This blog is here to talk about the process. The making-of. The messy bits and the stuff that never makes it to Instagram. I want to share how ideas are born, how they change, how they get recycled... and how they sometimes go to sh*t. Because, honestly, mistakes often teach more than successes, even if they’re not as pretty.

Why now? Because, like most of us in this line of work, I’ve been living with impostor syndrome for years. You look at other visual designers’ work, and it feels like they’ve all been touched by a magic wand. And I’m not saying there aren’t any design Mozarts out there. Still, in my experience, most of us reach ideas through persistence, failure, and way too many overtime hours, taking the work personally and rolling around in awful versions until we land on something halfway decent. But that part isn’t shown. It’s hidden. Because, of course, we all want to look like we’re kissed by the muse and destined to be the next design Mozart. That’s how the romantic image of creative work is born, as if it’s something mystical reserved only for “special people.”

It’s not. Most of us are down-to-earth. People with jobs, like the person who does your taxes or paints your kitchen. Behind the most beautiful projects and creative profiles, there are countless unseen hours. Our work can be told, broken down, and understood, especially the part before an idea looks brilliant. Or decent. Or, at least, presentable.

The process has everything: blocks, doubts, insecurity, moments of “what am I doing?” or “this looked better in my head.” That’s when the impostor jumps on your back. But then there are the other moments: when something clicks, when someone in the industry (someone who isn’t your mum or your friends) says they like it. That external validation is the gold of this profession. Should we probably unpack that? Absolutely. But still, we’ve scored a tiny victory point against the impostor syndrome.

In the end, the journey is what matters, even if sometimes it’s not enjoyable and we think what we’re doing makes no sense. The hard part is trusting that if it’s not good today, it will be someday. And yes, I know that sounds naïve. And like a self-help book. Especially in a capitalist world where everything must be done yesterday, quantity often trumps quality, and the first AI result is usually deemed “good enough” for many.

So what am I doing here, writing a blog when hardly anyone reads blogs anymore? Precisely that, as a form of resistance.

A place for people who take the time to read and learn about processes that take time, that are made with care, even if they go nowhere or aren’t “presentable,” but still deserve to be told. Because at least you’ll have laughed, gotten annoyed, or learned something. As Montoya from Temptation Island once said: “This isn’t cheating, it’s learning.”

This blog is for that. To de-romanticize and ground our profession. The everyday designer’s job is the one who doesn’t speak at conferences or live in a minimalist cabin in the woods, but still enjoys their work and learning, no matter the outcome.

A place to let out what happens backstage. What I think while I’m working, what blocks me, and what motivates me. I’m not an expert. I’m learning. Always.

And especially now, because honestly, I feel entirely lost in the tsunami of AI tools and all the noise that comes with them. But hey, I’m going to start walking. There are many possible paths, and I’m starting here.

Hopefully, I won’t go in circles… or maybe I will.