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Being a designer is a strange mix of chaos and clarity. Every project begins with a blank screen — endless possibilities staring back at you — and ends with something that feels inevitable, like it was always meant to exist that way. But the journey from blank to beautiful is never straightforward.

People often think design is about aesthetics — color palettes, fonts, and layouts. Sure, those matter. But to me, design is storytelling in silence. It’s how you make someone feel before they even realize why. It’s in the way white space gives room to breathe, how a curve can feel friendly, or how a muted shade can whisper trust. Good design doesn’t shout. It listens.

I’ve learned that most of the work happens before opening any design tool. It’s in the thinking — asking why, not just what. Who will see this? How should they feel? What’s the emotion beneath the function? When I design, I’m not just arranging pixels; I’m shaping experiences.

One of my favorite projects was for a mental health app. The client wanted it to feel “calm but not cold.” That single phrase became my compass. I spent days experimenting with shades of blue until one felt like exhaling. The typography was soft but confident, the animations subtle like slow breathing. When the final design went live, users described it as “peaceful.” That word meant more than any design award could.

Of course, it’s not always poetic. There are revisions that make you want to throw your laptop out the window. There are deadlines that crush inspiration. But even on those days, there’s magic in the craft — that moment when everything finally aligns, and the design just clicks.

Design, at its core, is empathy made visible. It’s not about making things look good — it’s about making them feel right.

So whenever I sit down to design, I remind myself: I’m not creating for screens. I’m creating for people — their eyes, their hearts, their unspoken stories. And that’s what keeps me falling in love with design, one pixel at a time.

I didn’t become a designer because I loved art. I became one because I couldn’t stand disorder. I’ve always felt a quiet obsession with balance — the way colors align, how space breathes, how one small adjustment can make something suddenly feel right. Design, for me, became less of a profession and more of a way to make sense of life.

When I first started, I thought design was all about making things look good. Perfect symmetry, bold typography, clean layouts — the textbook stuff. But as time passed, I realized design isn’t about beauty. It’s about emotion. It’s about understanding what makes people feel something when they see your work. Sometimes, it’s the silence of white space. Sometimes, it’s the chaos of overlapping textures. The more I designed, the more I learned about myself.

There were nights when I stared at my screen for hours, not because I didn’t know what to create, but because I didn’t know why I was creating it. Those moments forced me to look inward — to find meaning behind every line, every shade, every decision. Slowly, I began to see that my designs were mirrors of my own state of mind. When I was peaceful, my layouts were minimal. When I was overwhelmed, color spilled everywhere.

Now, I approach every project like a conversation — between the brand, the user, and me. I ask: what do we want this design to say? How should it feel? I no longer chase perfection; I chase honesty. If something feels off but looks great, I fix it. If something feels right but breaks a few rules, I keep it.

Design has become therapy in disguise. It’s the way I process, express, and sometimes, heal. When life feels messy, I sit in front of my canvas — digital or otherwise — and rearrange the chaos into something that makes sense again.

Maybe that’s what design really is. Not pixels or palettes, but the quiet act of bringing order to emotion — one imperfect, meaningful piece at a time.

As a designer, I’ve learned that design isn’t only about creating something that looks good — it’s about crafting an experience that feels right. Every color, shape, and font has a purpose. Every pixel tells a story. Great design bridges the gap between creativity and functionality, emotion and clarity.

Design, at its core, is problem-solving. When I begin a new project, I don’t just open my design software and start drawing. I start by understanding — the user, the brand, and the goal. What emotion should this evoke? What message should it convey? What problem should it solve? Only when I have those answers do I start designing.

Typography, color palette, and layout might seem like small choices, but together, they define how people perceive a brand. For instance, soft pastels can create calmness, while bold contrasts spark energy. The same goes for fonts — a serif font can make something look classic and trustworthy, while a modern sans-serif adds freshness and minimalism.

One of the most exciting parts of being a designer is seeing how design influences behavior. A well-designed button can increase clicks; a clear layout can keep someone on a page longer. That’s the power of design — it subtly guides users without them even realizing it.

But what truly makes design magical is its emotional connection. When people say, “I love this,” it means your design has spoken to them in a way words couldn’t. That’s when you know you’ve done your job well.

Design isn’t just about aesthetics — it’s about impact. It’s about creating visuals that inspire, inform, and connect. As designers, we don’t just decorate; we communicate. We don’t just design for the eyes; we design for the mind and heart.

In the end, good design makes life simpler. Great design makes life beautiful. And that’s what keeps me passionate about what I do — turning imagination into something people can see, feel, and remember.

I still remember the day the first iPhone was announced. January 9, 2007. Steve Jobs walked onto that stage in his black turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers, and made every other phone on the market look like a dinosaur. No buttons. No stylus. Just a slab of glass that responded to your fingers like magic.

Back then, every new iPhone felt like a leap forward.
The 3G gave us speed. The 4 was a glass-and-steel beauty that felt like holding the future. The 5 slimmed it down, stretched it taller, and made it lighter without feeling cheap. The 6 brought curves back. The X ripped out the home button and went all-screen.

It wasn’t just about specs—it was about feel. You could pick up any iPhone from that era and instantly tell that Apple obsessed over every millimeter, every bevel, every animation.

But somewhere along the way, the evolution started to feel… incremental. We got used to the same rounded rectangles, the same minimalist aesthetic, just with shinier materials and more camera bumps. Each keynote became a game of spot-the-difference. The bezels shrank, the cameras multiplied, but the excitement faded.

Don’t get me wrong—the newer iPhones are engineering marvels. The iPhone 15 Pro is lighter than it has any right to be. The screens are brighter, the cameras are basically pro-grade, and the processors are so fast you could edit a movie on them. But when I hold one, I don’t get the same goosebumps I got with the iPhone 4 or X.

Part of it is that the smartphone industry matured. There’s only so much you can do with a slab of glass before you start repeating yourself. But part of it, I think, is that Apple has become more cautious. They perfect, they refine, but they rarely surprise anymore.

The design evolution of the iPhone is a bit like watching your favorite band go from raw, experimental albums to safe, polished hits. They’re still good—sometimes great—but you miss the unpredictability.

Will Apple ever bring back that “holy shit” moment? Maybe. Maybe not. But until then, I’ll keep upgrading, keep admiring the craft, and keep hoping that one day, they’ll shock us again.

Because that’s what made the iPhone special in the first place—it wasn’t just a phone. It was a glimpse of the future you didn’t know you wanted.

Just like any other young American who grew up wanting to own Apple products, I feel really weird saying this, but here’s the truth: Apple has passed its peak, and it’s somewhat desperate.

It has a market capitalisation of  $3 trillion, making it one of the largest companies by market capitalisation in the world. This is no longer just the company that was “thinking different” or making some beautiful and user-friendly tools for creative minds. Today, it is more and more interested in getting us into a tight Apple ecosystem and trying to squeeze our pockets by just calling itself innovative.

Let’s begin with the prices. Earlier, what felt Apple and premium was that they didn’t overprice things just to make some minute changes, calling it the next big thing. But now, Apple has just become flat-out overpriced. Yes, these products are premium, but now they make it feel like luxury? The base iphone costs over $ 750, and A new MacBook Pro costs $3000. If you want extra storage and performance, that’s gonna add to another few $ 100, and god forbid you think of buying a dongle, those are sold separately. The worst part is that these dont even come with all the parts. Apple’s strategy seems simple to me: take away the ports and sell them back to us. Why not make people buy more only from us?

Honestly, what hurts the most is how repair-unfriendly Apple has become today. Though the company claims to be caring about sustainability and the environment, it’s hard to replace your battery without going through an over-the-top priced “authorised” service provider. Everything is locked in or paired with software to discourage DIY or third-party repairs. This is bad not just for the environment but also for consumers like you and me. They are easily violating consumer rights, and nobody seems to notice it.

Apple talks a lot about privacy and security, but little do we actually pay attention to how these are profit-making schemes. They have a launch every year and talk about how much of a market leader they’ve become, how they care about their customers, and the world. But there is a sort of anti-competitive behaviour. The App Store rules are more about profits than protection for users. Most of the time, developers are forced to use Apple’s payment systems, and they take a massive 30% cut for just being the gatekeeper. Many competing apps get throttled or banned. It is no wonder that the governments of various countries are going after them. Apple holds the key to a place that once felt like a garden, but now has become a prison. Like, we are stuck, and our information is compromised forever.

And let’s not forget about the recent Apple intelligence launch, which was a spiralling disaster that seemed more like a rushed reaction to the rise of ChatGPT and Google. It feels unimpressive and awkward that a company is just trying to catch up for the sake of it.

See, I used to love Apple. I still use their product, but what is getting hard is being able to justify it. They aren’t really designing for users anymore, they are doing it for their shareholders, they dont seem to be empowering users, but just getting them locked up.

Apple once stood for creativity, simplicity, and trust. Now it stands for control, profit, and polish over substance. And for me, that’s the moment the shark got jumped.

YouTube video which inspired this post – link

Looking at India from an American’s point of view, there’s a lot to admire: the booming tech space, vibrant culture, and brilliant minds shaping the future of AI, space to explore, and entrepreneurship. But when you look closely into the homes and mindsets of people, there is this shockingly outdated system that still exists: Caste based marriages.

Yes, even in 2025, it’s a thing.

For me and the rest of the world, it’s a concept of the past, but in india, it’s the present and might even be the future. I’m sure many of you are so unfamiliar with the term that the caste system is a centuries-old social hierarchy in India that was supposed to be abolished legally. However, it still has a huge impact on how people live and whom they marry. And this isn’t just about aunties with traditional preferences in india. There are literally entire matrimonial sites designed to help you find somebody who is from your own caste. We’re talking Tinder, where you swipe right only if they match your caste, no vibes, no compatibility checks or filters. That’s what has been happening.

Here’s what caste-based matrimony looks like today:

• IyerMatrimony.com – For Tamil Brahmins looking for a partner who can quote Sanskrit shlokas and write Python.
• RajputMatrimony.com – Where your royal bloodline matters more than your degree.
• NadarKannalam.com – A hyper-specific matchmaking site for a very specific Tamil caste.
• YadavMatrimony.com – Cows, caste, and compatibility.
• AgarwalMatrimony.com – Where commerce, caste, and community collide.

It’s really crazy to see a country that prides itself on for being a global tech superpower building the backend for Silicon valley, yet, clinging to a medieval social system it comes to marriage and love.

And before you say that “Its just culture or beliefs”, no. Culture evolves and adapts; this is something on a whole new level. Saying “I want my kid to marry someone without our caste” in 2025 is like saying I want my child to marry the person who has the same wifi provider, it’s not a tradition, it’s bias but with a new user interface.

What is even more confusing is how normalised all of it is. Caste filtering isn’t being done behind the curtains; it’s very openly advertised, like a feature rather than what it is, a big red flag. It’s basically discrimination disguised as a family rule.

Come on, India. You’re better than this.

You’re so advanced to send rockets to the moon, but can’t cross the line of caste for marriage? You can run huge global companies, but won’t let your daughters marry somebody they want to? Something isn’t working right here.

If India truly wants to lead the world, this is not just a social issue; it’s about credibility. The great Indian innovation should not be about AI for caste-based matchmaking. It should be about unlearning the caste system altogether.

Because real progress isn’t just about code — it’s about courage.

Let me start with a small disclaimer; I love engineers, i respect what they do and i really think without them nothing could really work in this world. They run the show of different ideas being turned into reality, they build houses, write the code and make all thre magic happen.

But, they shouldn’t design.

I’ll tell you why, and it’s completely justified. Design isn’t about perfecting things; it’s a mindset switch that allows creativity to flow. And honestly, many engineers dont have that in them, some of them do, but that’s fine if they dont.

Design is a lot about emotions, storytelling, empathy, and intuition rather than logic. It’s about seeing the world from another point of view, not just the eyes of the system. It’s about asking why before jumping into how. And Engineers are mostly always obsessed with the how

See, when an engineer is presented with a problem, they will solve it meticulously, with beautiful and minimal lunes of code. But they oftent tend to solve the wrong problem, or they solve in a way which makes sense only to them, not the person who will use it. Have you ever used a feature that has worked technically but always felt like a design that is not human enough. That’s what happens to engineers’ designs.

There’s a lot of difference even in the values of a designer and an engineer; engineers value structures, predictability and technicality. On the other hand, designers live in ambiguity, exploring the messy parts of their product, taking feedback, and chasing half-felt hunches. While designers seek to open up, engineers seek to narrow down. Engineers try to reduce the complexities, and designers are in love with them.

And let’s not even get to the aesthetics part of it. I’ve seen so many UI designs from engineers that look like they were built for the early 2000s, using very minimal colours which nobody could like. Pixel alignment? Not a concern. Font hierarchy? “What’s that?” Icon spacing? “Bro, it works, right?”

To be fair now, there are unicorns here as well, people who are brilliant at both design and engineering , but its really rare. Like, Bigfoot-on-a-unicorn rare. Most engineers aren’t wired to think like designers. And they shouldn’t have to be.

When designers and engineers get together, great products are created. But if they try to do the others job, then its a complete failure. The best engineers push fpr performances, scalability and functionality. They understand what is essential and make it seen. Both the professions are utmost important and require deep focus for great outcomes.

But please — let designers design. Let engineers build.

And let’s stop pretending those are interchangeable skills.

This doesn’t come from a hate towards design, nor that I dont value empathy, solving problems, or a strategic approach. However, design thinking has gone from being used as a human-centred approach to understanding issues and coming up with solutions to an overhyped and corporate buzzword that only promises innovation and delivers one-fourth of it.

Ive seen many meetings where somebody stands up saying “let us appy design thinking to this” and then we are all standing in front of two big white boards, drawing sad sticky figures of the users and figuring out their emotions, like we are making a Pizar movie. Then spend hours brainstorming wild creative ideas and giving ourselves a cheer on the back for putting “if we can or how we might” infront of every sentence.

It feels good. It feels collaborative. It feels like we’re solving world hunger.

But 90% of the time, nothing actually gets built.

Design thinking pretends to be a process; in reality, it’s about performance. It’s simply a justified way to look busy, sound more creative, and avoid doing anything risky. But authentic designs are messier, uncomfortable, and challenging. Nobody actually seems to be thinking about the users; just to look busy, we are willing to pretend to think about designs. It puts creativity in a box with five stages and assumes that brilliance is bound to emerge if you follow the proper steps. Sorry to break it to you, but it won’t.

Empathising? That is great, unless, like most teams today, they are printing out some random fake personas and guessing what they want and like, rather than talking to them.

Define? It usually becomes a mission statement with just buzzwords rather than clearly articulated problem statements.

Ideate? Reduced to a one-and-a-half-hour session filled with post-its that dont solve anyone’s problems.

Prototype? A Figma file that no one ever opens to have a second look at.
Test?? At what time? By the end of Friday, we’re all ready to order pizzas and check Netflix shows to binge-watch.

What gets on my nerves the most is how design thinking gives people the illusion of progress. It’s so comfortable, controlled which is why it feels so easy to do and often neglected. But its so completely divorced form the realit of product building, the risk taking parts, making mistakes and stumbling into ideas by learning from mistakes, not just diagramming the hell out of a prototype.

Give me a scrappy builder who talks to users and iterates fast over a “Design Thinker” with a

Sharpie and a Post-it any day.

Designs aren’t just a five-step process; it’s a craft. It’s about your intuition, failures, feedback, and relentless interaction. The sooner we build, test, and learn, the better for us, rather than hiding behind design thinking sessions that aren’t taking us anywhere.

Rant over.

Let’s talk about affordance, the mythical UX principle that says, “You should’ve just known how to use this.”

Affordance is a design that can get you to do something without needing instructions or a set of rules on how to do it. Like a handle on the door that suggests pulling or a button that allows clicking. A touch screen that invites you to swipe, double tap, rotate, etc.

In simple theory, an affordance is the design that speaks for your actions.

In practice, it’s the design that mocks you.

The Norman Door: Your Daily Humiliation

I’m sure we have all been through that awkward moment where we “pushed” a door that says “pull” and laugh it off. That’s totally not on you; that is afforance or, rather, a lack thereof. Designers have a term for it, “Norman door”, after Don Norman, a man who wrote an entire book about everything from light switches to teapots, is gaslighting us. So, if you have ever yanked a “push” door like you’re trying to rescue a child from a burning building, congratulations, you are NORMANIZED.

Digital Affordance: Where Buttons Go to Hide

I remember the time when buttons were like actual button? raised , shadowed, outlined and gentle “click on me” vibe? Now it feels like buttons are texts, floating in the air or on a blank canvas. Makes you wonder is this clickable or is it just decorative.

You hover over it, nothing happens, you click and yet nothing happens. Makes you feel like you want to cry out to the world. God forbid if you are alone trying to figure it out, youll be stuck figuring out how to use it rather making the best use of it.

Modern UI designers say, “Let’s make it minimalist.” What they mean is, “Let’s make it impossible.”

Common Affordance Crimes

• Flat buttons: Are they clickable? Are they labels? Are they ghost energy? W
• Hamburger menus: Somehow theyre always hidden.  Sometimes they’re in the top left. Sometimes they’re in the bottom right next to your credit card info. Always ambiguous.
• Microwave touchscreens: Want to reheat pizza? Good luck navigating the “Choose Your Heating Style” maze. There’s a “Power Level button”, and no one knows what it does.
• Gestures: Swipe, pinch, tap, drag with two fingers while whispering ancient Greek—UX in 2025.

These modern interfaces require a secret ritual before we start using them.

Affordance: Where “User Intuition” Means “Guess Again”

Designers always say “we believe in user intuition”, but what they really mean is that “we didnt label anything , its your fault you’re lost” Affordance has basically become the design version of “You should’ve read my mind.” If it works, the designer is a genius. If it doesn’t? You clearly just don’t get it.

It’s Not You. It’s the Button That’s Disguised As Air

Affordance was supposed to make things easier. Instead, it’s become the perfect excuse for bad design. “Oh, you didn’t know you had to double-tap with two knuckles while standing on one foot? Weird. It’s so intuitive.”

If your fridge, app, or smart toilet requires a tutorial, the only thing it’s affording is chaos.

But hey — maybe that’s just the user journey.

I’ll just say it — I hate data-driven design.

I’ll be honest: data is everywhere today, and piles of numbers are taking over the essence of design and vision. This isn’t coming because of hate towards data or because I dont believe in listening to the users. However, even the parts of design that should be guided by taste, instinct, and vision are somehow taken over by data.

Nowadays, every design decision seems to need a justification in the form of an A/B test, a heatmap, a conversion rate chart, or some “insight” from a dashboard. It’s no longer enough for a designer to say, “This just feels right.” That’s treated like heresy in modern product teams. If the numbers don’t agree, your taste doesn’t matter.

And that’s a problem.

Many of the best designs in the world did not come from testing 40 shades of blue or measuring CTR; it came from people with a powerful and willing point of view. People who valued aesthetics and understood its real worth. People who made some courageous decisions, not because data told them, but because they believed they were creating something worth believing in.

Data-driven design kills exactly that, it trains designers to aim for whether or not this will perform, rather than if it will inspire. It encourages safe choices, not bold ones; it rewards familiarity and not originality. You usually end up at the interface that is optimised and soulless. It struggles to incorporate the necessary feedback and human elements. Every button is placed where the heatmap says it should be. Every colour is chosen because it converted 0.2% better in a test. And everything starts to look the same.

I think great designs arent just about efficiency, they are all the emotions, contexts, storytelling anf even a little bit of drama. Some random surprise elements, delight and beauty is all it take to create these moments. But whrn it needs to be justified with metrics or charts, there is no room for that . Data measures everything very crucially and theres no reward here for nuances, it flattens out everything into what gets more clicks.

What gets worse is that data-driven designs kill trust within the teams. Designers aren’t seen as creators but as UI mechanics waiting for instruction from analysts and PM’s. A vision slowly becomes something that we are told isnt scalable.

Of course, we can’t ignore data; look around everywhere, and you will only find data around you. However, what we need to stop doing is that the data is suitable for designs, but it’s not!!. Designs cannot be reduced to numbers, and sometimes the best design choices are the ones that dont win the A/B tests because it makes people feel something. Because it makes us think and has a soul.

And that should still matter. It should matter the most, as much as anything else.

Blog post which inspired me to write this post – link