Many designers know that creating a really good product entails exploration: to make something, test it, fail it, ponder on it, go back full circle, fail and do it again. Sitting at a desk and picking one’s brain for ideas is, though essential, rarely enough. Leaning into the ways of a corporation, however, outlines the existence of us designers, as a plain dichotomy: ‘corporate fleabags’.
The simple oxymoron, which proudly carries a ‘moron’ at its end, is undoubtedly a suitable way to describe designers. We weren’t smart enough (or bothered enough) for an ivy league, but we still want to make the world a better place. We are often the seeker, the pioneer, the dropout, the failure, the nihilist, the purist, the creator, but almost never the corporate dude.
And yet, many of us choose to live in an antithetical literary trope instead of going off into the sunset throwing paint on a canvas Jackson Pollock style.
Working in a big revenue machine is the reality for some designers, not only because it is a legitimate way to fund our experimental lifestyle, but also because it provides us with the biggest audience to our innovation, the largest test sample of human guinea pigs for our designs, and the greatest chance we’ve got of changing the world. Hence, sizeable companies are an incredibly fortunate place for a designer to land.
Choosing to be an explorer in the corporate maze, however, puts us in a very uniquely shaped box because most of the time our job is a conflicting notion. In a big organization, designers are supposed to innovate, but also be commercial; contradict the status quo, but not too much because it will get us in trouble; be respectful but also firm; know exactly what we want but be ok with it being changed on a whim; experiment with our product but be on time for the deadlines. We are the funny dudes, the dispersers of tension, the broke moneymakers.
Designers are often thought of as ‘street smart’ and this is because our craft entails our actual job, as well as ‘the small print’ work it inevitably comes with. Like in most sectors, in design you need to be an extremely good communicator. This is a contradictory requirement, as designers usually go into their job because of the exact opposite quality: they are quiet, observant, oftentimes odd. And because we were too odd to hang with people as kids, we hung with things: books, fabrics, crayons, and tried to make something out of the world around us. We still do, but now we are also expected to be excellent conversationalists.
When a certain Amanda or Dave, for instance, shows us photos of their children, we are supposed to nod excitedly, or when a Joe or Caren are being professionally inappropriate, we must keep our cool and answer with the poise of a kindergarten teacher, and, when we get an invite to a six-hour meeting we should respond with enthusiasm.
Despite this, there is a lot of potential in corporate creativity. A key factor for its attainment is travelling. Many don’t realize the importance of replacing the office environment with the outdoors, however, in our designs, we are often required to tell a story, to know the consumer, to reach a certain Nirvana-esque space of the ‘why’, to be externally motivated.
And, as convenient as it would be for our inspiration to feed on concrete walls, stark fluorescent tube lighting and the smell of DHL delivery boxes, there have been many studies that show ‘natural elements’ have an immensely beneficial effect on one’s creativity, curiosity, and ability to make associations. You can quote this next time you have a holiday talk with your boss, don’t thank me.
Speaking of hard conversations, we designers tend to be a little insecure and are in constant need of appraisal. Paradoxically, the hierarchical water slide of corporations often begins with the clear water of good intentions at the top and winds up with the sewage bits sliding down the edge of its proverbial fiberglass. So, the best strategy is to learn to catch them and (no, don’t eat them, you stinkers), learn how to make beautiful things out of them.
This learning process entails a lot more than poop pottery. Negative feedback is an extremely important tool for closing skill gaps and it often encourages us to delve into our inner world. Remembering who we are outside of our organization helps us regain our confidence and reconnect to our hobbies, which, in turn, nurtures our passion and creativity.
Being brave enough to pursue innovation in a big revenue generator is a hallmark quality for corporate designers and I think it is largely fueled by the fact that inventors, unlike most other corporate workers, identify with their job. We have the intrinsic motivation to express ourselves and this creates a healthy friction within an organization, which in turn puts change forward.
So, we might be the quiet conversationalists, the passive activists, the opinionated humbles, the local bohemians, the corporate fleabags, but we are also the slow revolutionaries. In books, we save the world. In real life, well, we’re about to see.
Resources:
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S2352710219313105
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/how-nurture-your-creativity-corporate-culture-ted-leonhardt
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