On the designer’s identity

Let’s go back a few decades. In the 20th century, graphic and industrial design often carried a clear imprint of the person who made it. A designer’s style wasn’t something to hide—on the contrary, it could be a mark of quality. Paul Rand, Otl Aicher, Massimo Vignelli—they all worked in a recognizable language. Their projects were consistent, distinct, full of vision. The designer was an author, not just an executor.

In the ’80s and ’90s, that way of thinking began to be questioned. Critics like Jorge Frascara, Rick Poynor, and Michael Rock pointed out that a personal style might overshadow communication. That form could become an end in itself. As methods like HCD and UCD gained ground, the focus shifted: the designer was expected to speak less and listen more. To be more neutral, more objective. The design—more functional and inclusive.

We’re still working in the shadow of that shift. Design is still grounded in understanding users’ needs, but it’s rarely just about that anymore. UX is no longer a differentiator—it’s a baseline. Design has grown more complex, more aware of its responsibility, more rooted in a broader context: cultural, technological, ethical. And the designer—less neutral than we might like to think.

Because even as methods, expectations, and languages change, one thing remains: every design carries the imprint of its maker. Even if the designer no longer designs for themselves, they still design from themselves. From what they know. From how they see. From what they overlook.

Knowledge, experience, personality. Aesthetics, style, methods. Values, beliefs, ways of thinking. Preferences, sensitivity, interests. All of it—consciously or not—shapes a designer’s identity. And all of it—more or less—finds its way into the work.

We create within our own language—a set of methods, aesthetics, habits, and filters through which we make sense of the world and design our responses. That language can strengthen us, make us distinct—but it can also limit us. Like any language, it lets us speak, but it also shapes what and how we’re able to say.

We’re often unaware of it—until we see how someone else would design the very same thing in a completely different way. And not because they have a different style, skill set, or level of experience.

What sets us apart is how we experience the world—what we find important, what we overlook, what moves us and what leaves us untouched. One designer seeks harmony, another tension. One thinks in systems, another in stories. One creates from analysis, another from emotion.

What we create reflects how we see. And how we see depends on who we are.

That’s why, as long as it’s people—not machines—doing the designing, design will never be objective. (And really—doesn’t technology also reflect the beliefs of those who build it?)

Is that a problem? Quite the opposite. As long as design decisions come from the brief, the strategy, the context—and not from a need for self-expression at all costs—a personal point of view can become the project’s greatest strength.

For that to happen, one more thing is needed—alignment. The alignment between the designer and the project, shaped by the designer’s unique identity. Not the corporate kind of “cultural fit,” but something deeper: does the designer’s way of seeing the world resonate with what the brand wants to express? Do their values, their way of communicating, their aesthetic preferences—naturally align with the project?

It’s exactly when all of this falls into place that the best work happens. Work that goes beyond the brief—bringing something the brief didn’t even ask for.

That’s why I believe we, as designers, should show more than just the outcomes of our work. More than experience, clients, numbers. We should share more of ourselves—our personality, our values, our ways of thinking. All the things that aren’t immediately visible in a portfolio, yet often make a real difference.

And the same goes for those of you hiring designers—try to look beyond the portfolio. Ask yourselves: who is behind these projects? How do they think? What matters to them, what inspires them? What are their values, their ways of working, even their interests outside of the profession? Because even the most talented designer won’t create meaningful work if their way of seeing the world doesn’t align with what you truly want to express.

I’ve been trying, too—to share not just the work itself, but what comes before it. How I think, what inspires me, what I do after hours. I’m not very good at it yet. I’ve never been someone who shares easily on social media. But I’m slowly getting there. If you’re curious how it’s going, you can find me on Instagram.

And maybe that’s what it all comes down to. Every project carries the mark of its maker. We don’t need to resist that—we can choose to use it well.