THE OPINION

Design Is Only an Opinion - A Philosophy of Possibility

“We build because we dwell, and we dwell because we are.” — Martin Heidegger

In an era enthralled by efficiency, outcomes, and optimisation, design quietly rebels. It does not seek to quantify the soul or reduce beauty to data. It seeks to translate human longing into matter, and to make emotion tangible. In doing so, it becomes more than a technical act—it becomes a philosophical one.

Design is not governed by absolutes. It is not a science of answers, but a poetics of intent. It is preference made visible, belief shaped into space. As Gaston Bachelard writes in The Poetics of Space, “We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection.” Design, like memory, is never objective. It is always felt.

Beyond the Binary: Design Resists Certainty

We have inherited from modernism a legacy of absolutes: the perfect chair, the universal home, the golden ratio as divine geometry. These were attempts to forge order from chaos, to offer a “truth” in a world of subjective noise.

But these models often excluded as much as they included. What fits one body excludes another. What serves one culture may alienate another. A space designed for silence may be unbearable to someone raised in sound.

“To measure is to exclude,” observed Plato, who warned against mistaking form for essence.

To assert that design can be "correct" is to misunderstand its purpose. As Pierre Bourdieu reminds us, “Taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier.” What we call “good design” often reflects privilege, education, and social conditioning.

Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman’s concept of liquid modernity captures this well: we live in a time where nothing solidifies for long—identities, technologies, social roles. Design must adapt to this fluidity. The desire for timelessness, often romanticised, is in fact a longing for control.

The Mirage of Perfection

In nature, nothing grows straight. The branch bends from the wind. The coral curls around resistance. The tree scars where it has healed. Yet it is precisely in these asymmetries that we find beauty.

“There is nothing useless in nature; not even uselessness,” said Cicero.

The Japanese concept of Wabi-Sabi embraces this: to find beauty in imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness. A cracked bowl, lovingly mended with gold (kintsugi), is not ruined—it is revered. The mark of use is a mark of meaning.

Psychologist Donald Norman found that people favour objects with character—those that show wear, age, individuality. We love what reminds us of ourselves: flawed, ageing, evolving.

Design that aims only for cold perfection often alienates. It forgets that our homes are not galleries, but places to stumble barefoot at night, to weep in private, to raise children, to grow old.

Design as Translation, Not Truth

Design is an act of translation—from the intangible to the tangible. But whose words are being translated? Whose truth is being told?

A meaningful design emerges not from the genius of the architect alone, but from deep listening. A good brief—rich with stories, limitations, contradictions—is not a constraint but a gift.

“The beginning is the most important part of the work.” — Plato

Even the revered Bauhaus movement, often idealised as neutral, was steeped in ideology. Walter Gropius envisioned design as a tool for social unity, but unity is not universality. Today, we seek equity, not uniformity. Accessibility, not hierarchy. Inclusion, not monument.

As Antonio Gramsci described, we live in an interregnum—a moment “when the old is dying and the new cannot yet be born.” In this ambiguity, design must serve as interpreter, not judge.

Design as Process, Not Product

We often mistake the artefact for the act. But design is not an object—it is a verb. It is a process of choices, omissions, revisions. It is a dance between intention and accident.

“Design is not making beauty, beauty emerges from selection, affinities, integration, love.” — Louis Kahn

To choose one material is to reject another. To open light in one room is to cast shadow in another. There is no perfect path—only a most appropriate one, for now.

Charles Eames famously said, “Design depends largely on constraints.” But constraints are no longer static. They morph daily—climate, politics, pandemics, migration, memory. A house is not just a house. It is a shelter, an archive, a container for stories yet to unfold.

And as Hannah Arendt reminds us, “The human condition is one of natality—the capacity to begin.” Design must be a discipline of constant re-beginning.

Narrative: The Soul of Space

Design dies without narrative. A door without a story is just a slab of wood. A corridor without a reason to pause is just a passage. But with story, design becomes alive. It listens. It remembers.

“The city… does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand.” — Italo Calvino

In narrative-rich design, a handrail holds not just balance but care. A window becomes a gesture of generosity. A bench under a tree becomes an invitation to pause, to be.

Designers are not merely problem-solvers. They are authors in volume and void, light and silence. Their tools are human stories—the ones that whisper rather than shout.

Romantic Pragmatism: A Discipline of Empathy

There is a romance in believing that form can comfort, that space can dignify, that light can heal. And yet this romance must be pragmatic. A chair must support. A room must endure. Design cannot be only an idea—it must be lived.

“Even a brick wants to be something.” — Louis Kahn

To design is to offer a point of care in a chaotic world. It is to say: I noticed. I imagined. I shaped this for you.

Empathy is the real material of good design—not concrete, not timber, not steel. Without it, we are only decorating.

Conclusion: The Beautiful Risk

Design is only an opinion. But in a world awash in noise and sameness, to have a thoughtful opinion is a radical act.

An opinion asks questions. It resists the easy answer. It embraces complexity. It says: “This might help. This might hold.” It does not seek to be right. It seeks to be real.

“To design is to express hope.” — Norman Foster

Let us not design with arrogance, but with attentiveness. Not with rigidity, but with resonance. Let us trade certainty for soul.

Design does not give final answers—it offers open invitations.