Design as Communication (Practically and Philosophically)

Most people’s conception of design as a practice focuses on the outputs: stunning renderings, proof of concept prototypes, frame-worthy sketches. But as important as the hard skills of sketching, CAD, and rendering are, there’s one particular quality that is extremely important. It’s a lesson that is seldom taught explicitly, despite the fact that it transcends and influences literally every single other skill in our arsenal: a good designer must be an expert communicator. This is most commonly exhibited through the public speaking of pitching concepts, but there’s so much more to being a good communicator than speaking to a roomful of people. The sooner we recognize the role of communication in design, the sooner we can embrace (and eventually challenge) our role in the process.

Ends vs. Means

In ID praxis, people often mistake the ends with the means. People think that the ends of our work are the things we show off in a portfolio — hot sketches, 3D renderings, CAD files, and a presentation that compiles all of these elements into a cohesive story.

When we take a step back, we can see that that’s simply not the case. The ends of our design work, actually, are the products that are ultimately mass manufactured, which sit on store shelves and online stores, make their way into users’ lives, and eventually meet end-of-life. What most people think of as ends — the beautiful portfolio fodder — are really just means to that true end. We create a wide array of assets that define the vision, yet those are just stepping stones. They merely serve as communication aids, providing a North Star to guide the development of the product.

Everything Is Communication

Let me put the thesis of this article plainly: every single step of the design process is an exercise in communication. From the moment you embark on solving a problem through design, every move you make is a form of communication, either with yourself or with other stakeholders along the way. [Note: I hate how corporate-speak the word “stakeholders” is, but I have yet to find a word that encompasses users, collaborators, clients, manufacturing partners, investors, and beyond. So, “stakeholders” it is.]

When we compile research, we are communicating to ourselves and to others the problems we aim to solve, the product space, the context of use, the type of person who will use the product, competitors in the market… the list goes on. This includes nonverbal exercises like mood boards, too; sometimes what you’re defining and relaying is not verbal but instead a feeling or 〰️vibe〰️.

Sketching is a means of communicating form and function to colleagues, clients, and even oneself. When we sketch for form development, we’re in conversation with ourselves: what proportions will work for this? What makes sense gesturally? How will these subassemblies interact? When we sketch for buy-off from a client or collaborator, we’re making a persuasive argument: I think this may (or may not) work. And what if we try this route instead?

You might think handing off a 3D model to an engineering team relieves you of the responsibility of communicating your design. Actually, the CAD in itself is a means of communicating form, dimensions, and construction intent with clients, engineering, and other collaborators. When you produce and hand off a CAD file, you’re really saying, ”These surfaces comprise the exact design intent for this product. Here’s how it might be broken up or assembled. Here’s how I propose this could be manufactured.“

Prototypes and mockups create a dialog between designer and product. Here is, roughly, how this product should work. I believe it should be about this scale. Have I properly considered the ergonomics? How does it feel in my hand? Does the form make it look bigger than it did on screen? Appearance models, similarly, are meant to communicate overall impression at a 1:1 scale, with an attention to cosmetic detail that is impractical to assess in earlier explorations.

This last one’s a critical one: renderings are not the final output of your work as a designer. Many designers, especially students, view renderings as the be-all and end-all, the complete culmination of their design work, since that’s what makes up the splashiest bits of their portfolios. Again, when we take a step back to digest the entire process of bringing a product into the world, we realize that renderings are mostly a way to describe intended colors, materials, finishes, operation and contexts of use, overall brand feeling, and, in some cases, assembly/disassembly. Here’s what the product should ultimately look like. These surfaces should have these specific visual qualities, and it should leave us with this overall impression.

In short, design is a practice in directed, intentional communication about what is, what could be, and how we might get there. So where does that leave us?

The Day-To-Day

The sooner we adopt this attitude, the better. I think design schools would be wise to approach pedagogy from this framing. Practically speaking (which is to say, in the day-to-day), there’s a handful of ways to start living the Design As Communication™ gospel.

For starters, students should be practicing public speaking frequently. It’s a muscle we flex daily in industry, whether it’s pitching prospective clients on services, presenting concepts to key decision-makers, or communicating complex thoughts to a room full of collaborators. Most design programs require students to present their work at their final reviews, but that’s usually not enough practice to master the ✌🏼soft skill✌🏼 (in air quotes, as I find the term dismissive) of speaking with confidence, conviction, and clarity. In an academic setting, public speaking should not only be in the form of elaborate, prepared presentations, but also as exercises in speaking about design without extensive preparation. View this as a casual, regular practice. Confidence will only come with practice — there is no shortcut here.

Of course, it’s not just the attitude and confidence that matter here. Students should also practice describing their designs and decisions in writing. This does the dual service of improving communication skills for emails and write-ups while also building a lexicon for public speaking, without the pressure of coming up with descriptors on the spot. How would you describe the form language of the product? Is it sturdy, bulky, and brutalist? Is it flowing, organic, and streamlined? Is it sleek and architectural, or perhaps postmodern and loud and inspired by Memphis? And, importantly, why does it look and feel the way that it does? There are a million ways to describe a concept, but it takes practice to build a mental library of terms and references.

As for the hard-skill representations of a design (e.g. sketches, mockups, CAD models, photos, renderings, etc.), design education would benefit from questioning quality through the lens of communication efficacy rather than purely resting on visual appeal. Don’t get me wrong, visual appeal is still critical, and polished craftsmanship can take ambiguity out of the equation. But we should more frequently scrutinize these outputs under that lens of communication: what design intent is this trying to communicate? Is it doing so effectively? Does it answer all my questions, or does it raise more questions than it answers? You have a photo of a dozen mockups, but why did you make those and what did you learn? Every element of a portfolio signals something, whether you intend it or not. The best portfolios are the ones that understand this, are intentional with every piece, and cut out anything that doesn’t serve the story.

The (Really) Big Picture

Going beyond the day-to-day, how do we adopt this philosophically for ourselves? And how do we pass this on to a new generation of designers? (This last section is where I evangelize. Bear with me.)

A quick aside to give context for what follows — my all-time favorite song is Helplessness Blues by Fleet Foxes. I’ll drop it below; give it a listen if you’d like. The lyrics reflect on a deep level my belief system and how I understand my place in the world. To quote the opening lines:

I was raised up believing I was somehow unique
Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see
And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be
A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me

The allure of being the mythical Design Rockstar, the single point from which creative concepts come to life, is one I’ve recently learned to leave behind. At its best, seeing myself as a team of one isn’t very interesting or fulfilling; at its worst, the pressure to perform has had some serious negative impacts on my mental health. I’ve instead reoriented around teamwork and facilitation, less focused on the output of my work and more focused on how I can be a helpful intermediary. And honestly, it’s done wonders for both my mental well-being and my position as a contributor.

Okay, back to the topic at hand: at an individual, existential, and even spiritual level, I think designers at all career stages can benefit from this framing. In my view, it puts into perspective the role that we play in this process: we are stewards of design, not creator-gods. We are the connective tissue between various stakeholder groups. In some ways, we‘re like shepherds guiding a flock of people to greener pastures and, if we’re successful, avoiding pitfalls and predators along the way.

That admittedly sounds kind of dramatic, but I take this pretty seriously (could you tell?), so let me double down on this. Our calling as designers is one of immense responsibility, and stripping away the individual ego of a creator-god in favor of the mission-driven, selfless attitude of a steward can meaningfully benefit the greater good. We can start on that path by acknowledging that our design practice begins and ends collaboratively, never in complete isolation, with communication underpinning every. single. step. We only stand to benefit from it.

Parting Thoughts

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for following along. If you just skipped to the end (no judgment, I do it all the time), I really suggest going back and reading this one. I’ve been wrapping my head around this topic for the last year or so, and I’m glad to finally have it down in writing. There’s a lot of beauty in what we create as designers, and it’s easy to get caught up in that. However, focusing on the visual imagery we create can lead us to a solution that is shortsighted and unduly personal. By reorienting our design practice around communication, we’re better able to understand our role in the process, not just as creators, but as arbiters. Ultimately, our clients, collaborators, and users (and yes, even ourselves!) will benefit from this clarity. I hope you’ll take this piece to heart and carry it with you in your practice.