Managing Creative Differences
Guest Author: Scott Oldham, Creative Director
I was recently contacted by a writer for Signature Magazine to answer a few questions about managing creative differences between designers andโฆpretty much everyone else. Itโs not a happy thought: the reputation of designers is so fundamentally bad that itโs assumed a priori that we will disagree with our non-designer peers as our default position. Is there truth in this? I donโt know, but you certainly wonโt find me disagreeing with it. Not me.
But respecting the writerโs premise for the sake of argument, whatโs the answer? How do designers navigate the creative differences that invariably arise between themselves and, say, editors or clients?
Let me put the question into context, however: itโs not as though creative differences are rareโor even occasionalโoccurrences. Theyโre part of our job. Theyโre omnipresent, so navigating them becomes as reflexive an activity as breathing. Without pushback, Iโm not sure Iโd know I designed things for a living, rather than as a hobby.
But, to take yet another stab at actually answering this question, hereโs how it generally goes. 1) Designer submits solution; 2) Someone objects; 3) Designer asks the only question that matters: why?
This seems obvious and facile, but itโs a surprisingly uncomfortable conversation to have. I donโt mean itโs uncomfortable for designers, though Iโm sure almost all prefer an audience that declares love for our work and tasks us no further. No, the discomfort comes from the source of the objection.
The fault for this isnโt an absence of consideration or education, on either side. Itโs a failure of language. Words werenโt designed to convey visual information. Itโs frustrating to cram visual ideas into a medium wholly unsuited to represent them. And this frustration almost always translates into the five least helpful words in the English language: โI just donโt like it.โ
Too often, this is where the process breaks down. Everyone believes theyโre entitled to their own tastes, but nobody likes to be challenged about them. For example, we might hear something like: โOur executive director doesnโt like red,โ which is patently, nakedly absurd. Your executive director doesnโt dislike red. Itโs as perverse an affectation as disliking sunlight. Suddenly, an intellectual examination is transformed into a dispute over flavor: โI donโt like serifs,โ or โI hate circles,โ or โI have a thing about dotted lines.โ Thereโs a story behind each of those, and the good designer knows they must be teased out if thereโs any hope of providing a new solution that might also crack the original problem.
Thatโs another key to managing this experience: the abiding belief that thereโs more than one way to skin a cat. This genuinely trips up designers. We have a flaw: we fall in love too easily. Our designs are so beautiful and perfect and correct that an assault on them feels like an attack on our children. This is clearly indefensible within a professional context, but whatโs a designer to do?
Hereโs how I recommend handling it:
1) React honestly. Thereโs no shame in feeling pain, frustration and even anger when good work is rejected. Just keep it to yourself.
2) Grieve. Your design may have taken an hour or a day or a week to execute; youโre not expected to give it up at a momentโs notice. Let the sad truth sink in while you concentrate on something else for a while.
3) Drop it. Forget it. Pretend it never existed. Donโt try to adapt it or salvage it in some way. Move on. Thereโs a better solution out there and itโs your job to find it.
I didnโt think to say most of that to the writer who called me, but I made a related point: the process is all. The end result is important to someone but it shouldnโt be to the creative team that developed it. Itโs the processโthe brainstorming, the give-and-take, even the argumentsโthat earns us whatever credit and remuneration we deserve.
Full disclosure: no one has ever actually said to me, โOur executive director doesnโt like red.โ
It was yellow.