Shoulderlooks come too early, almost always
I very consciously avoid early shoulder looks. This has nothing to do with secrecy, but with a practical problem: Anyone who looks into the concept and flow phase of a project before there is substance necessarily comments on the surface — because that is the only tangible level on which he or she can judge. You then get feedback about colors while you're still solving the information architecture. This is distracting, even worse: It tempts you to make decisions that work visually but are conceptually wrong.
American graphic designer Paul Rand recognized this early on and insisted throughout his life on a process that protects creative people from too early, too much external influence. His argument was simple: A problem can only be solved by someone who fully understood it — not by a committee that watches it. That sounds harsh, but it is an honest diagnosis in everyday life. Good ideas are often destroyed not by bad criticism, but by too early criticism, which takes effect before the idea has even had a chance to form.
That's why I need space when I work. Not physically, although an empty table doesn't hurt either — but mentally. A framework in which I can fully think through the problem without having to immediately justify it.
The user is not an abstract concept, but a real person
Before I design anything, I ask myself two questions and I take the time to really answer them: Who am I creating this design for — and what problem am I solving with it? That sounds obvious, but in practice it isn't. Especially in agencies or under time pressure, it's easy to think about the result — what should it look like? — before you've really clarified the starting point — what should it even be there for?
For me, the end user is not an abstract term at the end of a personas list, but someone I imagine as specifically as possible: What expectations does this person have? How much cognitive energy does she want to use to understand what I'm showing her? Where could it fail — and why? This mental simulation is part of my design process long before any pixel exists.
Cognitive science is talking about”empathic change of perspective“— actively taking on a foreign perspective, not as an exercise of sympathy, but as an analytical tool. In design, we call it user research, journey mapping, persona building. In essence, it is the same: Whoever thinks of the problem from the user's point of view creates it differently than someone who thinks of it in terms of aesthetics.
Form follows function — and why I almost always stick to it
My basic approach to design can be summarized in two principles, which are interdependent: Form follows function and Keep it short and simple.
The first comes from architecture, specified by architect Louis Sullivan at the end of the 19th century, and essentially means that the outer form of a thing should emerge from its function — not the other way around.
The second is a principle from software development and UX practice that insists on keeping solutions as simple as possible, even though it would be tempting to add more.
Dieter Rams, Whose design principles are still considered a reference for Braun in the 1960s and 70s today, has formulated it in a similar way: Good design is as little design as possible. Not because minimalism is an aesthetic goal, but because every superfluous element undermines the actual function of an object or surface. Rams has also said that designers should be the last resort to get involved — not because design isn't important, but because good design becomes invisible when it works.
I'm trying to design with this in mind: it's better to omit a solution if it doesn't actually solve the problem. Better to make a clear decision than three half-finished ones. This means that I am very actively asking in my self-criticism process: Is this really necessary? What happens if I omit it? Often the answer is: nothing at all — and with that, the element is gone.
Self-criticism before giving feedback: How do I do it in practice
My process of self-criticism doesn't follow a rigid checklist, but it does have direction. I mentally go through the complete flow of a design before I finish it — almost like internal usability testing. I ask: Where would I get stuck if I opened this page for the first time? What is the first glance and what does it communicate? Does the hierarchy of information follow what is important — or what I like in terms of design?
One tool that many experienced designers use without always calling it that is the so-called “red teaming” of your own design: You actively take on the role of a critical counterpart and formulate the strongest objections that someone could raise against your own design. Not to put yourself down, but to plug blind spots before someone else points at them. Paula Scher, partner at Pentagram and one of the most influential graphic designers of recent decades, has described in interviews how she completely rethinks designs internally several times before showing them — not because she is uncertain, but because the demands on the result demand it.
Whatever I do: I keep a conscious distance between the moment I finish something and the moment when I judge it. Not days — sometimes just hours — but enough to make the familiar alien again. I don't really see what I'm familiar with anymore. A fresh look at one's own work, even if artificially created, changes what you see.
The exception that proves the rule: Function follows fun
Not every project follows the same principles. With our own HAF website, we have deliberately decided against subordinating form to function — and instead focused on the playful, the experimental. Function follows fun. This is not a rejection of the principles I otherwise work by, but rather their context-aware adaptation: Because our own website is the place where we can show who we are — and not just what we can do.
Even here, however, the same basic question applies: Who are we building this for? What is it supposed to trigger? The answers were simply different from those for a classic customer project. The user is someone who wants to get to know us, who should get an impression, who can become curious. And for that user, a website that works smoothly but doesn't reveal anything was the wrong answer.
The exception to the rule is therefore not arbitrary—it is a conscious decision that goes through the same thought process as all others. The only difference is in the goal.
What remains
For me, self-criticism in design doesn't mean doubting yourself, but taking your own work seriously — seriously enough to make sure that what you show is actually what you mean before showing it. That is not perfectionism, but attitude. And it is this attitude that ensures that feedback does not become an emergency brake, but a dialogue between perspectives that both already know why they did something this way and not differently.
The design process doesn't start when the frame is opened. It starts with the question that precedes it. And how that question is asked determines everything that comes after that.
TL;DR
Good designs don't happen when you start designing — they happen when you stop working around the problem.
My process in short:
I think through every flow before anything is on the frame — this lengthens the preparation but significantly shortens the actual design process.
I deliberately avoid early shoulder glances: Anyone who looks into the concept phase before substance is there is only comments on the surface.
The end user is not an abstract concept, but the starting point of every design decision.
Design solves problems. Aesthetics is the means, not the goal.
Form follows function and Keep it short and simple are my guidelines — except where the context requires something else.
Self-criticism is beyond doubt. It is a craft.
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