The Unbranded Me
Some time has passed since I shared the final chapter of The Unbranded Me, which has given me a bit of distance to think about what the whole process actually meant. When I first came up with the idea it was fairly simple. I wanted to explore who I was outside of design, because in our industry design is usually the only thing people know about you, and if that’s the only differentiator you have then everything else about you quietly disappears behind the work.
What I didn’t expect was how much the process would turn into something far more personal. Writing those chapters forced me to think about moments in my life that I hadn’t revisited for decades, small experiences and decisions that at the time felt ordinary but in hindsight clearly shaped the way I think, the way I see things, and ultimately the way I design.
The whole point of The Unbranded Me was to understand where my inspiration actually comes from. Not the obvious design references people expect you to talk about, but the real inputs. Life experiences. Travel. Conversations. Things I’ve seen, things I’ve felt, things that stuck in my mind without me even realising it at the time. When you step back and look at it properly, design doesn’t really start in front of a screen, it starts in the accumulation of everything that happens before that moment.
Around the same time I was sharing those chapters I was also posting Working Notes, which looks at design from a slightly different angle. If The Unbranded Me was about exploring the person behind the work, Working Notes was about exploring how the work itself takes shape, the thinking, the observations, the small realisations that happen along the way.
Both ideas came from the same place, curiosity more than anything else. A desire to slow down a little and actually pay attention to things that normally pass by unnoticed.
One of the more interesting parts of sharing the series wasn’t actually how people reacted to the posts themselves. Some chapters clearly resonated with people, others seemed to pass quietly, which is perfectly fine because the goal was never to chase engagement or attention. What did stand out however was how many people later told me they had no idea I had been writing any of it at all.
People who I know are active on the same platforms where the chapters were posted.
Which raises an interesting question about how much of what we share online is ever truly seen. Algorithms decide what appears in front of us now, shaping not only what we see but increasingly what we never see at all. The same systems that quietly limit inspiration can just as easily hide thoughtful content behind the noise.
It’s a strange moment to be creating anything that asks people to slow down and think.
We now live in a world where AI generated content, misinformation and outrage seem to spread faster than careful thought ever could. People build enormous audiences simply by being present online, often producing content designed to provoke reaction rather than reflection. I don’t resent those people, but I do find myself questioning the value it adds.
For years we joked about the internet not being real, about the idea that you shouldn’t believe everything you read online. Somewhere along the way that mindset seems to have shifted, and large numbers of people now appear to accept the first thing they see without even questioning it.
Maybe that’s just part of getting older and noticing the world changing around you, I’m not sure. What I do know is that when I step back and look at everything that’s happened over the last few months, writing The Unbranded Me has been one of the most unexpectedly positive experiences I’ve had in a long time.
It forced me to slow down. To reflect. To acknowledge parts of my life that I’d never really taken the time to process properly before.
More than anything, it reminded me that honest reflection still matters. Even if the algorithms don’t always show it to people. Even if the reactions are inconsistent. Even if the world feels noisier and more chaotic than it used to.
Because every now and then someone reads something you’ve written and reaches out to say it resonated with them.
And in the end, that’s usually enough.