Dear Designer,
In my last post (The Dreaded Portfolio), I made the case that creating a portfolio as a designer is one of the hardest professional tasks to tackle.
I named all of the grotesque “what” questions that we designers have to address in creating a portfolio that best represents us — what to say, what to use, what to present, what to do. All of them are tied up in a sea of endless tactics and options that stem from some general strategy about presenting past design work to create opportunities for future design work.
But the bigger question that I hinted at about the oh-so dreaded portfolio is the even more horrid “who”.
Who are you as a practitioner — a designer, a thinker and an artist?
Who are you as a worker — a colleague, a partner, and a comrade?
Most importantly today, who are you as a human — in all of your beauty and frailty, in your knowing and unknowing, in your real longings and creative aspirations?
And what part of that human wants to be seen?
If, as I mentioned, your portfolio represents your best-worst version of yourself, how does “worst” come up in a way that is disarming and maybe even charming? How does imperfection present more perfectly?
I think this second part — the who — will set you apart.
In a time of mechanization, when templates dictate form and function and when AI reduces visual noise, our intuition about who we are is taking a hit. How do we fit in and what ways do we stand out? I see this in myself often now, asking Claude about how I should think about buying a new pair of running shoes, or discovering some new and wonderful body pain, or about whether an email I sent yesterday actually made any sense.
Designers are feeling the market’s precarity and it is sometimes very hard to know where to focus. Turning to templates or AI offers us some certainty. I get it. It feels good to use something tested or true.
But once we kick out those crutches from under us, we are left with our plain and naked selves. Who are you, when everything outside you feels in flux? And how do you stand out when everything feels familiar?
I talked about starting from personal values last time. For most of us, values are pretty concrete; deep down, we know what we stand for, what we will sit for, and who we will fight for. It's worth writing out those values and representing them in some fashion.
But I don't think that’s enough. You can create a portfolio and public persona based on values — and still not present anything interesting or unique or of value to others.
The harder task in creating any work of artistry — and I argue that a portfolio should be at least partly that — is to create something that is utterly and remarkably yours.
How do you do that, you ask?
I think it requires being uncomfortable with what makes you you. It may mean being purposefully still, or actively in community, or submitting to some new role, or acting out a new part, or emulating your greatest hero, or taking a risk with your ideas.
For each person, getting uncomfortable is going to be a very different enterprise. And, it’s the only path to presence.
In a time when introspection is frowned upon, when the act of reading is in free fall, and when solitary activities mean sharing online, the old adage of “know thyself” seems farther and farther away.
But I also don’t think it has to be super difficult. You don’t need to go on a 10-day meditation retreat, or become a committed vegan, or go sky-diving. Last weekend, I went to see a new Québécois film. I knew that it would be a challenge for me without subtitles as an intermediate French speaker. I sat through it, did the best I could, and learned how much more I had to learn.
The ancient Delphic maxim — knowing who you are and what part of you wants to be most known, recognized and seen — remains a noble aesthetic act.
Creating your portfolio does not have to be this complicated.
But complicated is what will make it and you interesting. And in an age of flattening and flattery, a portfolio of substance sets you apart dramatically and decisively.
Wishing you a very good week ahead.
Yours,
