I'm sure you know what I mean. It could be a book, a computer game or even just a new restaurant in your city.

In these first moments it's just you and the thing itself. No outside voice telling you what to think or how to feel.

That first reaction is beautiful because it is the only honest one you'll ever have.

Then comes the fatal mistake. You pull out your phone and start reading what everyone else thinks. Maybe you're seeking human connection, which is perfectly reasonable. Or just a quick validation on your own feelings. Perhaps a deeper understanding or context for the thing. But what you find instead is the slow death of your own authentic experience — you just don't know it yet.

In the beginning it all seems so wonderful. You're excited because you finally found your circle. You joined a community of likeminded people who seem to be interested in the same thing as you. But then you start scrolling. The critics, the forums, the endless feeds of opinions dissecting the very thing you just fell in love with. Suddenly that wonderful feeling you had starts to fade. You're not so sure about it anymore.

Let me give you an example: You just watched this movie you totally loved. In particular that charming but unknown actor who plays the lead role. But then you read online that most people didn't really like this actor, they found many faults, and generally his acting is found to be terrible. Damn, what should I think now? Do I still love the movie? Or do I back and reassess? At this point I'm questioning everything. And the deeper I go, the worse it gets.

I see this all the time, people discover something they love and then immediately look around to see if they're allowed to love it. As if they need permission.

The internet made this even worse. Before, you had to work hard to find people who would crush what you love. Now they're everywhere. Critics, forums, the reviews section, "true fans," random internet voices — everyone is eager to jump in with their innocent "well, actually..."

And the thing is, it doesn't even have to be harsh criticism. It can be the tiniest details. A small continuity error in a movie you enjoyed, a plot hole you didn't notice or a slightly problematic thing an actor said on television 10 years ago. You just can't unsee it and your experience of "the thing" is forever altered. The real tragedy is the permanence of this "contamination" because it's almost impossible for you to go back to how you felt in the beginning. The love is gone and it won't return.

I felt like this with many things in my life. Believe it or not, I felt like this with the design community. I loved designing but the deeper I got engaged in the design community online, the more I started disliking it. In a way, it pulled me away from my passion because I was too busy trying to fit in rather than enjoying what made me fall in love with it: Designing.

I also felt like this when I got deep into road cycling, I absolutely loved it. But I hated being around the hardcore cyclist community (even though I was one of them, in theory). I couldn't enjoy "the thing" anymore because I got too deeply involved into the communities who told me "you can't do this, you're not supposed to do that." I don't care, I just loved cycling.

You know, I'm not against criticism. Sometimes I'm that voice you need to ignore. But there's something worth protecting in that space between you and something that moves you, before the world weighs in and ruins it for you.

After all, we're social animals, desperate for connection and consensus. But sometimes the most validating act is to experience something completely on your own terms.

To say, "This matters to me, and I don't need to know why or if anyone agrees."

So next time you find something that speaks to you, maybe keep it to yourself. Or don't. But remember: the moment you start caring what others think about it, you've already lost something pure.

Yours truly,
Tobias

THE DESK INNER CIRCLE

After 10 years of writing and publishing, I'm finally launching the "DESK INNER CIRCLE" membership with some extra perks for those who are interested in supporting my work. Thank you ♡

WHAT IS THE INNER CIRCLE?

Welcome back! Many new readers joined this email list last week. Makes me happy that my writing resonates. Thank you for recommending this newsletter to your friends and colleagues, it means a lot to me ♡

But for today I got something very different to share. It might read a bit messy because it's straight from my mind, but I hope you enjoy the read.

How the Orange came to be

As a designer, I try inject meaning into everything I touch (I wrote about this the other week).

Sometimes that meaning is right there in your face changing how you see the work, and sometimes it's buried deep where nobody but me will ever find it (until I tell you about it, so keep reading :).

I need this kind of meaning in my work, like an anchor to keep me grounded and on my path. Without it I'd just be another designer pushing pixels around a screen, floating on fleeting trends into nowhere. That just isn't enough for me.

As you might already know: I'm the co-founder of this app called mymind. Not just another app, but my obsession for the past five years. The mymind brand is very personal to me. I've had my hands deep in its brand language since day one, shaping every curve, every color, every element of how it presents itself to the world — it's truly my baby.

When we started working on mymind we had a simple goal: mymind should feel like a happy brand. As simple as that sounds, it's not that easy.

While working on the new branding, I refused to create another one of those relentlessly cheerful brands that feel like they're compensating for something. I didn't want the childish, rainbow-colored visual sugar high kind of brand. You know what I mean. The world's already drowning in corporate brands desperately waving their arms screaming "Look how fun we are, LOL!"

I imagined mymind to radiate genuine warmth while maintaining a certain curious, introspective edge. A bit like that friend who's always happy to see you but won't hesitate to tell you when you're full of shit. A brand that could smile without smirking, that could welcome you without pandering to you. Something with emotional depth that doesn't insult your intelligence. As you may notice, I'm even struggling to explain it here while I'm aimlessly indulging in the obsessive madness of wrapping a feeling into words. But I hope this gives you the necessary context on how much I tend to think about the smallest things. It's part of the branding exercise for me.

The mymind brand shouldn't look out of place in MoMA but also doesn't take itself too seriously. That's what we needed. Bold enough to stand its ground, but warm enough that you'd actually want to spend time with it.

Sometimes the answers aren't found in design books or professional research, but in your own history. As I worked on solving the problem, a seemingly insignificant memory from ~18 years earlier suddenly took on a new meaning. The kind of strange connection that makes you believe in fate.

One of my earliest mentors shared a story with me that has stayed with me ever since:

As a Creative Director, he had a ritual. Every time he delivered a major pitch to a client he wore his special “orange shirt.” That shirt, he said, made him feel like the most creative, confident and joyful version of himself. It became his secret ingredient, a symbol of his best self. He wouldn’t step into a presentation without wearing his "happy shirt."

And now, years later while working on the branding for mymind, a smile came to my face as I remembered this simple story.

I knew in this moment that mymind had to be orange because it reflected not only everything my mentor Juergen sees in it, but a color tethered to a memory that actually meant something to me. That's the thing about meaningful choices. They're not choices at all, but recognitions of what was already true.

I love when things you design connect in their own ways across your experiences and personal references. For me, design without narrative is just decoration. Empty calories, a pointless exercise in visual masturbation (although fun and indulgent at times, sure).

But everything good needs a story, a reason to exist. Whether anyone else catches these references or not is beside the point. They're the invisible thread that runs through your entire body of work.

But here's the thing about this story: I've always been somewhat skeptical of the metaphysical. But this story of my mentor Juergen and his happy shirt feels different. There's something raw and honest about it. What started as Juergen's ritual has now become part of our own brand mythology.

The truth is, these rituals aren't just sentimental bullshit, they're functional tools that reshape reality.

Tell yourself that orange shirt is your "happy shirt" enough times, and goddammit, you actually feel different wearing it. Your brain rewires itself around the story. Thoughts crystallize into something tangible. This is the secret behind great brands. They're storytelling vehicles. It's repetition rooted in a core vision. Keep saying the same thing over and over again until it becomes reality.

The mymind orange is part of that core for us. Every time myself or my team is working on the brand, you're not just designing; you're continuing a narrative that started years ago. The skeptics will roll their eyes at "manifestation" or "law of attraction," but I truly believe that this is the secret behind work that lasts.

Maybe for you, it's something entirely different. A color that triggers a memory, a typeface that reminds you of a forgotten sign in some back alley of Barcelona, an illustration style that connects to something that moved you years ago. It could be anything that injects meaning into your work and elevates it to something more than just a random choice.

These are your personal talismans. Secret messages encoded in your work that most people walk right past without noticing. They're now your anchor.

Find them and use them ♡

Yours truly,
Tobias

PS: Have a great week and enjoy the lovely spring weather!

Want to receive these articles in your inbox weeks before I publish them on my blog as well as exclusive articles? You're invited to join my personal DESK newsletter. No Spam, no Bullshit.

Yes, please!

Design is all about manipulation. It's as simple as that.

Some designers like to deny this simple fact. They think they're too pure, too well intentioned to call it that. But if we're honest to ourselves, it's the entire truth.

Every day we're all being played in ways so subtle and sophisticated that we barely notice it happening. It's a beautiful con really, one that's been refined over generations by people who understood something fundamental about human nature — we're all suckers for a good story. We all like to be told what think.

One grandfather (amongst many more) of all this madness was a guy named Edward Bernays, Sigmund Freud's nephew and quite possibly one of the most influential people you've never heard of.

I first encountered Bernays' work many years ago through a documentary called "The Century of the Self" (watch at your own risk). After replaying this 3hour long documentary over and over again, I eventually found myself diving into his many books, particularly one called "Propaganda."

It all started in the 1920s.

While the rest of the world was trying to wash off the stink of World War I propaganda, I imagine Edward Bernays sitting in his reclined chair with a whiskey in his hands (Don Draper style) thinking about how to invent an entirely new industry from scratch. In fact, he also invented Don Draper, now that I think of it.

Over the years, Bernays studied his uncle's work (Sigmund Freud) diligently, almost obsessively, learning about the fundamental insight that humans are largely irrational beings. A revelation that drove his uncle into a deep depression, as he was troubled by humanity's flawed nature and couldn't see a way out of this sad dilemma.

But not Edward Bernays. He saw this exact same human weakness as the ultimate opportunity. If people weren't guided by reason but by subconscious desires and emotional triggers, then shaping public opinion wasn't about facts or logic, but about tapping into those hidden feelings of their emotions.

One man's existential crisis essentially became another's business model.

While going through his uncle's work, Bernays asked himself what might be the most profitable question of the century: "If propaganda works so well during wartime, what's its peacetime equivalent?"

And just like that, PR was born. It was an entirely new concept at the time: same ingredients as propaganda, but different packaging. It was so genius that even today we can't fully appreciate the power of it. Instead of calling it "Mass Manipulation" we just call it "Public Relations," and that was the first big success of Edward Bernays.

But nothing illustrates Bernays' methods better than his "Torches of Freedom" campaign. It truly has it all.

Shortly after WWI, Bernays was hired by the American Tobacco Company to encourage women to start smoking. Because the problem was, they weren't. While men smoked cigarettes at the time, it was not publicly acceptable for women to do the same. But this is where Bernays saw an opportunity to attach his product to a wider movement.

Let's picture New York, back in 1929. As people gather for the annual Easter parade, a group of fashionable young women (all of them carefully selected of varying social status) simultaneously pull out cigarettes and light them up in public – a total scandal at the time when smoking in public was very much taboo. It was all over the news the next day, carefully orchestrated by Bernays himself, who controlled the message.

But here's the genius: On the surface, none of this was about smoking, but about women breaking free from outdated social constraints. These weren't cigarettes – they were symbols of liberation in an ongoing struggle for equality. They were TORCHES OF FREEDOM as they called them. Within days, women across America challenged existing smoking taboos, and Lucky Strike had a whole new demographic with millions of new customers. And that was the only thing that mattered to Edward Bernays. His client was happy.

Transforming a commercial product into a political statement and making consumers feel empowered by their own manipulation isn't new by today's standards, but this man practically invented it.

And he was so damn good at it too.

Then there's my personal favorite of his projects: What's the great traditional American breakfast? Ask anyone and they will tell you it's Bacon & Eggs. It can't get any more traditional than that, right?

But turns out, tradition doesn't have a lot to do with it. And even worse, people had to be convinced to eat bacon for breakfast back in the day. But in the 1920s, the Beech-Nut Packing Company wanted to sell more bacon. So they naturally hired Edward Bernays.

He surveyed thousands of physicians with a carefully crafted question: "Is a hearty breakfast better than a light one?" When they predictably recommended the heartier option, he already knew he won. Bernays then publicized these findings with the medical underwriting that "Bacon and Eggs is the Doctors choice." You really have to admire the elegance of all this.

The influence of Bernays goes even further than just consumer products. He was the first one who pioneered the strategic use of celebrities in politics. Breaking with tradition, he advised the sitting president to invite popular entertainers and cultural icons to the White House. He understood that photographs of these meetings would circulate widely in the press and boost the image of the president, and therefore their agenda.

Bernays knew the power of association, even if staged. The public was too irrational to even understand the complexities of it. He effectively invented merging the layer of politics with popular culture, another practice we take for granted today in a world where you may as well call politics a "popularity contest".

In the years to come, David Ogilvy & Co. built entire entire empires on the foundations Bernays established. Design, marketing, PR — all just different parts of the same thing.

The truth is, design – whether it's online, in advertising, or even the layout of your favorite shopping mall – is never innocent. It's always trying to make you feel something, do something, want something. Every color, every shape, every carefully chosen word is part of an elaborate dance designed to lead you exactly where someone wants you to go.

And my god, would Bernays still be alive today — imagine him witnessing the evolution of his baby into today's digital mass manipulation ecosystem. He'd be a proud dad, with us being his devoted children. We've mastered the art of manipulation beyond his wildest dreams. Endless feeds engineered to keep you scrolling, like a gambler at a rigged slot machine. Platforms that track billions of people's psychological profiles in real-time. Algorithms that predict behavior with unnerving accuracy, and A/B testing that can refine persuasion techniques instantaneously. For Bernays, this would be like meeting God himself.

So where does this leave us? The real question isn't whether we're being manipulated — we are, constantly and from every direction. The question is what we do once we recognize we're just a player inside a game. Design is just a tool, like a sword. It's clearly very effective at what it does, but it's all about who's using it and why.

The truth is, design will always be about influence and manipulation. Our only choice is what kind of influence we want to have, and whose interests we choose to serve.

The least we can do is appreciate the artistry of it all, even as we're being led precisely where someone else wants us to go.

Sometimes, the most sophisticated response is simply to say: "I see what you're doing there, and I may not agree with all of it – but it's damn smart."

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful week!

Yours truly,
Tobias

Welcome back and if you're new here, welcome to DESK!

In case you missed my last essay "Objects of Affection", you can now read it here as online version. Please share it with friends or colleagues if it resonated with you.

For this week, I got another new essay for you which I haven't shared anywhere before. It's a bit different than my usual ones and I loved writing it.

Style is the answer to everything.

✦✦✦

"Style is the answer to everything.
A fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous thing.
To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without it.
To do a dangerous thing with style is what I call art.

Bullfighting can be an art.
Boxing can be an art.
Loving can be an art.
Opening a can of sardines can be an art.

Not many have style.
Not many can keep style.
I have seen dogs with more style than men,
although not many dogs have style.
Cats have it with abundance.

When Hemingway put his brains to the wall with a shotgun,
that was style.
Or sometimes people give you style.
Joan of Arc had style.
John the Baptist.
Jesus.
Socrates.
Caesar.
García Lorca.

I have met men in jail with style.
I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail.
Style is the difference, a way of doing, a way of being done.
Six herons standing quietly in a pool of water,
or you, naked, walking out of the bathroom without seeing me."

✦✦✦

What you just read was a piece written by Charles Bukowski. You can also listen to it in one of my favorite mash-ups. Or if you prefer it without music, here by Ben Gazzara as Charles Bukowski in "Tales Of Ordinary Madness" (1981)

It's possibly one of my favorite poems ever written. I read and listen to it on a regular basis.

Charles Bukowski knew something about style that modern influencers and designers still can't fully grasp: style isn't about what you wear, or how you visually brand yourself — it's about how you carry the weight of being alive.

The search for style (in myself and especially in others) has been a lifelong obsession of mine. It all started with skateboarding, where I quickly learned what the skateboarding community has long understood as a hard truth that extends far beyond their world: style transcends technical complexity.

While anyone could eventually learn to kick-flip through sheer repetition, those who infused the movement with their personal flair became the skateboarders we fell in love with. The mathematics of an overly complex trick meant nothing compared to the poetry of motion of a much simpler trick.

But style isn't just about winning, its just as much about losing. It's about how you carry yourself. It's about maintaining dignity in the face of indignity. It's finding beauty in the ugliness of a dangerous fall while jumping down a set of 15 stairs, while attempting a frontside boardslide. Style is how you fall, how you roll your body and how you get up again. Even if you didn't land the trick, the style is there.

Not many skaters had style, but for those who did it immediately enchanted you. You could see and feel it. Their facial expression, the way their body moves, the way the board moves almost in slow-motion. You can't even pinpoint exactly what makes it special. It's like a dance.

Style is its own victory, it plays by its own rules. Style isn't decided on a powerpoint presentation or brainstorming meeting because style can't be forcefully created. It comes from deep within the soul. It's your authentic self, the ability to remain oneself in a world that demands conformity.

In our time full of curated personas and artificial personalities, having style is like striking gold. You can't buy style. You can't fake style. You can only create it for yourself. It's something you earn after you've lived and failed. Some say you can only have it once you fully accepted and loved yourself.

Style is your unique signature on how you load the dishwasher, how you put on your pants, or how you spit out the toothpaste after brushing your teeth. But style is also how you approach your work, its the invisible signature that spans across your entire portfolio and body of work.

Style is the answer to everything because its the only thing that can't be taken away from you.

It's not what you do, but HOW you do it.

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful week!

Yours truly,
Tobias

As always, if you missed last weeks email, its now on my blog. Last week I shared my big bucket list "Designs of my Dreams" with you. Feel free to forward this article to friends or colleagues if you like, its now open to everyone to read.

Designs of my dreams — From the Desk of van Schneider — Edition №256

Many new subscribers joined over the last week, welcome everyone to DESK (: In case you missed it: In my last essay I wrote about why we are taking steps backward in a world that keeps moving forward. From vintage Instagram filters to the resurgence of vinyl records, there’s a curious

The DESK MagazineTobias van Schneider

For this week I got another special essay for you. Fresh from my desk and never shared before. You're the first to read it and I hope you enjoy it.

Objects of Affection

⏱️ Estimated Reading time: 4-5
🎵 Soundtrack for this article: Listen here

Over the past decade, minimalism (a quasi religion to us designers) promised us freedom from clutter and a new way of life. We all fell in love with minimalism and followed it religiously without question. But to our surprise, it ended up bringing us something unexpected: a kind of cultural and personal emptiness.

While minimalism started as a thoughtful movement against consumerism, it ended up becoming our aesthetic prison where museum-like beige walls, empty spaces and carefully curated Instagram feeds have replaced the chaotic beauty of personal collections and idiosyncratic tastes. And the beautiful keyword here is idiosyncratic. It wasn't just about being different — it was about being authentically, unconsciously, and most importantly unapologetically ourselves. Something we've lost in this new age of conformity.

And let me be the first to admit: I've become everything I'm criticizing here. But I've been on a journey of change, inspired by the beautiful oddities of life. And let me tell you, I've been loving it so far (:

Remember the uncle (we liked to called crazy) with his insane collection of Swiss vintage toy trains in his basement? All trains in perfect shape, with their original packaging and labels neatly organized.

Or the neighbor whose garage was a museum of hundreds of vintage traffic signs? Where the hell did he even get all those from? And why traffic signs?

Or that one peculiar friend (who's not a child) with her collection of weird rocks?

Remember when homes felt like archaeological caves of someones personality? When you'd walk into someone's house and you could piece together their entire life story just from the odd furniture, weird items on their shelves or crooked framed photographs on their walls? Those things only made sense to them, but each room was filled with meaning. They are items that weren't chosen to impress but accumulated because they meant something for them, not because everyone else on social media had them too.

And this brings me to my mother. She's been collecting swords and knives ever since I've known her. She also collects rocks: beautiful rocks, odd rocks, rocks that just look cool. Some of them sparkle, some of them are kind of boring. The criteria for what makes a rock worthy of her collection remains a mystery to me, but I can see how each new addition brings her joy. Her rooms are full of personal trinkets and delicate figurines made of porcelain or glass. Every wall is adorned with her own paintings, and there are many of them. Her clothing and shoes are lined with carefully placed glitter and shimmering stones, all decorated by her own hands. Every piece is unique, nothing is left untouched.

While some might consider her apartment cluttered by today's minimalist standards, I see it as a living museum of her spirit. When I step into her apartment there's no doubt it belongs to a real person, someone with stories to tell.

Idiosyncrasy isn't a fashion statement or a carefully curated aesthetic. It's the natural result of someone letting their curiosity run wild. It's a beautiful way of letting the souvenirs of your life's journey decorate your space because they speak to you in a way nothing else can. It only has to make sense to you.

To me, it's been like a second awakening. Letting go of the strict rules of minimalism (which especially comes with being a designer) opened my eyes to an entirely new world. And I fucking LOVE IT!

I don't care anymore if my home or collections are "Instagram-worthy" or perfectly curated according to one particular aesthetic. I want them to be weird. I want them to be random. I want them to be unapologetically MYSELF. This goes both for my digital collections (inside mymind) as well as my physical collections, the things that surround me everyday.

Instead of the cold comfort of collective approval, I want the beautiful warm chaos of whatever I am currently interested in. Maybe it's one thing today, and another one tomorrow. Who am I? What do I like? It's a moving picture, and that's ok.

Maybe it's time to reclaim our right to idiosyncrasy.

Let's collect the uncollectable.

Let's let our obsessions run wild and enjoy that one life we have (:

And remember, the beauty of collecting things isn't in the objects themselves, but in the process of your personal discovery and curation. Each piece you collect is a small choice you make, a small but meaningful declaration of what YOU find beautiful, interesting or meaningful in that very moment. Not what others tell you to find beautiful. We're not concerned about anyone's approval here.

Over time these personal choices compound and you'll find yourself surrounded by your own personal museum. Isn't that amazing?

As we grow, our collections change and evolve with us. They become the story of our lives. They become manifestations of our identity, you could say. Some of those things will stay with us, and some of them may only visit. Our collections can and should be in constant flux.

Want to know the strangest part? I believe all this even makes me a better designer because my eyes are finally wide open to the odd beauty of the world. It's about finding inspiration in the overlooked, casting my net wide, away from the beaten path we're all inevitably on.

And before I end this essay, let me leave you with some inspirational examples ↓

Charles & Ray Eames

The Eames name has become synonymous with sleek, modernist furniture design with their iconic pieces often showcased in stark, minimalist and restrained interiors.

But stepping into Ray and Charles Eames' own home (I visited it years ago in LA) it reveals a radically different aesthetic. Shelves full of art, candles, seashells, interesting fabrics, patterns and personal trinkets everywhere. You'd expect that the Eames house would be a minimalistic modernist temple, but it's far from it. It's a true home, a playful space full of life and beauty.

Bill Cunningham

One of my all-time favorites. Beyond his well-known street photography, Bill Cunningham was a obsessed collector and archivist of historical fashion and architecture and his apartment and studio was a wonderful reflection of just that. Also, if you haven't watched the documentary about him, please do.

Tony Duquette

This legendary designer's personal home (or more like museum?) is a masterpiece of maximalism. The rooms are literally dripping in gilded furniture, exotic artifacts and sculptures. It has it all. And even if its not your taste, you can appreciate it for what it is.

William Haines

A mix of Hollywood glamour and California modernism. The home of Williams Haines feels personal and full of treasures. Somehow it all feels mismatched yet so perfectly together at the same time. It's a beautiful paradox that can only exist if you truly love collecting. There are some more photos of his former home here. Once you see it all it together it starts to make sense to you.

Thank you for reading, and happy collecting!

Yours truly,
Tobias

Many new subscribers joined over the last week, welcome everyone to DESK (:

In case you missed it: In my last essay I wrote about why we are taking steps backward in a world that keeps moving forward. From vintage Instagram filters to the resurgence of vinyl records, there's a curious pattern of choosing inconvenience over efficiency, especially with the younger generations who never had to overcome the limitations of old technology.

Read the full essay below ↓

One step forward, two steps backwards — From the Desk of van Schneider — Edition №255

A design publication written by designers, for designers — by Tobias van Schneider

The DESK MagazineTobias van Schneider

But for this week, I got a very personal essay, something I wanted to write about for a long time.

The projects of my dreams

⏱️ Estimated Reading time: 5-7min
🎵 Soundtrack for this article: Listen here (a classic)

I'm part of a generation of designers who chose their path purely out of passion, or stupidity, depends how you look at it. When we got started, none of us was chasing riches and wealth. In fact, it was a pretty bad idea to become a designer from a purely financial perspective, since those jobs weren't very well paid back then.

Instead, we were driven by the desire to create something beautiful, unique. For those of us from that era, and those who came before us, design wasn't a career choice — it was an obsession we couldn't resist.

While the industry has transformed dramatically since then, my core motivations remain unchanged. Yes, I appreciate the financial rewards of my profession today, but what truly drives me is still the childlike pursuit of that "perfect project."

To this day, I still have a mental list of dream designs and projects I hope to bring to life one day.

I have to admit though, I've been fortunate in my career so far. I had the opportunity to work for prominent clients like RedBull and SONY, and I fulfilled a personal dream of working at Fantasy Interactive, my absolute favorite design studio at the time (if you remember Fi in their prime, you know what I mean).

Then I've had the privilege of designing software used by millions at Spotify, and helped design multiple logos for NASA space missions, amongst other things. One of these logos even appeared on a LEGO box – something that would have likely impressed my younger self even more than seeing my work on an actual space rocket.

Just with all this, you might say that many of my dreams have been fulfilled. But let me tell you, I never stopped dreaming and still am today. My list of dream projects continues to grow, and some of them might be weird to you.

But because I believe in the power of putting your aspirations into the universe, call it manifestation if you will, I want to share some of these dreams with you today (:

Designing a postal stamp

Designing an official postal stamp has always been a dream of mine. Not just any commemorative or specialty stamp (although that would make me happy too), but one of those everyday stamps you find in post offices nationwide, the kind that gets printed by the millions.

Why? Well for one, I'm curious about the creative challenge of working within such a tiny space. It's kind of like the opposite magic of designing a billboard. There's something special about distilling art down to that intimate scale. And even better, knowing that millions of people will end up "licking your design," that's just priceless to me (:

But there's something even more beautiful about it. Despite the internet, millions of letters still travel across the world every year. The thought that a stamp I designed could grace a love letter, a graduation announcement or a beautiful thank you note, that's the kind of stuff that gets me excited.

I think this dream was born out of my passion as a child to collect stamps (I still got a couple hundred with me).

Designing a commercial airline

Getting my work into space was already a personal milestone, but I still find myself daydreaming about creating a complete airline brand identity. I mean just imagine it for a second: My designs wrapping around the curves of an Airbus A380? How can there be anything better? (The A380 is my favorite plane btw).

The real interesting challenge to me is designing every touchpoint and visual element a passenger might encounter. From the flight attendant uniforms to the way the tickets look, it would be a never ending project.

Some of my current favorites are Lufthansa, Emirates and Singapore Airlines. To me, commercial airline branding needs to ooze with competence and professionalism, something that should be reflected through the entire experience.

Designing a way-finding system or metro map

The complexity of way-finding systems fascinates me. It's an immensely complicated challenge, but the outcome has to be so obvious that you don't even notice it, because it works so well. I dream of the sweet challenge of designing a complex way-finding system for larger spaces like airports, museums or perhaps even entire cities. I think I'm attracted to the permanence of it.

And what makes it even more compelling to me is that a well-designed system would influence millions of people as they navigate or interact with a space everyday. It directly influences their quality of life.

Even more romantically put: If you design a way-finding system for a city, you are essentially choreographing the movement of the entire population. It's pretty fascinating.

Designing a new visual language for a country

Almost too unreal to even think about it. It's such a rare opportunity that I will be jealous of whoever has the opportunity in their lifetime. Such a project would likely only happen once in a generation, if even.

Imagine crafting every visual element that defines a nation's character — from its flag and currency to a unified design language of all government communications and documents. I get goosebumps even thinking about it.

However, given how rarely new nations are just "born" into our new world, I'll have to expand this dream into humanity's next frontier: space colonization.

This means, designing the visual identity for the first permanent settlements on Mars or other planets would be an acceptable alternative for me ;-D

Designing a car dashboard

Another unfulfilled dream would be designing a car dashboard. Every time I sit behind a wheel, I find myself mentally redesigning the dashboard, I just can't stop it. I imagine all the ways I'd do it differently, and how much I'd enjoy doing it (even though, I think it's a pretty good challenge).

I've also been mildly obsessed with vintage car dashboards, in particular the ones that experimented with digital experiences back in the 70s and 80s. Just seeing the interfaces from today I can imagine it to be a tedious task, mainly due to regulations and internal stakeholder politics, which I tend to blame for the bad quality of today's car interfaces (most of them feel outdated on arrival).

Designing universal signs

The STOP sign stands as one of design's most remarkable pieces of design — imagine a single visual element that transcends language and cultural barriers across the entire globe. As far as I know, it wasn't the work of one particular designer, in fact there may have been not a single traditional designer involved and it was likely a collaboration between traffic engineers, local politicians and safety officials. But one can still dream!

I just love to think about this unique opportunity. To create a universal symbol that is understood across languages and cultures in emergency situations. It would be a massive responsibility and opportunity to design something like it.

Designing a spacecraft UI

Back in 2013 I received a full-time job offer from SpaceX as Creative Director to lead design on the GUI for the Dragon space craft. After much deliberation, I chose to remain at Spotify (my job at the time) and continue developing my personal projects, which was ultimately the right decision because it got me to where I am today, running my own companies.

But still, the dream of designing a digital UI dashboard for a spacecraft is still haunting me to this day. Or alternatively, I'd also be happy with a nautical/maritime UI for large vessels.

Designing a watch

I'm a big watch fan and aspiring collector myself. I just love the fact that in 2025 we're still designing and building mechanical, analog watches. There's something profound to it. In an age of smart devices and digital technology that is way more accurate and "better" in every way, we still continue to craft these intricate mechanical marvels.

I dream of designing my own analog watch one day: the case, the typography of the dial, the intricacies of the movement. There's something special to perpetuate your own design language in a functional object that can and will likely outlive yourself. Unlike digital products that become obsolete, a well-crafted mechanical watch can span generations. I just love that idea.

Designing a video game

One of my earliest career aspirations was to work at Blizzard. I was completely in awe by their game design. Warcraft, Starcraft, Diablo... you know what I mean.

While that specific dream has faded (working for Blizzard), the desire to create my own video game is still with me to this day. What attracts me most is the possibility of crafting something definitive and complete, similar to a book or a movie. It's the exact opposite of the perpetually evolving nature of websites and apps which are never truly "finished" and constantly evolving.

The permanence of a video game (if done well) is what makes it particularly appealing. There's just something special about fully devoting yourself for a couple years and creating this perfect piece of a game that people can experience from start to finish. I'd love the idea of designing the story, the UI, everything about it.

It's a true Gesamtkunstwerk, a total work of art.

Thank you as always for reading. I hope this essay inspired you to think about your own "big bucket list". Even if you're not a designer, I am sure there's an equivalent for everyone personally.

Yours truly,
Tobias

PS: Very inspired by Joan Miro’s studio in Mallorca (Spain). Especially as I am stuck in the cold NYC winter which seems to know no end.

PPS: A gentle reminder by mymind which I believe is even more true today.

PPPS: Another beautiful find from deep inside mymind

PPPPS: A friend of mine sent me "Person of Interest" last week as a TV show recommendation. So now you know what I will be watching the next couple weeks (: I will keep you posted on how I like it.

Have a great week!

⏱️ Average reading time: 4 minutes
🎵 Soundtrack of this essay: Listen here while reading

It's a curious paradox: Scroll through your Instagram feed or peek at your own profile and you'll likely find pixel perfect, high-resolution photos deliberately aged and weathered with analog filters and effects.

We're essentially taking these crystal-clear images captured by the latest camera technology and intentionally degrading them. It's as if we're yearning for the charming imperfections and limitations of vintage cameras that possessed just a fraction of our modern, gazillion megapixel equivalents.

Although our cameras improved in pretty much all aspects over the past years, professional photographers still go through the hassle of adding a little bit of artificial grain, lens flares or vignettes to their photos. Is it a stylistic choice, or perhaps a quiet and small act of rebellion?

Even as we push forward with technology and better tools available everyday, we step in and purposefully "degrade" the outcome. None of this is by accident, it's a deliberate aesthetic choice, a movement back to what feels more authentic, more tangible and perhaps more "real" to us.

And all this extends far beyond just photography.

Vinyl record sales have surged year after year. In 2023, vinyl outsold CDs for the first time in decades (of course still a far cry from streaming, but it's growing). People are returning to a format that requires undivided attention and a physical engagement with music. From a practical standpoint, it makes no sense in a world of instant music streaming, yet people are spending their hard-earned money to listen to music in a way that's quite frankly cumbersome, if it wouldn't be so beautifully romantic.

Let's look at the fashion industry and resurgence of "grandpacore" and vintage-inspired clothing. In particular young people, they aren't just buying second-hand — they're specifically seeking out styles that imitate earlier decades, from high-waisted jeans to chunky sweaters and classic silhouettes. Instead of looking into the future with modern high-tech clothing and materials, they're looking backwards to a time they weren't even a part of.

The architecture and interior design world is slowly moving away from the sleek minimalism of the 2010s toward a warmer and more lived-in aesthetic. Just look at the rise of "cottagecore" (whats up with all these terms) and the return of wallpapers and colored glass. We're all about that coziness now. Textures, colors, personality. We want the authenticity of a "real home" even without ever having created it ourselves. We long for something we never had.

The rise of single-purpose devices is another telling sign of this yearning for long-gone simplicity. "Dumb Phones" promise freedom from the endless scroll of social media feeds and ultra-connectivity.

E-ink readers are gaining popularity specifically because they do less, not more. We take one step forward, and two steps backwards.

But the examples don't end here. There's a big resurgence of analog photography especially amongst younger people. Traditional crafts and skills such as hand embroidery, cross-stitch, knitting and crocheting are making a big comeback.

You might have noticed it all over Instagram and TikTok. Traditional bread baking (the sourdough craze started during COVID) is now a thing and still going strong. And remember, none of this is out of necessity, we live in a world where everything is perfectly available at the store, but people choose to go through the hassle of baking their own bread or making their own fermented food.

Wallpapers are back. Art Deco is back. Work-wear is back. It keeps on coming — We're in love with the past.

Now you could argue that this is just a nostalgic retreat of an older generation, back to a time we knew so well. But it's quite the opposite. We're talking about young people who never experienced the limitations of an old film camera or a record player. Generation Z and young millennials are at the forefront of these movements, deliberately choosing the inconvenient, the imperfect and the analog. Not despite their flaws, but because of them.

Perhaps in our rush towards progress we left something behind. Something that gave us and our life meaning. The intentionality of analog processes feels more human to us, because they're imperfect, just like us.

I'm not sure where we're going with all this, but there's something wonderfully absurd about using new, modern technology to deliberately degrade their outcomes.

There's a striking parallel to the movie "Her" by Spike Jonze, where hyper-modern AI technology exists in a world draped in romantic vintage aesthetics. Tomorrow's technology wrapped in yesterday's visual language.

As if perfection itself has become too sterile for our taste.

We've come full circle: The technological flaws our previous generations worked hard to eliminate are exactly what we're now carefully reconstructing.

Perhaps this all reveals a deeper truth that we're all just hopelessly lost souls in our current hyper-optimized world we built (:

Thank you for reading & keep creating,

Yours truly,
Tobias

Hey friends! After 10 years of publishing articles on DESK and sending out my newsletter, I'm launching my new INNER CIRCLE membership. Thank you for supporting independent writing. You can read more about it below.

Tell me more

Embracing Friction

⏱️ Average reading time: 5-6min

For the past decade, we designers (in particular software & UX designers) have pursued an almost singular goal: make everything easier. User-friendliness above all else was and still is our mantra.

From operating systems to mobile apps and even games, our goal is to reduce friction, simplify and remove barriers. This philosophy, born from the early days of intimidating computing (and its complexity) has changed software from an expert's field into a universal tool that everyone today can access and use. Computers aren't just for the hardcore nerds anymore.

Software became accessible to billions of people. Our drive for simplification pretty much shaped our collective assumptions about software design: easier is always better, and friction is always bad. The best interface is the interface that needs no learning at all, isn't this what we've been preaching for years?

By extending this philosophy to our day-to-day software interfaces, we also began implementing the same principles in our video game development. And this is where things started to change.

As games became more accessible with abundant tutorials, hand holding, checkpoints and adjustable difficulties, players began to feel a sense of emptiness. The satisfaction of mastering a challenge pretty much disappeared. New games and challenges felt watered down. The satisfaction of mastering a hard, painfully excruciating game was replaced by "pleasant" experiences that, while enjoyable in the short term, left no lasting impression.

Classic video games had a unique charm and true personality. "Unforgiving, almost painfully difficult" is how I like to describe it. Patience was just one of the requirements. Not surprisingly, they were often a reflection of a single or small group of developers who built them out of pure passion (compared to today where it's often massive teams of UX-focused designers and researchers). But strangely enough, the very moments that seemed impossible to overcome in classic games became the fuel that kept players coming back for more. It's why the classics keep being the timeless classics decades later, and everything that followed seems to be forgotten just years later.

When everything is easy, nothing feels meaningful.

It's basic human psychology. We humans generally tend to value what we struggle to achieve. The pride of mastery, the satisfaction of growing our skills, and the sense of belonging to a skilled, like-minded community are powerful motivators which only are possible when there's something substantial to achieve and master. This doesn't only apply to games, but almost anything in life. Everything that isn't worth fighting for is fleeting at best.

The gaming industry changed because like many other industries, it chased growth as its core metric. The audience for easy, low-barrier games is always bigger than the audience for hard, mentally challenging games. It makes sense from that perspective if all you care about is growth (short term growth, I might add).

But you might be wondering, what the hell does all this have to do with software design?

Looking at the evolution of software design, it reveals a similar trend towards oversimplification. Modern UIs increasingly strip away depth and complexity to the point where they are essentially undermining the user's intelligence. When UX designers sit together today, there's a default assumption of user incompetence. But perhaps more troubling: it creates a self-fulfilling prophecy.

As software handles complexity on our behalf, we gradually lose the ability and confidence to engage with more sophisticated systems. This cycle of simplification and the decline of a users' skills leads to a world where true mastery or even understanding becomes increasingly rare, replaced by dependence on automated assistance and guided experiences.

It's a curious paradox. Ultimately this well-intentioned pursuit of oversimplification and accessibility diminishes the user's growth potential and therefore also limits our ability (as software designers) to break outside the box of well established, guided software design patterns. We're building our own prison.

BUT, there's a light at the end of the tunnel

I think there's another way. I call it "Strategic Friction" and it can be a feature, not a bug. And it doesn't have to be necessarily at the expense of growth. The key is understanding when this approach is appropriate. Good complexity creates new possibilities. Poor complexity creates unnecessary obstacles.

Carefully designed friction can create deeper engagement and investment into an experience. Just as classic video games' difficulty created dedicated players, strategic friction in software design can turn casual users into devoted experts who find satisfaction from mastering sophisticated tools.

This not only improves your overall product metrics, but it can have significant influence on your brand, since power users tend to band together and become evangelists for your brand.

Let me give you one example and their surprising second order effects:

Snapchat's early user interface deliberately (or perhaps accidentally) broke conventional UX rules; they created an interface that many found initially confusing and unuseable. However, this very "friction" created an almost exclusive sense of belonging among those who "got it." In the case of Snapchat, it was young people who needed a digital escape from their older counterparts: parents, who wouldn't touch Snapchat because it was just too damn confusing.

Young people who pushed through the initial learning curve of Snapchat felt they were part of something unique — a shared experience that strengthened their connection to both the platform and other members who had made the same journey. The friction of entry became a feature rather than a flaw, creating a distinct culture around the product that other companies could only beg for, even to today.

But don't get me wrong, I still believe core utilities and fundamental productivity software should remain simple and easy to use. However, when it comes to tools designed for creative expression or professional work, carefully crafted complexity and intentional learning curves can enhance user engagement and create more rewarding experiences. They create experiences for the mind and the soul.

As designers we have to keep reminding ourselves of the power we have: every decision we make has an impact, often beyond our comprehension. Sometimes it means guiding the user, sometimes it means challenging them with friction, and sometimes it means empowering them in ways that might feel uncomfortable to them at first glance.

This reminds me of another anecdote:

After I switched to Figma from Adobe Photoshop many years ago, I always had this uneasy feeling of becoming a worse designer. Worse as in, less creative.

While Figma is fantastic in streamlining interface design, far surpassing Photoshop for my current work, it's this very efficiency that comes with hidden constraints. Figma's architecture subtly shapes your design decisions, guiding your work along predetermined paths often without your conscious awareness. Figma's refined workflow (while absolutely amazing for productivity and speed), creates an invisible framework that quietly nudges my work towards established patterns.

In contrast to Photoshop, where the chaos and lack of structure offers a kind of creative liberation. The open-ended canvas and tools let me dream up anything I want and often pushes me towards unconventional thinking and more unique design solutions, even at the expense of efficiency. Photoshop is the definition of complexity and friction, but as patience persists, a beautiful portal opens in front of you.

I always like to say the tools don't matter, but they also kind of do. The design DNA of a tool, the friction or lack thereof subtly influences how we work.

Maybe this now turned into a love letter on what it means to be a designer, but I hope you enjoyed the read, straight from my mind.

Thank you for reading.

Yours truly,
Tobias

After two years of passionate work, I'm excited to give you a first look at my custom HOVS motorcycle before its public debut. This project pushed me into new creative territory, combining mechanical engineering with sculptural design. Together with my friend Seba (oneYedeer) who's behind the beautiful engineering of this motorcycle, we're excited to finally announce:

The Escape Machine

Whether you're a motorcycle enthusiast or simply appreciate design, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I've documented the entire journey in a detailed case study.

To me it's not just a motorcycle, but a sculpture and a manifestation of my own design vision. It's one step closer to my dream of designing everything around me.

→ See the project here

PS: And yes, you will likely see me riding around NYC on my new motorcycle next spring (:

But just in case you missed a few of them, here are a few highly requested updates we've shipped for mymind members.

✦ Improved image support

Images you save to your mind now get automatic titles, better automatic AI tags and a TLDR summary.

✦ PDF indexing and summaries

This was a highly requested one: PDFs you save to your mind now get a beautiful summary, better AI tags based on the content of the PDF and an automatic title.

✦ Reddit support

Reddit saves now show up more beautifully in your mind with our brand new Reddit cards.

✦ Improved Wikipedia support

Wikipedia saves now get their own custom cards and a much better detail view which lets you browse the Wikipedia article directly inside your mind, plus more and better AI tags including a short summary of the article.

All these updates are LIVE on all our platforms, web and mobile. mymind keeps getting better every week. A big welcome to all our new members, and thank you to those who have been with us since the beginning. We have lots more planned for you across our many apps.

Related reading:

mymind keeps getting better

We’ve been hard at work making every aspect of the mymind.com experience better, smoother, faster and lovelier.

The DESK MagazineTobias van Schneider

A couple weeks ago we published this video for mymind.

Watch it before you keep reading, it's only a minute long.

Alright, now that you have watched the video, here's my take:

Today's professional world is a mess.

We've been driven to such high levels of collaboration, there is almost no escape.

Cursors are following our every move. Comments, likes and reactions decorate every corner of our work, finished or not.

Open plan offices invite everyone to come to our desk and chat. A glance at your screen is just a turn of the head away.

Meeting invites, all-hands and morning stand ups fill our calendars, ensuring we don't have a single waking minute alone to think or actually... do the work we're talking about in the meetings.

Today, "working together" means something much different than it used to. It's like we no longer trust our own brains to think autonomously. We need the comments, the reactions, the hand-holding, to feel like we're accomplishing something.

But what are we actually accomplishing?

I believe this age of collaboration is lessening the quality of our work, along with our personal sense of creative capability and accomplishment. How can we possibly be doing our best work when we don't have a minute of solitude in our day to actually think? To actually WORK?

This is not the creative process. This is not even collaboration. It's a dance of cursors, a volley of words around the table, that amounts to not much at all.

Creativity requires time alone. Ask any writer, artist, designer who's ever lived. They'll tell you their best creative work happened in solitude. Where they could actually think. Where no voices were interrupting, no eyes were watching, no cursors hovering. Where the fragile embers of an idea could be stoked, get air and grow into a warm, burning fire.

Think of a theater performance, a true work of collaboration. The play didn't start with everyone in a room tossing ideas around and critiquing each other's work. It started with a solo writer with an idea. They wrote their script. They probably wrote a dozen scripts before they shared one with anyone else. A director sat with the script on their own before meeting with the writer to give feedback. The actors read the script, studied and memorized it, on their own as well. Only AFTER all of that did they meet in the same room and bring it all together. Only by the solo efforts of many, at the beginning, did they create their play and put it on a stage for others, together.

Solitude, solitude is where it should all begin.

You first have to spend time with yourself, with your own thoughts, to bring anything of value to the table with a team.

The natural desire to reach consensus inside a group tends to eliminate both bad and great ideas. It's a filter for both the terribly bad, but also the incredibly good. Consensus likes to settle somewhere in the middle — something we like to call the mediocre. (Literally, the word comes from the Latin "mediocris," which means "moderate" or "in the middle.")

Don't get me wrong, I do believe collaboration is necessary, to a degree. And it's of course inevitable for most of us working in an agency or company setting. We do need meetings. We do need collaborative software. These things are necessary for one part of the creative journey. But we've put so much priority on them, we've left out another, very important part of that journey: YOU.

In my world, the design and tech community, I see the impact most with our software and tools. It started with helpful and much needed collaborative features, like comments or shared canvases, that allowed us to more easily hand off project phases and files to each other. These were meant to solve organizational problems (remember telling everyone you saved presentation_final_FINAL.pptx to the server with your additions, which would then become presentation_final_FINAL_reallyfinal and so on?).

Then it evolved to live collaboration features, where we could literally put a live view of our face inside our cursors, allow others to live-follow those cursors, and talk in real time while we worked. Then it turned into twelve cursors flying around a board working on the same project at the same time. Which again, isn't all bad. I enjoy jumping in there having a jam session with my team now and then when we've reached a certain point of a project. But it's certainly not where I begin.

When you use a tool that only you have access to, you're naturally using it differently. A tool that doesn't allow you to share or collaborate, naturally invites you to be more honest with it. To be more open, more free of judgement and societal norm.

“The mind is sharper and keener in seclusion and uninterrupted solitude. Originality thrives in seclusion free of outside influences beating upon us to cripple the creative mind. Be alone—that is the secret of invention: be alone, that is when ideas are born.”

— Nikola Tesla

The moment we invite people to our canvas, it turns into a performance. You're now modifying your behavior for someone else. You're consciously or subconsciously editing yourself, and overly aware of yourself, because you're considering how others might perceive you. Your free thoughts and ideas are being edited in real time, by you.

While on the other hand, if you're doing this alone, you're be allowed to be weird. You can let your entire multi-dimensional personality flow into it. You can cast your net wide. There is no judgment, nobody to comment on your half-baked idea, nobody to put their emojis on your work.

And this brings me back to mymind.

I like the idea of it being my sacred place. It's one place where I don't have to perform for anyone else. I do not need to curate it because no one ever sees it. And simply because of this, I'm saving more interesting things in there because they don't need to adhere to my carefully crafted image online (which most of us have).

mymind is my private oasis of ideas, notes and references. It's the place where I can be weird, fun and serious at the same time. It's a place for the many facets of my personality can come out to play, all in one place. As a designer, this is incredibly valuable because it contributes to a more well rounded ME.

And while this article may be partially about mymind (which inspired me to write this article), consider the contents of it to be universal. It doesn't matter what tools you use. It doesn't matter where you work or what systems your company has in place. We all have to carve out a space for our creative selves to run wild, in whatever form that means for us.

A place we can go back to, just by ourselves. A place where we can start with our creative journey, and when we're ready, take those ideas to a more collaborative space.

These are just a few of the recent upgrades we've released for all members. If you're curious to try it all yourself, you can sign up for mymind for free right here.

✦ NEW Music Support

Music from Spotify, Apple Music and Soundcloud now save beautifully to your mind with special cards for songs, titles and playlists.

Save your favorite music, curate playlists for friends or save songs recs you want to listen to later. It's all part of your beautiful mymind library.

Watch the video →

✦ Improved book support

Books now look better in your mind, with an upgraded cover image and related details.

Open a book and click the cover to reveal the author, publisher, page-count and other helpful info. Mastermind members also get an AI summary of the book on the right side of the card.

Watch the video to see how it works →

✦ Upgraded film support

Films and TV series have been redesigned, with a new poster card design and expanded card details.

Movies and TV series are auto-tagged and categorized as always, and Mastermind members will also see a summary on the right side of the cards.

✦

We're shipping more every day, which I'll share with you in a coming article. But you can try it all for free yourself by signing up for mymind.