Once upon a Mistake

by Eve, in Design (3 Comments)

A Character Redemption Arc requires its victim to go through a stage of indignity before they get to the story’s comfortable conclusion. And so it was that I found myself there—some time ago now, but not so long that I don’t sweat at the remembrance—my face and professional pride both flaming at 300 degrees.

Let me tell you the story of my humiliation. It’ll be fun.

Seeing someone excited about something I’ve made for them is one of the best feelings I experience. So when I saw an organisation in a niche I was personally passionate about, with an observable need for an improved visual identity, I decided I would donate my expertise. I would have the fulfilment of lifting the image of a cause I cared about, and they would have the benefit of getting a professional-looking logo without budget concerns getting in the way.

And, being confident in my heroic branding-salvation powers, I opted to make it a surprise.

Their current logo had plenty of practical limitations, so in my presentation I’d outlined these, and had showed how my proposed version solved them while still preserving their brand’s existing recognisability:

1. Their current format couldn’t be enlarged without it losing clarity. My proposed version used the infinitely-scalable vector format.
2. Features were inconsistent across its applications, showing different shades, effects, and even fonts. My proposed version had definitive properties across applications.
3. Convoluted detail made it difficult to identify the symbol at small sizes. My proposed version used clean lines and a simple arrangement.
4. Its inflexibility meant it couldn’t be displayed on both a square medium (like an app icon), and a rectangular one (like a pen, banner, or teardrop flag). My proposed version allowed for different layouts of icon/typography, to accommodate these variations.
5. It was incongruous, with a text shadow not behaving as a shadow actually would on the surfaces behind it. My proposed version…wasn’t.

Their current design was also ass-ugly, but with visual appeal being largely subjective, that wasn’t an argument I could make even if propriety had allowed it. But I felt I had a strong case anyway, in practical concerns alone.

Logically, acceptance was inevitable.

In my head, they were overwhelmingly grateful for my benefaction. They didn’t give me three wishes or magic beans, but there would be adequate levels of hero-worship. They’d tell me how much I’d done for their organisation, and how they’d never expected this… Et cetera, et cetera.

You know where this story is going.

As I’m sure you’ve anticipated, they were not overwhelmingly grateful. Or any of the rest.

Thanks, they said, but no thanks.

I felt stunned. Confused. Embarrassed. And angry. What illogical madness was this? What kind of irrationality makes people who so evidently need the service that was offered, and free, still turn it down? It made no sense at all!

I needed time to recover from the bruising emotional impact, and then to assess why and how it had happened.

I had made a logical calculation: The client had needed a thing. I was willing to provide a thing. Everybody should have won.

So why didn’t we?

Maybe they sincerely didn’t believe a rebrand was necessary, even after seeing my case for one. And if a person doesn’t recognise the worth of their visual identity, they can’t be blamed for not investing in it.

Maybe they just couldn’t spare the calendar space. Even if a re-design is free, there is still time and effort involved in rolling out the new brand. But I calculate this reason to be unlikely, as I expect then they would have indicated interest in rebranding at a later date.

Maybe they just didn’t want to accept a thing from somebody who had stuck their nose in, univited. In retrospect, my motivation—which I had perceived as enthusiastic benefaction—could easily have been interpreted as a bullheaded arrogance. Social graces are a confusing constuct that I continue to work at, but I make inevitable mistakes. And nobody wants to work with someone they don’t like, even if the principle comes with material cost.

Or maybe the reason was something else, entirely.

Not everything can be determined by logical simplicity. I don’t like it, because it makes the world harder to understand or predict—but it remains true. Supply and Demand can’t meet in economic harmony if Need hasn’t yet translated into Demand. And in this case, Demand simply wasn’t there. These people simply weren’t in the market for a new logo, and I hadn’t recognised that, because I had already judged that they had to be.

Furthermore, my presumption in the course of events had been my own self-sabotage. I had imagined they would be so grateful for my face-saving benefaction, I’d get accolades, maybe an inviation to their next Christmas party, which perhaps would result in referrals…and even though my bank account wouldn’t be any bigger from having given them a new logo, I’d still feel a little bit like a hero. Ok, maybe a lot bit.

Then I got my ass and ego kicked.

So how did that make a redemption arc?

It changed a lot about how I relate to my job and to the people I engage with, in it. For a start, I’ll ask a potential client if they actually want my involvement, before presuming to give it! Surprises aren’t a good idea, even if well-intentioned.

I also concede that clients are peers; partners with a common goal in our design project—whether they are being charged or not. There’s no genuflection in this script; high horses have no role in this play. I recognise that having a particular skillset doesn’t turn me into a saving hero.

And by tangential consequence, I have a healthier acceptance of client rejection, in general. If someone rejects a design concept during our project, I’m now able to reassess objectively, to move the project forward without the hinderance of a bruised ego. Their rejection may still feel personal (I put so much of myself into my work; how could it not feel personal?), but I understand there could be any number of reasons they don’t like a design, even if it had met every specification of their directives. (Usually, it’s because they’ve just changed their mind about what they want, and we need to revise their directives.)

In conclusion: I learned the pithy professional reality that I tell you now in the candour of cold truth: no amount of skill makes you essential. The world is a big place. There is always someone else who can do what you do, and awareness of that fact will save you a hard fall from a high horse. Mostly because you’ll be less likely to get up on that horse in the first place.

There’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and my professional arrogance had needed to be knocked down.

So it was.

It was a painful experience though. I don’t recommend it.