There Was a Time When a Designer Could Simply Be a Designer

Designers once followed steady paths; now they navigate blurred roles, shrinking studios, and relentless demands—forced to balance craft with storytelling, identity, and survival in a restless digital age.

There was a time when a designer could simply be a designer. You learned the craft, joined a studio, worked on long projects, and slowly grew into your own voice. The journey was predictable—steady, linear, and supported by an industry that valued clear roles and long-term dedication.

Today, that landscape is fading, and I feel depressed about it. As a lecturer for many years at universities, trying to inspire students to become creative professionals, I sometimes feel like a fraud—a fairy godmother who promised a future that hasn’t lived up to reality. It hurts, and I am still trying to figure out what to say about the world when I myself am still learning and striving to be acknowledged for my craft.

Holland Street has been growing slowly for many years, through ups and downs and time away to raise children. Yet it is still here, and I don’t plan on giving up anytime soon. But many studios and design brands, polished as they may look from the outside, are often small teams stretched thin, with lean budgets and relentless deadlines. They must adapt constantly to keep up with shifting digital technology. Take this week, for example: Google changed its algorithm again, and the SEO ranking of hollandstreet.co dropped despite weeks of effort to improve it. Just like that—poof. I now have to hire someone to give me insights, simply to get people to visit the site.

Permanent design departments have been replaced by rotating freelancers—often unreliable, with pay that doesn’t support mortgages or long-term security. Once-clear roles blur into hybrid responsibilities. The traditional career path has slipped away, leaving designers in a more fluid, precarious reality. This is the opposite of what I told my students ten years ago, and I feel it myself.

In a global marketplace where borders matter less than speed, entry-level creatives are expected to juggle multiple disciplines while brands rely on quick visual cues instead of deep collaboration. Technical skill alone is no longer enough. Designers must narrate their process, manage clients, conquer social media, produce TikTok videos, refine visual identity, and shape personal identity—entrepreneurial skills born of necessity, not ambition.

This week I read that generic content is dead in 2025. By 2026, only one thing will cut through: a strong personal brand. Not just a logo, but personality and point of view. We are now encouraged to dig deeper, solving problems for specific groups in order to attract a loyal base. Apparently, when you try to speak to everyone, nobody feels seen.

But this constant demand for content hooks is exhausting. If you’ve poured yourself into a textile design (for example) as a tool to inspire, why must you bend over backwards to solve endless problems for people who may never buy the product—who might just screenshot it and file it away in their Google Drive for years to come?

To conclude: it is exhausting to keep changing the way we operate to suit a demographic of people scrolling. As designers, we are taught to create work that connects to the soul of the viewer. Our products are meant to be seen, loved, cherished, and admired—not reduced to bait for likes and scrolls.

I hope to grow steadily, consciously, and connect with people on a present and real level. I hope you can stop scrolling long enough to see the brand behind the screens, to appreciate the skill of the design, and to admire the product for what it communicates and desires—straight from the designer’s eyes.