wisecracks by wiseacre design studio

You're right you're wrong, and other things I learned at SXSW 2011

Paul Armstrong — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 11:37:47 EST

I've never more pleased with spending upwards of $3000 just to hang out with friends in a strange city than every year in March when SXSWi comes along. Approximately 19,000 geeks descend upon Texas for Nerd Summer Camp and share ideas, innovations, launch products and apps and generally inspire. Or at least, that is the intent. More often than not, you leave wishing you had gotten more from the panels; learned something, heard something, while also wishing you had more time to talk and eat and generally hang out with your peers. Well, both are right. And both are wrong. The value of SXSW is up to you.

The Panels Suck

Every year (and by "every year" I mean all of the two years I've gone; I know, that does not encompass enough time to give me the ability to make a blanket statement like "every year", but you know what, I'm going to do it anyway) there are complaints and whines about how the panels were unchallenging, uninformative or just plain boring. As any group of people grows large the amount of "quality" is lost. When sports league expand the talent pool is spread thin, allowing more players into the game, but giving teams less concentration of talent. The same applies to panels. As SXSW grows (I believe it was 19,000 attendees this year) the amount of panels and topics increases to accommodate the growth.

There's also the matter of new or original topics to cover. When innovation is flat; either not growing or not evolving, we tend to rehash and reword the same things over and over again. We know that mobile is the future. But what next? What comes with that? What will propel it into places we didn't foresee? What "new" thing is on the horizon that we can take and shape and make our into something useful and unexpected? Right now there seems to be a lot of people looking to their left and right and waiting for that "next thing" (the next Facebook, the next Twitter), but it's not there. This, I think, attributes to the perception.

I think the challenge of any attendee in finding something new or interesting or challenging is in attending a panel that isn't in your direct field of study. You'll likely always hear things you've already heard when you attending a panel in an industry you're already full immersed in — though there are expections, but there aren't many. So go to a panel on something completely foreign to what you know — hell, go to one on marketing (gasp!) or social media (what!?); inspiration and influence isn't relegated to one industry (though we sure like to think we're the end all, be all, don't we?)

Technology Fails

For a conference about technology you'll be amazed at the amount of technology failure around you. Weak wireless signals, horrible network speeds, cash only bars and the uncanny ability of your iPhone's battery to seemingly lose charge faster than at any time, any place you can remember. Mix that with how 97% of people are constantly looking down at their phones and everything seems to be pulling you away from human interaction.

It's Always About the People, Stupid

On the first (official) day of SXSW I got an unexpected phone call from my doctor about a recent check-up about a skin biopsy. Everything was fine (pre-cancerous, which is a frightening word, but only because of that damned "cancer" word), but I was in a funk — stressed, worried, flustered, preoccupied. But some online friends who I hadn't met in person came and suddenly all of that vanished, immediately. The rest of the 5 days was spent learning about them, and other people who would wander into my path, what each of them do, who they are (as people, not entities in our industry) and finding friendship. It's all horribly 1980's teen film full of slow claps and fists raised walking into the sunset as Simple Minds play in the background — yet it's true.

SXSW will always be about the people. Drinking beers on a couch in a hotel lounge, eating a Korean taco from a truck, frantically checking into places on Gowalla to win free stuff, staying up far too late, losing your voice from talking so much, blistered feet, crumpled badges, seeing people whom you idolize and actually talking with them, hearing about amazing projects and products. And suddenly it's over and you're thrown back into your normal life — where it feels like you just need a passport to re-enter.

Life is always made better by the people you surround yourself with, and in Austin for 5 days in March when thousands of talented and amazing people gather it's certainly no different.

The metamorphosis of our thinking - Kickstarter and other things we don't get

Paul Armstrong — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 11:37:28 EST

In the small club known as graphic design, there has been a rather bristled stink raised over, in the grand scheme of things, a small project on Kickstarter by Frank Chimero. Frank is a skilled, respected and articulate designer. If his work doesn't speak for his abilities, then his numerous and mounting list of speaking engagements and articles should. Bottom-line, Frank knows what he's doing and gets the proper respect for it. Frank, rightly so, wanted to write a book. And rather than go the traditional route of writing a manuscript, designing the pages and graphics, presenting it to a publisher and hoping they want to print the book - he thought differently.

To the vast majority of those who aren't designers, it might be hard to understand why anyone would be upset — so what, he wants to write a book and asked people to fund it? Isn't that what start-up companies do on a grand scale all the time? Obviously the basic premise is not new. Several years ago if you wanted to publish a book you either went the route of using a self-publishing service (Lulu, Blurb, etc) or appealed the "good graces" of a (fumbling) publishing industry. Both methods had drawbacks. The first relied on your own "sweat-equity" to produce and see profit. If you aren't well know, well connected, then the chances of seeing a return on your effort was slim to none. The later method meant pleading to a publisher who not only has to understand your vision and product, but also has to determine if they deem it worthy of their investment (in terms of them seeing a return; and month by month I'd imagine publishers are frantic to understand how to profit in an increasing "free" focused industry that reads less overall and has overwhelming shifted toward online content — but that's a different story for a different time). Over the last few years a new methodology of funding has emerged called "micro-funding" or "crowd-funding" — and in this case, we're specifically talking about Kickstarter. Now one can appeal to their peers (those like-minded or pre-diposed to want the book) to help fund and create the book — if the money isn't there, than obviously there's no market. But when money comes (and in Frank's case, it came large and quick — stop it, that's not dirty) you not only can fund the costs of your effort, but also get a return on your time. So what's the big deal?

Semantics. Sour-grapes. The fear of the non-traditional. These all seem to be players in the small dust-up that have been tossed about in the design realm; most notably by Andy Rutledge (who quite frankly — excuse the pun, or not, whatever — relishes in being the "bad boy", the contrarian to what he sees as a mostly liberal, ill-informed, ill-prepared design community and using language as a weapon to illicit reaction). One would think a "convservative" or even "free-market" minded individual would champion the rights of individual responsibility in (this is where semantics will derail your perspective and make a reasonable discussion difficult) intimately and directly funding (or donating or financing) a product they believe in.

On the other hand, Frank has 1,236 (at the time of this writing) individuals who have given (in varying degrees) to an unknown product with the expectation of getting what was promised in return. Again, the onus of responsibility is shared by 1,236 people who willingly gave to the book — knowing there was nothing other than an idea and a promise (and Frank's plethora of experience to reasonably and logically expect nothing other than what was promised). Frank also bears responsibility is setting reasonable expectations for: updates on progress, time till completion, contents and other formats such as perhaps dimensions or paper stock, binding, etc. This is not entirely unlike how people are willing to pay upwards of $150 to for a ticket to sporting event, or concert, based on the team (or individual or band) to deliver what they expect in return of entertainment or victory. We daily make risks with our money. At most the "risk" of "investing" in Frank's book is that he doesn't complete it (and you get your money back) or it's perhaps not a long, or thick, print (on post-consumer waster recycle A4 paper) leather bound with a hologram of bacon on the cover. But logical evidence — just as with sporting events, concerts, etc — suggest that 80% of your expectations will be met. And in terms of what profit Frank will get, that harkens back to his responsibility for the project — researching the costs for production plus his time (which translates to being "paid" for the work).

The most exciting, and sadly lost in this small skirmish, is the potential of great ideas — that otherwise might die in the minds of the creators or flounder on the desks of executives or see limited exposure — have a profound and new method of becoming reality. And that's good for everyone involved.

*This is important
* So is this

Managing a Pipeline is like Flying in Peanut Butter

Paul Armstrong — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 11:20:06 EST

The fine art of pipeline management is not so much an art, as much as it's a vaudeville juggling act (that involves chairs and torches and knives). It's nearly a full-time job just to juggle all the variables entailed in taking a project from start to completion. It relies on an honest reflection of what you or your team can realistically accomplish, given the many variables, while making it worth the efforts (both in time and money) of those involved. Cameron Moll wrote a reflective Tumblog on the pains of learning that building something well often takes more time than you allow (or what a client wants).

Estimate for Value

We've had to address, readdress, revise and reassess my process pipeline (i.e. how much time it takes from the time the client says "Let's go" to concepting, presenting, revising, finalizing, troubleshooting and launching a project) so often, that I'm starting to believe that there is no set standard; there's no way to have a comfortable or sustainable pipeline. For the sake of not only estimating a project cost correctly, but also making sure you don't waste your value (hourly costs, whether expressed or as assimilated, have to be used to estimate the budget) one has to know — with liberal amounts of "padding" for the unknown — how long it will take you to do something. But how does one not only plan for that, but plan for it to be done well; with room to think, revise, research, test and deliver the best possible solution; while keeping a reasonable timeline to the client?

Perspective and Instinct

A great deal also depends on the timeliness of your client. If a client starts a project but has yet to give you the "deliverables" (I really hate that I used that word), that estimated timeline is in a holding pattern. Pretty soon your other projects are circling the runway. That's when communication because the key ingredient to keeping that flight pattern revolving. It's your responsibility to tell your client what is needed and the consequences to the project if those needs are met in a certain timeframe. As hard as it may be, some projects need to go to the back of the line and wait. The balance and difficulty comes in when do you ask for more from your team — more hours, more weekends, more focus — or ask your client for more — more time, more budget, more flexibility. There is no formula for what is essentially an instinct informed perspective.

Milestones

Set an internal milestone (about 5 days before your client milestone) to check that your team is meeting the timeline goals— Are the concepts worthy to show? Is there more time needed to revise or research? If you need more time, communicate that with the client the added time that will be needed: when it's a week before that initial deadline, a requested extension is typically more well received. Do this at each milestone. While it might feel like overkill, or even unnecessarily time consuming; it helps both you and your team in revisiting your efficiency (because your time is your money — your inability to correctly estimate will decrease your relative hourly rate, while efficiency and accuracy will give you a higher return). It should take less than 15 minutes to determine if you're on pace or not.

Ultimately your project pipeline is a continual revolution of revision. Complacency is not an option.

Why The AIGA Has It Wrong, Again

Paul Armstrong — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 09:30:32 EST

(A Response to an article published in AIGA on December 15th, 2010)

Once about a decade ago I belonged to what I thought was a necessary, helpful, prestigious organization of profession designers. I thought the group would be a support to the cause, purpose, standards and community of graphic design (and designers); the AIGA. What I found was quite different.

When I was in 7th grade my family moved from a country town on the border of Pennsylvania and Delaware to Overland Park, Kansas. I had never lived anywhere else, and now was hundreds of miles from familiarity. Though I'm not sure why, my parents decided to send us to public school — not a big deal to most anyone, except that up to that point I had been going to a Christian school. Say what you will, but it was all I knew. The small classes, the small building, the dress code. Being thrown into a school 15x the size, with a class as big as my previous school; you could say I was intimated.

The worst part of my day was lunch. Walking into that massive cafeteria. The new guy. Junior high. I knew no one. So I sat alone at a table on the outer edges. I didn't fit in, and many of the kids let me know. I wasn't a part of their elite. Eventually I transferred to back to a school more familiar (after night after night of crying and pleading with my parents). So what does this have to do with the AIGA? Well, it's a large, intimating crowd of elites. Having attended several meetings, classes, etc in the mid-90s I learned quickly if you didn't work for someone or with someone, you were no one. You didn't matter. As times have changed, the profession evolved (giving power to individuals to achieve great things without the need for a large agency) has steadfastly remained stoic and unchanged (not unlike the traditional publishing companies who now are floundering to figure out why they've failed to succeed in this digital age).

The AIGA isn't to blame, we are. Designers. See, most of us designers are a strange group. Often we were the creative, awkward kids who doodled and drew and never quite fit in. We grew up to want to be artists, but either realized we didn't have that certain insanity, or didn't want to be desolate and poor (which is ironic, because that's typically how you start off as a designer, except you get a "paycheck" from a "company"). And some of us were self-learners, monkeying around with code and learning how design as we go. Either way, we're not the usual class of person (which isn't a bad thing at all). We don't mingle. We don't socialize; not outside our comfort of friends and other creatives (for the most part). We're're not always great at community.

Dribbble came along about a year ago (for me anyway) as a fun project for Dan Cederholm, which turned into a quickly growing community of designers merely wanting to connect and share. That's it. Share their work. Share their ideas. Maybe get feedback and learn. I've found it to be that on many levels. I've also found it to be a the perfect blend of social media community growth and micro-learning.

So how does the AIGA get Dribbble so wrong? Let's start with their primary assumption as to the goal and means of design:

"... dig a little deeper and it isn’t too difficult to come up with a lengthy list of how this kind of sharing harms the design profession and paints us as hypocrites. Graphic design is a strategic exercise in problem solving targeted at a specific set of people. ... Every new client means discussions about building trust, the value of appropriate feedback, understanding of project goals and our individual and shared responsibilities."

The assumption that design isn't for sharing with other designers is myopic at best. If anyone has ever worked in a studio with other designers, you'll know that your design will be critiqued and viewed by others (not necessarily directly involved in the project/client). The fact that field has morphed from loft space studio agencies where "drive-by" critiques were common, to a virtual community doesn't change that practice. That's what made working for agency so great — the feedback and community that fostered learning and challenged perspectives.

The greatest fault of any designer is to discount feedback merely because the person providing feedback doesn't know the intricacies of the project goals, objectives and limitations. But YOU DO. It's your responsibility as a designer to filter feedback. Just because someone isn't privy to your information doesn't mean the feedback can't be valuable. Any designer worth their salt understands the aesthetic feedback versus strategic communication goals that inform those decisions. Just because someone suggests something doesn't mean you have to do it. On the flip side, if you're an isolated designer (like me) or a young, learning designer that feedback can educate and inform your design decisions and expand your palette of tricks, ultimately helping your client with a more unique and targeted design solution.

As designers we should be embracing any community that seeks to edify, educate and engage all it's members, not merely the chosen elite who can afford $300 a year to listen to "superstars" tell stories about things 80% of us will never come close to accomplishing.

Eventually you have to ask 'Why?'

Paul Armstrong — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 11:09:21 EST

With the announcement this morning of Gowalla 3.0 for iPhone (and it's integration of Foursquare and Facebook Places) has me thinking about "Location Based Services" (LBS) and their teetering success behind their buzz.

I first heard of Gowalla (and Foursquare) about a year ago, based on several Twitter posts of users I follow had links to places they were. To me it surmised the things that I found most boring about Twitter; status updates about where you are and what you're eating. At worst it felt like a form of stalking, or at best incredibly narcissistic. But I joined the small band-wagon and started creating spots and checking in and getting badges and mayorships and points (though did my best not to post them to Twitter, per my previous view). But after a year I've all but stopped using any of the services. I suspect that for the vast majority of potential and even current users of any LBS; my scenario might become common theme. But why?

People are willing to join a "hype", to try it out and see what all the fuss is about. But after awhile everyone will eventually ask "Why?". Why should I use this service? Why should I use my time to care? Our time, resources and efforts — no matter how small or insignificant in literal time and effort — are valuable to us. If we don't find a benefit, we'll simply stop using or doing something. The question for all LBS is - why?

The benefits to users (or more importantly, businesses) is very small. If you're a small service business, in a fairly average sized town (let's say Dayton, Ohio) what benefit would you see in the 5 or less people that might ever use a LBS with your establishment? The chances that they know their regulars is pretty great, and that these regulars use a LBS is probably pretty small. Why would they want to reward that mayor or most-frequent visitor when they may have only been to their store 3 times? What is the cost to them for such a small user-base of influence to their bottom line? The same goes for the customer. Why would I continue to check-in to establishments for no gain? For nothing in return for my loyalty?

That leaves the small base of influence to large cities with large chain stores who can afford to invest give-aways and free drinks, etc., which greatly limits the usefulness (and ultimately the impact) of any location based service to a very small fringe base of potential users. The limitations will mean that these services will never see the large impact they desire without some serious consideration with how to reward both sectors of the "Why?" crowd.

They're just not that into you

Paul Armstrong — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 10:21:03 EST

Corporate re-branding is not a new phenomenal. It's the life blood of large design agencies throughout the country. Land a client and convince them every decade or so that it is vital for their business to remain "fresh" and "new" and that a brand restructuring is just the "refresh" they need to kick-start a growth trend.

Corporate re-branding is not a new phenomenon. It's the life blood of large design agencies throughout the country. Land a client and convince them every decade or so that it is vital for their business to remain "fresh" and "new" and that a brand restructuring is just the "refresh" they need to kick-start a growth trend. So when GAP announced it's new logo the design community had minor hissy fit (I distinctly heard the sound of skinny-jeans ripping and double-shot mocha espresso's being tossed onto a Cassina LC2 Petit Modele Armchair).

The problem isn't the outrage over the logo. We can debate the "goodness" of a design infinitely, while the remaining 99% of America goes about buying khakis and solid color t-shirts. The problem is a large and menacing paradigm shift. What was once on the fringes of small corporations who couldn't afford multi-million dollar contracts with New York based design agencies, has suddenly tempted large corporations into toeing the crowd-sourcing waters.

I won't attempt to get into the fairness, the ethical matter or even compounding economic effects of design crowd-sourcing. I can't speak with any authority on how it truly helps or hurts our industry (though I'm a firm believer in a free-market economy, I do understand the impact it has on my profession but if it didn't work, it wouldn't exist — there are advantages as well as drawbacks for those using the method as well as those contributing to it). What I can say is that this is a large and ominous shift in what our industry takes for granted — it's own necessity. Gap is firmly saying "We don't need a large agency, hundreds of hours of meetings and contracts and red-tape to get a world class logo".

If I were a large agency (and, honestly, as designers we all dream of being a large agency, we just lack the business skills, the work ethic, the general desire to become that; though we'll bad mouth those agencies till our designer glasses are blue in the frame because of our jealously) that depended upon those things, I'd be very worried.

A Lesson In Losing

Paul Armstrong — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 11:07:13 EST

My son played his first football game this past Sunday. His team lost. Badly. To look and talk with him after the game, you'd never know it. His jubilation for the game, for playing, for having fun didn't wane merely because they were beaten by another team. He was just happy to be there. To wear the pads. To adorn the uniform. He was sweaty and tired, he did what he was told and put in as close to his best effort as a 3rd grader could be expected.

As an adult it's nearly impossible not to linger on the effect of losing. Ask any sports fan, losing defines your mood. It defines success. There is no positive in losing. There is no joy or happiness. No hope. Just a mire of shame and bitterness (and the drive to beat someone next time). Often in work these are our same reactions in losing a client, a contract for a job, a promotion, or recognition. We rob ourselves of the enjoyment or merely being in the game — of having a job, or making money in something we love (and if you don't love what you do or at least find fulfillment in it, then you might want to reconsider what you're doing; don't waster 3/4 of your life in misery).

It's about priorities. If winning, or beating someone else, is our only drive, then we've missed the point of the game. In this instance, life. Life isn't about beating someone or something else, but about taking joy and pride — if you'll excuse my inundation of tired sports metaphors — in wearing the uniform, playing your hardest and just having fun in living every day.

Take a lesson from a 3rd grader who just lost 19-0, can you say this at the end of your day: "That was so much fun!"

Top 8 Excuses All Designers Have Used At Some Point

Paul Armstrong — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 11:27:26 EST

We all make excuses. It's second nature. It's easy. It prevents those embarrasing weaknesses — we humans so miserably hang on to — from showing. In a follow-up to my post on honesty and apologizing in the workplace and with clients, I thought I'd put together the top 8 (it's a nice round number) excuses often used when working with varoius clients or co-workers (I personally have never used any of these excuses, that you know of — and if you're a client, I certain I've never used them with you).

We all make excuses. It's second nature. It's easy. It prevents those embarrassing weaknesses — we humans so miserably hang on to — from showing. In a follow-up to my post on honesty and apologizing in the workplace and with clients, I thought I'd put together the top 8 (it's a nice round number) excuses often used when working with various clients or co-workers (I personally have never used any of these excuses, that you know of — and if you're a client, I certain I've never used them with you).

"There were far too many constraints holding back the full vision and scope of this project for us to deliver what we had initially thought we could do."
I really overshot what I thought I could do, because designing something interesting for a 'Senior Plus' dating site is pretty difficult, coupled with your awful logo and requirement that I have button that say "Click Here" next to them. Just don't do a website if you're users don't understand the basic concepts of web interaction.
"I'm not sure we can proceed any further on this project — we have different ideas and methods to fulfill your desired outcome."
I'm too personally attached to this project to be objective and take the necessary feedback to make a product work. I poured my heart and soul and about 50 hours of my life into this and dammit, it's really great, you're just too attached to what your competition is doing to see how good this is for your brand.
"I'm sorry I missed your call last week, was on a much needed vacation."
Thank God for caller ID because you're starting to really annoy me, and that's pretty unprofessional of me I know, but if I have to answer another question about how to get your site in the top search results for Google without paying I might say something even I'd regret.
"I recommend a nice "out of the box" solution, they have very professional themes, and it's the simplest and easiest way for you to communicate your brand."
I've got another project that is so much more interesting and lucrative than you're $250 little 4 page "brochure-ware" site.
"That Tweet definitely wasn't about you. There are lots of "Dave's" that I work with."
I forgot that you followed me on Twitter.
"Implementing that solution along with the other implemented solutions creates a conflict, rending both ineffective, so we'll have to simplify that solution."
Because it was a hassle to make it all work effectively, and you'd probably not appreciate it because you only asked about doing these because of that Forbes.com how all businesses should be embracing Web 2.0 and SEO and be "compliant" and Analytics and Metrix and Social Media other buzzwords you don't understand.
"I'm not avoiding you, I'm just busy and putting these headphones on really helps me focus."
You remind me of my mom and that's not good, so maybe you could stop leaving notes on the fridge about which sandwich is yours and the toilet seats about closing the lid and reminding me about turning in my time-sheets.
"Since our pipeline is so backed up, we'll have to delay this project back 4 months"
I'm so far in over my head, but I really really needed the money and I honestly thought that I could figure it out, but honestly I'm pretty tired and reading all that code put me to sleep almost instantaneously.

What are some (common) excuses you've heard?

Two Little Words

Paul Armstrong — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 10:43:06 EST

How often do you find yourself saying "I'm sorry"? if you're like me, and are married (with kids), you'll find those words coming out of your mouth the moment you wake up (because your wife dreamt that you contacted that girl you dated in college on Facebook and now she's really pissed for something a projection of you in a fake reality did in her imaginary dream-land). Apologies are easy to come by in our personal relatioships, but what about in your life outside of home? What about in your professional relationships?

It's so easy to say "I"m sorry" that quite often the words lack any impact or significance when uttered. They roll off our tongues flippantly or in reaction to a situation. Sometimes they're heart felt, but most times they're a blanket to smother a flame. When it comes to saying "I'm Sorry" in our professional relationships, we refrain from apologies for fear of being seen as weak. But is it really weakness to apologize in a professional environment? We all mess up. We all make mistakes. We act selfishly or foolishly. We overreact or don't react at all. We all have weaknesses. You don't show weakness when you apologize, you show weakness by having too much pride to admit your fault. The difference between apologizing to make a problem go away and apologizing because you're legitimately sorry is the fine art of honesty.

I pride myself on being honest. But when I fail at something, I'm typically too ashamed to be honest about my mistakes or failures. I don't imagine I'm alone. How often should you say you're sorry, but find tired and overused excuses to expedite your culpability? Whenever you make an honest mistake, you should apologize for it (specifically, not generically) and without an excuse or a big "but". Honesty pays off, and showing your humanity allows you to connect with others. That also doesn't mean you should be completely, or fully honest when apologizing — because, well, sometimes that will be more hurtful, than helpful.

You Never Work Alone

Paul Armstrong — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 13:53:49 EST

So you have all the tools necessary to be an effective, even good, designer (aside from the basic skills like being creative, knowing what kerning and baseline and rivers and grids and balance and who's Massimo Vignelli) — you’re confident (but not too confident because no one likes working with an arrogant jerk), determined, communicate clearly and have healthy boundaries. But you forgot one very important thing. Perhaps the most important tool of all: Teamwork.

Maybe you’re the only one in your “department” or maybe you’re a "freelancer" (and let's not go into how much I despise that term, aside from the implication that you're either unable to work for someone or that you're young, unskilled and will work for free drinks at TGI Fridays), but regardless of the situation you're in, there are more hands at work in communicating your design ideas and concepts than just you. In many ways your job is to communicate the vision of your client (or your bosses interpretation of what your client wants — but let's not get into that either). Communicating that message is a team effort, and thus you have to use all your tools to work together as a team.

The amount of work you do with others (in a team) varies greatly from studio to studio (office to office, company to company, firm to firm, organization to organization, van to van, you get the picture), but you never work alone. Teamwork doesn’t mean just doing what someone tells you or waiting for everyone to agree. It doesn’t mean singing around a campfire (unless that helps you be creative and all, which is perfectly fine, weird, completely weird, but fine). The greatest designers, designers with prestigious clients and award-winning work, seek the input of others to help sharpen and shape their designs.

Teamwork is about respect and honor. ?What? Respect and honor?" you say, "isn't that for marriages and parents?" In order for any relationship to work there needs to be respect and honor — whether that's your marriage, your friendships or even your co-workers and team members. Each member of a team deserves the respect and honor to be listened to. The respect and honor to be allowed to add input. The respect and honor to be a part of the process. This doesn’t mean your role is less important, but if you've cultivated the other tools, your role will be respected and given the proper weight into the decision making process. The hardest part of being a designer is listening to people whom we perceive as the "non-creatives" — the sales people, the marketing people, the corporate suits — but each person on your respective team has a perspective about their client, their market, their product, that we don't. Without your team, or more precisely, without making an effort to be a part of your team, your ideas will miss the mark and not be well received. Never expect more from your team than what you expect from yourself — excellence, clarity and community.