What would a graphic design utopia look like? A perfect island where typographers work in harmony, sharing fonts and plug-ins, free from competition and aesthetically flawless? Utopias, by their very nature, are unattainable—the Greek roots of the word ou-topos literally mean “no place”—but imagining them allows us to hope for a better world. I want to do the same for the graphic designer; the hunched-over image-makers, buried deep in the typographic weeds, staring inches away from glowing screens as they kern letters and smooth curves, unable to zoom out and envision a brighter future. Only a fool would claim that graphic design can change the world, but idealistically, this essay (and the book as a whole) is an attempt to rethink graphic design itself—as amorphous of a practice as it is—through an imagined future that actively examines it and aims to overcome the issues negatively impacting the industry.
But if we’re so sure graphic design can’t change the world, why bother trying? What society views as a relatively new “profession” is, in truth, as ancient as the visualization of language itself, and it has the power to drive movements, whether we recognize it or not. As our society becomes increasingly visual, with new technologies generating an endless deluge of photos, videos, and audio (and AI now distilling these original data points into amorphous, reductive forms), graphic design is more pervasive than ever. Its prevalence shapes, defines, and codifies culture through the eyes of humanity. Understanding how graphic design can be improved and harnessed for good—by attempting to see it through an imagined future that isn’t as far from reality as we may think—is a critical responsibility for those of us who have chosen to make it our calling.
In order to imagine this future, I want to explore the foundations of any society: education (the foundation for how visuals are defined and created); aesthetics (how people see and analyze visuals); and society (how we interact with visuals).
But if we’re so sure graphic design can’t change the world, why bother trying? What society views as a relatively new “profession” is, in truth, as ancient as the visualization of language itself, and it has the power to drive movements, whether we recognize it or not. As our society becomes increasingly visual, with new technologies generating an endless deluge of photos, videos, and audio (and AI now distilling these original data points into amorphous, reductive forms), graphic design is more pervasive than ever. Its prevalence shapes, defines, and codifies culture through the eyes of humanity. Understanding how graphic design can be improved and harnessed for good—by attempting to see it through an imagined future that isn’t as far from reality as we may think—is a critical responsibility for those of us who have chosen to make it our calling.
In order to imagine this future, I want to explore the foundations of any society: education (the foundation for how visuals are defined and created); aesthetics (how people see and analyze visuals); and society (how we interact with visuals).
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Ambrosius Holbein (attributed) ‘Utopiae Insulae Figura’ (The Figure of the Island of Utopia), 1518
Education
Knowledge drives the graphic design machine, and to repair its mechanisms, we must scrutinize education. The current state of graphic design education is fragmented and poorly equipped to meet the needs of today’s practitioners or aspiring designers. It is scattered into overpriced private art schools, free online resources, and influencers attempting to bridge the gaps with their often inadequate, pay-to-play courses.
While much of the knowledge about the craft of design has migrated online—helping to democratize the practice—this shift comes with its own set of challenges. Anyone with the time, resources, and knowledge of where to look can access the technical skills required to be a graphic designer. Unfortunately, self-teaching can be an isolating and alienating process, as spending hours staring at screens filled with YouTube tutorials can feel incredibly lonely. Online communities (such as Discord groups, online forums, or subreddits) offer a valuable alternative, enabling shared learning and collaboration, but they can lack the depth and connection of in-person experiences. The distance created by the computer screen is significant and can be a weak substitute for learning and creating in real life.
When it comes to in-person education, the higher education system for graphic design is largely confined behind the closed gates of private art institutions—places that have become increasingly difficult to access due to rising tuition costs. This issue is not unique to design or art schools, as between 1980 and 2020, the average cost of college tuition in the US increased by 169%, far outpacing the growth in wages.1 To combat these rising costs, students have become burdened with debt. Since 2010, over two-thirds of students took out loans, with many taking out over $50,0002 just to attend art school. Bachelor of Arts graduates with student loans are less likely to work as artists—the greater the debt, the greater the precarity. It’s reasonable to assume that graphic designers face similar challenges. According to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, the median entry-level salary for graphic designers was $58,9103 as of May 2023. For those fortunate enough to secure a job in the field, this income would barely cover the burden of student loans. Faculty members are not spared from these negative trends either, as according to the American Association of University Professors (AAUP), approximately 70% of instructional appointments in US higher education are now non-tenure-track positions.4 A school that relies heavily on part-time and adjunct faculty can exploit these educators by denying them the economic means and professional support needed to perform their jobs effectively. This results in fragmented departments, high turnover, and a lack of job security.
While much of the knowledge about the craft of design has migrated online—helping to democratize the practice—this shift comes with its own set of challenges. Anyone with the time, resources, and knowledge of where to look can access the technical skills required to be a graphic designer. Unfortunately, self-teaching can be an isolating and alienating process, as spending hours staring at screens filled with YouTube tutorials can feel incredibly lonely. Online communities (such as Discord groups, online forums, or subreddits) offer a valuable alternative, enabling shared learning and collaboration, but they can lack the depth and connection of in-person experiences. The distance created by the computer screen is significant and can be a weak substitute for learning and creating in real life.
When it comes to in-person education, the higher education system for graphic design is largely confined behind the closed gates of private art institutions—places that have become increasingly difficult to access due to rising tuition costs. This issue is not unique to design or art schools, as between 1980 and 2020, the average cost of college tuition in the US increased by 169%, far outpacing the growth in wages.1 To combat these rising costs, students have become burdened with debt. Since 2010, over two-thirds of students took out loans, with many taking out over $50,0002 just to attend art school. Bachelor of Arts graduates with student loans are less likely to work as artists—the greater the debt, the greater the precarity. It’s reasonable to assume that graphic designers face similar challenges. According to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, the median entry-level salary for graphic designers was $58,9103 as of May 2023. For those fortunate enough to secure a job in the field, this income would barely cover the burden of student loans. Faculty members are not spared from these negative trends either, as according to the American Association of University Professors (AAUP), approximately 70% of instructional appointments in US higher education are now non-tenure-track positions.4 A school that relies heavily on part-time and adjunct faculty can exploit these educators by denying them the economic means and professional support needed to perform their jobs effectively. This results in fragmented departments, high turnover, and a lack of job security.
Teachers from the New School on strike, 2022; photo: Getty Images
Having taught as an adjunct at institutions like California College of the Arts, Pratt Institute, and the School of Visual Arts, I have witnessed these issues firsthand. These schools are home to incredibly talented students and deeply committed faculty, but they often lack structural support. Moreover, the fact that a majority of my students were international bears no direct correlation to the quality of their work or their tenacity, both of which were exceptional. Instead, it may underscore a troubling trend: private art school education has become increasingly out of reach for many Americans, including those living in the very cities where these institutions are located. At the School of Visual Arts in New York City, where I last taught, international students comprise approximately 52% of the student body.5 Education of this kind should be equally accessible to all, regardless of background or geography.
The solution to the issues with private art schools is frustratingly straightforward: reallocating resources away from bloated administrations, reducing tuition costs, raising faculty wages, and providing basic benefits. Of course, this would require a fundamental overhaul of the capitalistic tendencies infiltrating these institutions, but it is not unfeasible. Public schools funded by the government tend to be more accessible, as they are more available to those who cannot afford private education. For example, elevating state schools and community colleges to the ranks of wellregarded design schools—by having well-known faculty take positions at these institutions and enhancing their standing in the eyes of the broader design community—can only be beneficial.
When it comes to improving conditions for faculty, unions serve as a powerful equalizer, fostering solidarity and empowering educators to negotiate better working conditions. My alma mater, Parsons School of Design—an offshoot of The New School where part-time faculty make up an astonishing 87% of the teaching staff6—recently achieved a union victory after a three-week strike that effectively shut down the school. The resulting contract increased pay rates by 13% for the highest-paid adjuncts, with some seeing up to a 36% increase7 by their fifth year of teaching. While this is only a single success, it represents a step in the right direction and can serve as a model for other schools to improve their communities for the benefit of both students and the educators who guide them.
A complete financial restructuring of existing private art schools or an elevation of the stature of public institutions is a feasible starting point. However, in the pursuit of utopian ideals, the logical next step could be to create new school models that teach both the fundamentals of design and its social impacts at a price point accessible to all, not merely as a cash grab for instructors looking to build another income stream. What exactly this new model would look like remains undefined, but I hope everyone reading this can begin to imagine it.
The solution to the issues with private art schools is frustratingly straightforward: reallocating resources away from bloated administrations, reducing tuition costs, raising faculty wages, and providing basic benefits. Of course, this would require a fundamental overhaul of the capitalistic tendencies infiltrating these institutions, but it is not unfeasible. Public schools funded by the government tend to be more accessible, as they are more available to those who cannot afford private education. For example, elevating state schools and community colleges to the ranks of wellregarded design schools—by having well-known faculty take positions at these institutions and enhancing their standing in the eyes of the broader design community—can only be beneficial.
When it comes to improving conditions for faculty, unions serve as a powerful equalizer, fostering solidarity and empowering educators to negotiate better working conditions. My alma mater, Parsons School of Design—an offshoot of The New School where part-time faculty make up an astonishing 87% of the teaching staff6—recently achieved a union victory after a three-week strike that effectively shut down the school. The resulting contract increased pay rates by 13% for the highest-paid adjuncts, with some seeing up to a 36% increase7 by their fifth year of teaching. While this is only a single success, it represents a step in the right direction and can serve as a model for other schools to improve their communities for the benefit of both students and the educators who guide them.
A complete financial restructuring of existing private art schools or an elevation of the stature of public institutions is a feasible starting point. However, in the pursuit of utopian ideals, the logical next step could be to create new school models that teach both the fundamentals of design and its social impacts at a price point accessible to all, not merely as a cash grab for instructors looking to build another income stream. What exactly this new model would look like remains undefined, but I hope everyone reading this can begin to imagine it.
Ad for Canva, 2025
AESTHETICS
When it comes to aesthetic choices in the practice of graphic design, there can be two types of designers: those who seek to make themselves known and those who do not. The graphic designers who strive for anonymity—despite the inevitability of authorship, the myth of neutrality, and the guarantee of bias—serve a logical function in the design world. These designers excel in system-based work, such as signage, government form layouts, and UX design, where their focus is on usability and creating frictionless experiences.
This function-first approach can be noble, though often thankless. It is where tangible progress can be made in what many would define as “making the world a better place.” Examples include improving voting forms to ensure clarity in candidate choices, making hospital signage more intuitive, and reducing friction on frequently used websites. These tasks are akin to refining a typeface—smoothing out imperfections and refining shared spaces. Usability is key here, as navigating these public areas—whether accessing health care online or visiting the DMV in person—should, in theory, be fast, easy, and painless.
Contrary to common assumptions, this kind of design for the public is not easily automated. It requires a deep understanding of typography and human behavior. The types of aesthetic choices that work for everybody emerge from a desire for ubiquity: “neutral” typefaces that are legible for all but always shaped by context. While this work may not be considered “fun” by certain graphic designers, it remains essential.
The other aesthetic path for graphic designers—the one where we accept that there will always be a personal intermediary between information and its dissemination—is where aesthetic shifts begin to flourish. Graphic designers will always “be in the way,” whether they want to be or not, and embracing this can only make the world more unexpected and beautiful. When usability and legibility become the guiding principles for a designer, the work can feel boring, uninspired, and monotonous. However, graphic designers should always be able to make any kind of work interesting—to themselves and others. One of the core tenets of our practice is that constraints can lead to surprisingly creative and unexpected outcomes.
This function-first approach can be noble, though often thankless. It is where tangible progress can be made in what many would define as “making the world a better place.” Examples include improving voting forms to ensure clarity in candidate choices, making hospital signage more intuitive, and reducing friction on frequently used websites. These tasks are akin to refining a typeface—smoothing out imperfections and refining shared spaces. Usability is key here, as navigating these public areas—whether accessing health care online or visiting the DMV in person—should, in theory, be fast, easy, and painless.
Contrary to common assumptions, this kind of design for the public is not easily automated. It requires a deep understanding of typography and human behavior. The types of aesthetic choices that work for everybody emerge from a desire for ubiquity: “neutral” typefaces that are legible for all but always shaped by context. While this work may not be considered “fun” by certain graphic designers, it remains essential.
The other aesthetic path for graphic designers—the one where we accept that there will always be a personal intermediary between information and its dissemination—is where aesthetic shifts begin to flourish. Graphic designers will always “be in the way,” whether they want to be or not, and embracing this can only make the world more unexpected and beautiful. When usability and legibility become the guiding principles for a designer, the work can feel boring, uninspired, and monotonous. However, graphic designers should always be able to make any kind of work interesting—to themselves and others. One of the core tenets of our practice is that constraints can lead to surprisingly creative and unexpected outcomes.
P-Studio, “Persona 5 UX Design,” 2016
There is no objectively neutral design, so whether a design is trendy or personal is not inherently an issue, although we should always be mindful when we are engaging in either. Graphic design that draws inspiration solely from other graphic design can feel empty because of its self-referential nature but drawing from one’s own life and art can enhance the work. This is not to suggest that graphic design should be solely about self-expression (as it is not inherently art), as one of its key principles is that it is created with and for others. Graphic design created to be fun and encourage play, regardless of self-expression, has produced some of the best aesthetics of the past few decades in the field of video games, despite many of the graphic designers in the video game world remaining anonymous to the public. For example, the game Persona 5 features a wild and vivid UI that rejects traditional notions of “good design” in favor of fluid, exciting typography that commands attention, becoming an integral part of the game itself.
Graphic design should be a joyous endeavor, even if you are not trying to embed yourself into the work. Infusing emotions into all aspects of design can elevate the practice. Designers who incorporate their personal influences—whether from “high” or “low” culture—and collaborate with clients and/or peers to help translate their vision, often produce better work, pushing aesthetics forward into the future. A utopian graphic ideal is a place that welcomes all types of designers: those who strive to make the world more accessible, those who seek to make it more artful, those who do both, and everyone in between.
Graphic design should be a joyous endeavor, even if you are not trying to embed yourself into the work. Infusing emotions into all aspects of design can elevate the practice. Designers who incorporate their personal influences—whether from “high” or “low” culture—and collaborate with clients and/or peers to help translate their vision, often produce better work, pushing aesthetics forward into the future. A utopian graphic ideal is a place that welcomes all types of designers: those who strive to make the world more accessible, those who seek to make it more artful, those who do both, and everyone in between.
@neuroticarsehole, 2018
SOCIETY
As our daily lives become increasingly intertwined with technology—transforming us from humans into cyborgs, as feminist cyborg scholar Donna Haraway might put it—graphic design has only grown in prevalence. According to data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics,8 the number of graphic designers employed in the US has increased from approximately 190,000 in 1997 to around 281,500 in 2020. This represents an approximately 48% increase, while the US population grew by about 22%9 during the same period. Along with this growth in the profession, the integration of graphic design tools into daily life has also democratized the practice. Now, anyone with a smartphone can become a graphic designer simply by downloading Canva or even just using Instagram Stories. This has had both positive and negative effects on our industry. While it has opened the door to many who were previously excluded due to the high cost of software (and, in the past, complex analog techniques), it has also led some to believe they are creating high-quality graphic design without understanding its history or techniques.
As a graphic designer today, it is common for a client to attempt to do the work themselves, whether by coming up with an idea or even trying their hand at graphic design, thanks to this newfound ubiquity and ease of use of design tools. Collaborating with others is one of life’s greatest joys, but when the people you’re working with believe they know the job better than you do—the very job for which they hired you based on your experience and expertise—it can be belittling. While this may sometimes stem from naïveté, it also points to a deeper disrespect and misunderstanding of the graphic design profession as a whole. This may explain why so many assume that doing it themselves will suffice, because the success of graphic design is largely intangible and subjective, often depending on context and an understanding of the audience. However, by not utilizing a graphic designer with actual knowledge of the practice (which, again, is difficult to measure), society as a whole suffers. At its best, graphic design introduces beauty into the everyday, and when society disregards this, it makes the world an uglier and messier place. It’s never just a simple matter of the client knowing better than the designer or the designer knowing better than the client; it’s about the most foundational aspects of any relationship: communication and respect.
So, in what ways can graphic designers gain more respect within society? The most “successful” graphic designers are rarely the ones who produce the best work; they are the ones who can best advocate for themselves, demonstrate their value, educate their peers, and successfully justify their work to the world. While these are not skills that come naturally for everyone, they should be embraced. My interest in graphic design started because I enjoyed being by myself, experimenting with Photoshop on a computer. But as I grew up, my approach did, too. By learning basic communication skills—an essential skill in any profession!—and understanding the importance of educating others on how graphic design can bring value to a project or collective, you can build respect while advocating for yourself and other designers. If this seems impossible, seeking out opportunities to work with—and learn from—others who excel at these skills and can present and advocate for your work is equally effective.
Presenting design work can be a two-way street, and showing respect for those who can present, write, and speak on your behalf is also key. This isn’t to say that the metrics graphic designers set for themselves will always succeed in the workplace. Often, the most transgressive design is not the best for business. Good design isn’t for everyone—unoffensive design is. Even if your work isn’t achieving strong numbers, by providing aesthetics that are beautiful and/or unexpected, it should still be considered a success.
The same idea applies to social media, as the best work doesn’t always generate the highest engagement. What performs well is determined by the algorithm, as each platform has its own game. Those who rise to the top are the ones who play the game best, not necessarily the ones doing the best work. Graphic designers should avoid creating work with the sole purpose of posting it on social media—unless their goal is only to self-promote or it’s part of their job description—as designing for the algorithm often results in predictable outcomes at best and embarrassing ones at worst. By having conviction in the belief that the work you do is important and has the potential to speak for itself—and that the work you do with others is equally valuable—graphic design can rise to its rightful place in society.
Imagining a graphic design utopia is not a grand work of science fiction. The changes outlined here are not fantastical but practical, requiring, at the very least, a little bit of imagination. Many of these changes may seem unfeasible under capitalism, as many of us live in precarious situations, working grueling corporate jobs or for under-resourced non-profits or freelancing from client to client with little opportunity to take a break. But for those with the means and ability to speak up and make positive changes within their own practice, while inspiring change in others along the way, it is both possible and necessary. For those who cannot, it’s important to start small and do what you can. After all, if we can’t shift the Overton window within our own specialized profession, how can we hope to shift the window for the world? At the end of the day, all we can do is design harder.
As a graphic designer today, it is common for a client to attempt to do the work themselves, whether by coming up with an idea or even trying their hand at graphic design, thanks to this newfound ubiquity and ease of use of design tools. Collaborating with others is one of life’s greatest joys, but when the people you’re working with believe they know the job better than you do—the very job for which they hired you based on your experience and expertise—it can be belittling. While this may sometimes stem from naïveté, it also points to a deeper disrespect and misunderstanding of the graphic design profession as a whole. This may explain why so many assume that doing it themselves will suffice, because the success of graphic design is largely intangible and subjective, often depending on context and an understanding of the audience. However, by not utilizing a graphic designer with actual knowledge of the practice (which, again, is difficult to measure), society as a whole suffers. At its best, graphic design introduces beauty into the everyday, and when society disregards this, it makes the world an uglier and messier place. It’s never just a simple matter of the client knowing better than the designer or the designer knowing better than the client; it’s about the most foundational aspects of any relationship: communication and respect.
So, in what ways can graphic designers gain more respect within society? The most “successful” graphic designers are rarely the ones who produce the best work; they are the ones who can best advocate for themselves, demonstrate their value, educate their peers, and successfully justify their work to the world. While these are not skills that come naturally for everyone, they should be embraced. My interest in graphic design started because I enjoyed being by myself, experimenting with Photoshop on a computer. But as I grew up, my approach did, too. By learning basic communication skills—an essential skill in any profession!—and understanding the importance of educating others on how graphic design can bring value to a project or collective, you can build respect while advocating for yourself and other designers. If this seems impossible, seeking out opportunities to work with—and learn from—others who excel at these skills and can present and advocate for your work is equally effective.
Presenting design work can be a two-way street, and showing respect for those who can present, write, and speak on your behalf is also key. This isn’t to say that the metrics graphic designers set for themselves will always succeed in the workplace. Often, the most transgressive design is not the best for business. Good design isn’t for everyone—unoffensive design is. Even if your work isn’t achieving strong numbers, by providing aesthetics that are beautiful and/or unexpected, it should still be considered a success.
The same idea applies to social media, as the best work doesn’t always generate the highest engagement. What performs well is determined by the algorithm, as each platform has its own game. Those who rise to the top are the ones who play the game best, not necessarily the ones doing the best work. Graphic designers should avoid creating work with the sole purpose of posting it on social media—unless their goal is only to self-promote or it’s part of their job description—as designing for the algorithm often results in predictable outcomes at best and embarrassing ones at worst. By having conviction in the belief that the work you do is important and has the potential to speak for itself—and that the work you do with others is equally valuable—graphic design can rise to its rightful place in society.
Imagining a graphic design utopia is not a grand work of science fiction. The changes outlined here are not fantastical but practical, requiring, at the very least, a little bit of imagination. Many of these changes may seem unfeasible under capitalism, as many of us live in precarious situations, working grueling corporate jobs or for under-resourced non-profits or freelancing from client to client with little opportunity to take a break. But for those with the means and ability to speak up and make positive changes within their own practice, while inspiring change in others along the way, it is both possible and necessary. For those who cannot, it’s important to start small and do what you can. After all, if we can’t shift the Overton window within our own specialized profession, how can we hope to shift the window for the world? At the end of the day, all we can do is design harder.