wouldn’t want that?

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We believe that saying "No" is more than just a word—it's a thoughtfully designed expression that shapes the quality of our work and defines our essence. It's a complete sentence that allows us to remain true to our values, creativity, and commitment to excellence. This isn't about being selective for the sake of it; it's about honoring the integrity of our craft and the people who make it possible. Here are a few reasons why we have said "No" over the years.

Vibes Matter

The creative process is deeply personal. It's an alchemy of ideas, emotions, and collaborative energy. At the core of this process is a fundamental truth: creativity flourishes in an environment where trust, respect, and shared vision thrive. That's why we fiercely protect the vibes we cultivate at a small studio. If a potential partner or collaborator doesn't align with our values, if they don't share our passion for creativity, we do not force it, we say "No"—plain and simple.

The right vibes are non-negotiable. We're not just here to deliver design solutions but to create something extraordinary. If a client doesn't appreciate the depth and value of creative work, it's a clear signal that we're not the right fit for each other. Our work is an extension of who we are and an extensive understanding of who our partners are, too, so we refuse to compromise when there's inauthenticity.

Time is an Investment

Time is the most precious resource we all have, and we believe in investing it wisely. Collaboration isn't a one-way street; it requires dedication, communication, and a willingness to engage deeply with the creative process. When potential partners are unwilling to commit the necessary time to collaborate meaningfully, we know it's time to have a conversation (meaningfully).

Our projects aren't just transactions; they're transformational partnerships.

We thrive when our partners are as invested in the process as we are. It's not just about the final product but the journey we take together to reach it. If that journey isn't valued, the work will inevitably fall short of its potential, and that's something we simply won't accept.

Respect is Essential

We operate on a foundation of mutual respect. Every member of our team brings their unique gifts, perspectives, and passion to the table. Creativity can only flourish in an environment where everyone feels valued and respected. This is why we have zero tolerance for rudeness or impoliteness.

We've turned down projects with lucrative budgets because the clients didn't respect the people doing the work. For us, no amount of money is worth compromising the dignity and well-being of our team. When we say "No" to disrespectful clients, we're not just protecting our team; we're setting a standard for the kind of relationships we want to build—ones based on trust, empathy, and mutual appreciation.

Beyond the Paycheck

The allure of a hefty paycheck is undeniable, but we look beyond the numbers. We choose to partner with people who share our vision for creating work that matters. We're in this for more than just the money; we're here to make an impact, to push the boundaries of what design can do, and to work on projects that challenge us to be better.

Saying "No" to projects that don't align with our values isn't always easy, but it's essential. It's how we maintain the integrity of our work and ensure that every project we take on is one we're proud to stand behind. When we choose to partner with someone, it's because we believe in their vision and see the potential for something extraordinary.

We're not just vendors; we're partners, and that's a role we take seriously.

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Excellence is Our Standard

Excellence isn't just a goal; it's our standard. We hold ourselves to a high bar, and we expect the same from our partners. If a project doesn't have the potential to meet that standard, we'd rather not take it on. We're not in the business of doing work that's merely good enough—we're here to create work that's exceptional, work that stands the test of time.

This commitment to excellence is why we're so selective with our partners. We know that not every client or project will be the right fit, and that's okay. We'd rather say "No" and maintain our standards than compromise on the quality of our work. Our clients trust us to deliver the best, and we honor that trust by only taking on work that we believe in wholeheartedly.

In a world where "Yes" is often overused, we've found our strength in saying "No." It's powerful by design, and it is a statement that rings true to who we are-a promise to ourselves and our clients that we will never compromise on what matters most.

If you want to partner with us, know that we value more than just the work—we value the relationship. We're here to create something that brings you peace, and we stay true to it.

If the vibes are right, if you're ready to invest the time, and if you respect the creative process, we're all in. If not, we'll say "No," and we'll mean it. Because for us,‍

"No" is just as powerful as "Yes"—it's how we stay true to who we are.

Watch our Mantra to know us, even better;

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My favorite way of introducing myself when presenting to a room full of creatives has always been and still is: Hi, my name is Seyi, and I love boredom. Creative people have restless minds, so we loathe the mention or thought of feeling bored. To many, it is an indication of an inactive imagination. A waste of time and the gift of making.

I respectfully disagree with the sentiment of avoiding boredom by all means, which is the preference of most creatives. The majority of us have such an active imagination, and if I were to draw a visual comparison, we exist like a person trapped in a skyscraper on fire. There is so much chaos, apprehension, and anxiety about the next move.

A much better comparison and summation comes from ancient Buddhist monks who define this state of existence as Kapacitta (The monkey mind),

`Just as a monkey swinging through the trees grabs one branch and lets it go only to seize another, so too, that which is called thought, mind or consciousness arises and disappears continually both day and night.'

If we observe our state of being (our minds), there are so many similarities between the branch-swinging and our consciousness to avoid being present.

The lockdown of 2020 was one of the most apparent moments in time when the power of boredom was harnessed and deployed by many. Innovation was through the roof, as many more people got to sit in with their consciousness for the first time. They had the rare opportunity to quiet their monkey minds and stop the tree-branch-swinging that robbed them of deliberate and extensive design/expression.

Before the pandemic of 2020, I had my fair share of understanding the power of boredom. I had a cumulative four-hour commute to and from the office every day. Same cityscape, same faces (somewhat), same endless routine. It was the kind of monotony that could drive anyone to mindlessly scroll through social media, but I decided to do something different. Instead of fighting the boredom, I leaned into it. What if this boredom could be the springboard of my creativity?

At first, it was just an experiment. With only my mobile phone and an open mind, I began teaching myself to create illustrations and animations on my phone. The first few weeks were tough—clumsy attempts to make something out of nothing. But as I sat through those long, seemingly endless hours, something started to shift. I realized that the stillness, the very thing that I initially resisted, was exactly what I needed to let my imagination roam free.

What began as a way to pass the time soon became a ritual. The more I created, the more I found myself craving those quiet moments. I wasn't just filling the hours; I was transforming them. Piece by piece, I built a body of work—over a thousand illustrations and animations—each one a little milestone on this unexpected journey. Each one capturing the news, moments observed, or conversations had.

I didn't censor myself or overthink the process. I just created and shared with vulnerability. To my surprise, people noticed and were inspired, too. I even got the invitation to be a part of a Pixite documentary for creators. My body of work even got shortlisted in the illustration category at the prestigious Communication Arts awards. That recognition was incredible (for someone who isn't a designer), but what mattered more was what I learned about myself through the process.

The truth is, boredom became my greatest ally. In a world that pushes us to constantly move and always seek the next big thing, I discovered immense power in sitting still. In those hours of quiet, I found clarity and creativity that I never knew I had.

So, to any fellow creative reading this, I urge you to embrace boredom. Let yourself sit with it. Resist the urge to fill every empty moment with distractions. You might just find that those moments of stillness are where your best ideas will come to life. I did, and it's been one of the most rewarding creative journey I've ever experienced.

Here's one compilation of illustrations and animations all made on my mobile phone, all thanks to boredom:

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If you made it this far, you are a really curious one. So I have got this Ted Talk by Manoush Zomorodi to give you all of the science & experience backed bits:

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Let’s talk relatable experiences. Do you ever catch yourself at a restaurant, more focused on critiquing the menu’s layout than on picking what to eat? Do you ever make it everyone else’s problem that the kerning is just a little too tight? That the images are printed way too pixelated?

Just me?

Well, as the 2024 Paris Olympics come to a close and the Paralympics take center stage, it’s time to debrief. I actually had the unique opportunity to experience the Paris Games in person this year! On a whim last summer, I decided to see if I could score tickets, and it turned out to be easier than I thought. Fast forward to last week, and there I was, a full-time brand designer, immersed in one of the biggest stages of world-class event design. You’d better believe I had some thoughts.

In the spirit of the Games, let’s hand out some medals, breaking down the design elements that truly shined and those that didn’t quite stick the landing.

Gold Medal: The Pictograms

To me, these were an absolute success. The clean, minimalist design of the pictograms perfectly balanced functionality with visual appeal. They weren’t just easy to understand—they animated beautifully, they were reminiscent of french art deco, and felt collectable. Above all else, they were completely fresh and unique. Each icon felt like a poster of the sport it represented, making them accessible for everyone, regardless of language or background. They weren’t just signs—they were symbols of the inclusivity the Olympics strive to represent.

You might have noticed that the pictograms seemed a bit different this year. There was quite literally a lack of human representation, and that’s what I loved about them. According to Joachim Roncin, the event’s Head of Design, this intentional choice to depart from the human-modeled pictograms removes all gender biases from the sports. To put it frankly, the pictograms of previous Olympics can skew masculine depending on the viewer. I genuinely believe that by taking a completely new route with these pictograms, the standard of Olympic visual communication has been blown wide open.

What I love most about these pictograms, as a more personal preference, is the motion, energy, and intentionality of the layout. To me, these sports being depicted look like they’re being played. The courts, balls, horses, skateboards, etc., are in motion, and these pictograms are a snapshot of what it feels like to be in the audience. Absolutely brilliant!!

Learn more ->

0’s Across the Board: The Olympics Merchandise

On the flip side, the official merch was a huge letdown. Designers and creatives know how important it is for products to evoke excitement and pride, but the offerings this year felt uninspired and lacking. I was really excited at the idea of bringing home a simple jacket that I could take with me to any Olympics watch party in the future, but sadly there was nothing really like that. There were lots of t-shirts with just this year’s logo printed on it, but that just felt so lame and a missed opportunity to create something fresh with this year’s branding. It was a harsh reminder that even the smallest details in branding can have a significant impact on the overall experience.

I will say, one of the coolest merch items was a deck of playing card that had the 2024 branding. It had custom artwork for the face cards which made it feel like a special item, and I just wish they had more items like that overall.

Olympics Merchandise->

Silver Medal: The Logo

The Paris 2024 logo had its fair share of critics, but I found it to be a standout piece of branding. It was bold, distinct, and carried a modern elegance that perfectly represented Paris. The flame intertwined with the face of Marianne was a brilliant nod to both the host city and the spirit of the Games. It struck a balance between being visually compelling and functional—scalable across different mediums without losing its impact.

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The logo was extremely prevalent throughout the city, showing up on signage and public transport everywhere. By the end of my week in Paris I was extremely familiarized with it. She even became a mark of safety for me; whenever I saw the logo I knew I was headed in the right direction. I also thought it was special that the Olympics and the Paralympics both used this same icon and overall branding this year, maintaining the same amount of hype and respect for all games.

Take a look at this interview by The Creative Factor of Logo designer “Sylvain Boyer: How I Designed the Paris Olympic Logo” for an in-depth read of the creation of this year’s logo!

MVP: The Typeface

The custom typeface was an unsung hero of this year’s branding. It was clean, versatile, and perfectly captured the essence of the event. Whether on tickets, signage, or digital platforms, the typeface was clear and consistent, adding a layer of sophistication to the visual identity. The Olympic energy is definitely felt in the curvatures of the letterforms, and I’m a huge fan of it! It’s a prime example of how typography, when done right, can elevate a brand’s entire aesthetic.

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Bronze Medal: The Mascot

Let’s talk about the mascot—love it or hate it, it definitely made an impression. The Phryge, inspired by the iconic Phrygian cap, was cute, fun, and very French. It definitely brought a sense of playfulness to the Games, which is crucial for engaging younger audiences and adding a touch of character to the branding. However, I do recall being a big hater of Phryge when I first saw it. I initially thought the design felt disconnected from the event’s entire branding, but after some research into years previous it honestly made me like it a lot more.

The animated treatments and motion graphics that were displayed at the events elevated this part of the branding as well! Phryge had a playful personality and it was so adorable watching it demonstrate how each game is meant to be played. The fluid transitions and vibrant color palette made the digital experience feel alive and immersive. Motion design isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about creating an experience, and I think it really payed off.

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Special Shoutout to: The Wayfinding

Finally, let’s talk about wayfinding. The signage throughout the venues was clear and concise, which is no small feat given the scale of the event. It’s easy to overlook, but effective wayfinding is essential for a seamless visitor experience, making sure everyone can navigate the venues easily, even if they don’t speak french/english.

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The Olympics always stir up strong opinions—every four years, there’s a lot to love and plenty to critique. This year’s branding took some bold risks, stepping away from traditional expectations to create something new for the world of the Olympics. But with risk comes the potential for missteps. Accessibility, functionality, visual appeal, and the ability to excite are all crucial elements of successful design, and the Paris 2024 Olympics gave us a lot to discuss.

So, what’s your take? How would you rank the design elements of this year’s Games? Were you blown away, or did it leave you wanting more? 🍵

Learn More on the Olympics->

In Spring of 2023, I was in my last semester at University meticulously deciding what projects should go in my portfolio. It felt like a career make-or-break decision. If I put my projects in the wrong order, I wouldn’t get a job. If I had too many different types of design work, I wouldn’t get a job. If I didn’t have the perfect personal branding, I wouldn’t get a job. I’m sure there are a ton of recent design graduates out there who are still on the job hunt with that same mentality. So let me hold your hand when I tell you– none of those things are true.

What I have found true throughout several portfolio reviews, interviews, and conversations with more experienced designers is that portfolio reviewers want to see how you play. They might even want to see it more than your work. That’s not to say your work isn’t important–it is. The quality and creativity of your work are likely what will get you an interview, but what sets you apart is what you choose to create outside of your job or classroom. I’ve had several portfolio reviewers tell me as much. It was reaffirmed again last Summer when I had the chance to participate in a Designers are Scary Panel. One of the first things that popped up in our conversation regarding what sets candidates apart was the ability to see their personalities shine through in their portfolios. One of the easiest ways to do this is by answering one simple question.

What would you choose to create if you were unburdened by the restrictions of a class assignment or the endless requirements of a client project?

Most of us have a “Playground” or “Archive” section to dump the work we’re not sure what to do with. Most of the time it could more aptly be titled “The Graveyard.” Don’t let that opportunity go to waste. It’s a chance to show your interests, the mediums you’re fascinated by, and the topics you obsess over. That will say more about what you’re passionate about than the app design you were required to make in six weeks. So, why am I even going on about all of this?

After a year of being at a small studio and shifting towards motion design, I’ve finally decided it’s time to show off some of these amazing projects I’ve had the chance to work on and add them to my portfolio. While I have a ton of beautiful work for our studio clients, I’ve regretfully realized that I don’t have many new design-related projects to add to the “play” section of my portfolio. I say design-related because in truth, If I were to fill up my playground wit h “just for fun” work from the last year, one would think I was a photographer, not a designer. Even as I write this, I realize perhaps my portfolio should reflect that inclination toward photography in the last year. It’s been a needed escape from the world of screens and pixels. It’s one of the few artistic mediums that gets you into the world. I digress– that’s a Ding for another time.

Back to the point.

I wish I had spent more time this year recharging through other types of fun projects. I haven’t given myself the freedom and permission to play. That may be in part because so much of the work we do here at the studio does feel like play. We’re often given a sandbox to run amok in even within the confines of client projects. Yet, It’s human nature to want to explore the sandbox next to you even if you’re already in one.

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In the pursuit of success, so many of us have forgotten what made us want to enter this industry in the first place.

I’m encouraging everyone to carve out the time to play for yourself and only yourself. Be creative in the ways you have fun. For a long time, I used the excuse of not having time to learn new skills and have fun with them. That’s not true at all. I was being too rigid in my idea of what play can look like. For example, I’ve been wanting to learn more 3D for a while now but it can be a time-consuming and intimidating medium. So, for this week’s Ding visuals, I incorporated some play just for myself into my work. I took the opportunity to start learning Spline, one of the less time-intense and user-friendly 3D programs.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how you get there. Designers tend to be purists. We think the creative process has to go a specific way; steps one through four have to come first in the branding process; we can’t start working until we have every single asset. That’s a rather limiting way to approach work as a group of self-proclaimed creatives. We can do better.

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I’m challenging myself and everyone reading this to do better during the rest of 2024. So have fun, and go play!

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What is craft? Is it a noun or a verb? How does it fit in with art and design? I've been thinking about it a lot, and here's what I found.

Miriam Webster defines craft as to make or produce with care, skill or ingenuity.

Britannica makes the important distinction that crafting by definition is an activity that involves making something in a skillful way by using your hands.

In 2018, American Craft magazine published an article by Joyce Lovelace titled Craft Seriously. What does the word mean?

Joyce reached out to designers, thinkers and leaders from different fields and found a few key themes that emerged;

Craft is universal.

Craft is a discipline.

Craft is action.

Craft is heritage.

Craft is all around us.

Craft is complicated, and Craft is profound.

A line that stuck out to me is craft is an earned skill in the service of creativity.
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A way of doing things exceptionally well through study, practice, and dedication. It makes me think of my art practice and the time I've dedicated to getting better at every step of the process.

When I'm not designing at a small studio, I create fiber art and textiles under the name Fun Aunt. Tufting is a medium I picked up in 2020 during the COVID pandemic. The process is so intensely physical that it feels like the complete opposite of my day job as a digital designer for a while.

I felt that Tufting was the only way for me to really practice my craft. But if we think about the pillars of study, practice and dedication. Craft, most definitely applies to my design work. I studied graphic design in school. I work at it every day and I've dedicated my career to it.

The first time I ever heard someone reference digital craft was when I joined a small studio. But what does that even entail?

You've heard the phrase pixel perfect things like naming and organizing your layers and groups, utilizing grids in your designs, building design systems that think through different use cases, and thinking about higher designs will be applied across different sizes and scales. These are details that can make all the difference in your digital craft. Thinking through higher design will be applied to different sizes, how it'll print, how it works in black and white as well as color.
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For me craft is synonymous with care, to create something with your hands, whether it's with yarn or a computer mouse means putting a little bit of yourself into it.

I was recently asked to speak to a group of graduate design students as they started their capstone project. As I prepared for the talk, I wanted to ensure that I shared something with them that they couldn't just Google or ask their nearest AI tool to explain. I was committed to giving them something that would hopefully empower them on their journey into the workforce. The only words that came to mind were "Design is a commodity." Let me explain.

If you are in a creative profession, odds are you have been laid off, close to being, or know someone who has been laid off in the past 6 months. Every day, you hear about the looming threat of Apple Intelligence, excuse me, Artificial Intelligence. Will I have a job tomorrow? Will my business survive? Oh! my absolute favorite, the ads that read "Unlimited ______ design for $50 a month!" Seriously, I see one of these a week and it makes me nauseous. We can all agree that the marketplace is going through a renaissance of sorts, and creativity is taking a hit. It reminds me of when I was approaching getting my degree in Architecture two years after the housing crisis in 2008. I was in no rush to enter the workforce.

I can go on about the current state of our economy, but that is not my expertise. My expertise is design. A skill that I believe is becoming more and more commoditized, every single day. Why? Well, the definition of commodity is a useful or valuable thing that can be bought or sold.

Everyone thinks they are a designer. If we are being honest, all you have to do today these days is just to write designer on your LinkedIn profile, and voila! You are a designer. No prerequisites need to be met, no certifications, just a pretty picture or, even worse, a nicely trained AI tool.

Let's go back to simple economics here: If there is a surplus of anything, the value decreases. This is my only explanation for why I keep seeing those ridiculous ads! We are not too far off from designers being the next BOGOF(Buy One Get One Free) sale at your local grocery store. OK, OK, I digress.

The hopeful message I brought to this group of students was that; design may be becoming a commodity, but your identity will never. The unique composition of experiences and attributes that make you one of none. There is no one in the world like you, and no other designer sees the world the same as you.

The hard part is doing the necessary work to realize why and how you are unique. How can you look at this design problem or project in a way no one else can? This takes work. However, this is the work that empowers your gifts and ultimately brings peace to yourself, those you design with, and those you design for.

It took me 5 years to realize what we do at a small studio that no other design agency can claim, Identity Architecture. This is why we won't just do it; we will not become a commodity and be compared to the $50 a month designs. I was also able to further our purpose by defining an infinite mission statement; limitless or endless in space, extent, or size; impossible to measure or calculate, rather than finite; having limits or bounds. "Empowering creative leaders to use their gifts to bring peace." This focus and purpose has made the work we do at a small studio every single day much much more than just design.

In the end I encouraged the students to answer one question to help them avoid becoming lost in this void of sameness.

What is your purpose for designing right now?

‍ Honestly, answer this questions for yourself. Then, decide if it is finite or infinite? Lastly, what are the odds (0-100%) that someone else in your class, your team, your community wrote a similar purpose?

Simply put, the higher the odds, the more of a commodity.

Don't become a commodity, the world needs you.

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👋🏻, I’m Jake!

For everyone out there who doesn’t know me, I’m a brand designer at a small studio. I’ve been a part of this talented team since 2022. Typically I wouldn’t consider myself an avid writer, but this week I’m hijacking our Ding! newsletter! I’ve got a burning question on my mind for our audience…

When I listen to music, I can taste it. Literally.

My question for you all: Am I alone in this?

Song: Clara La San - Let You Go (Jude Bradshaw Trance Edit)

Tastes Like: Soda or Sprite, like the electronic kind from McDonalds

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At a small studio, music holds a powerful position amidst our workflow. Every meeting we have starts with a tune. Every weekly vibe check, we dedicate one song to set the energy of our collective. Honestly, part of the reason I was DYING to work at a small studio during my hiring process was because I knew the team listened to Kruanghbin. Music holds an extremely important place in my life, and it’s crazy how well that extends to my workspace.

So, back to this tasting thing.

Ever since I was a kid, I could feel the music. “E.T.” by Katy Perry. “Meet Me Halfway” by The Black Eyed Peas. “Love You Like A Love Song” by Selena Gomez? All bangers. I had these blasting on my DSi held directly up to my ear any moment of free time I had. Music was like an obsession for me. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I started understanding WHY my obsession was so palpable. My taste buds were clearly tingling; I’d start to salivate. The songs I didn’t particularly like even made me nauseous. I could TASTE my music. Some of it was like candy, some of it was like fruit, some of it was, unfortunately, like oatmeal. The irony of it was, I wasn’t much of an eater.

Song: B2 Space Meow Doll - San San (Davis Galvin Baby Tears remix)

Tastes like: Cherry candy, like Twizzlers or a Gusher

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Turns out, this is actually a thing. According to the American Psychological Association, Synesthesia is a condition where stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. It is estimated to affect 4% of the population, with some types being more common than others. It’s a neurological mis-interpretation. Mine happens to be Auditory-Gustitory Synesthesia, which is a Hearing-to-Taste mix-up. According to Scientific American, there are actually over 60 reported types of synesthesia. The most common types being grapheme-color synesthesia (where letters and numbers are perceived as inherently colored) and chromesthesia (where sounds involuntarily evoke an experience of color).

These moments of synesthetic flavor were massively inspiring to me as a creative, too. Some of my wildest illustrative ideas came to me as I’d have a particularly delicious track on repeat for hours on end. I attribute this intense desire to create as my direct pathway into the design world. It followed me to college, where I got much more experimental with the genres of music that would make my taste buds light up. I was typically hogging the aux in studio classes.

Song: Super Monkey Ball Soundtrack - Master

Tastes Like: Snow, or crushed ice

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To this day, I blast music while I work and it nourishes me. I read that a lot of people who experience synesthesia enter the arts for very similar reasons. The New York Times has reported that many famous creatives, such as Vladimir Nabokov, Wassily Kandinsky, and Pharrell Williams, have reported experiencing synesthesia. That’s why I always wonder how many other people are out there who have experiences like me. If synesthesia is something you experience, I would LOVE to hear your story. Shoot me an email at jake@asmallstudio.com!

While I’m here, I wanted to share a couple tracks with all of the readers who might be interested in some of my current favorite tasting tracks! Every song I listen to has it’s own taste, but these ones are particularly palpable for me. I’ve been compiling them for a future blog project, but I think now is a great time to deploy a handful of about 10 or so to help showcase what really gets me lit up these days! Sprinkled in this article are a couple of legendary tastes for me, as well.

Thank you all so much for reading! Cheers!

Jake