In the age of digital convenience, everyone’s a designer, or at least that’s how it feels. With tools like Canva, AI image generators, and no-code website builders flooding the market, it’s never been easier to “design” something. Drag and drop. Resize. Publish. Done. But as the barrier to creation lowers, so too, it seems, does the bar for quality. And we need to talk about that.
Design isn’t just decoration. It’s not about choosing a nice font or slapping a logo in the right corner. Good design is invisible. It anticipates need, it guides users intuitively, it includes rather than excludes, and it balances beauty with functionality. That kind of design doesn’t come from a template, it comes from years of experience, craft, and curiosity. It’s learned, refined, challenged, and earned.
When we over-democratise design without respecting the discipline behind it, we risk creating noise instead of clarity. We end up with outputs that might look “fine” on the surface but are inaccessible, inconsistent, culturally tone-deaf, or just plain confusing. At its worst, this trend can devalue the impact design can have, turning a thoughtful, human-centred process into something cosmetic, shallow, and purely aesthetic.
As someone who has spent years designing systems, services, and digital experiences across sectors, I’ve seen the difference firsthand. I’ve seen what happens when an experienced designer is brought into a project too late, only to be asked to “make it look better.” And I’ve seen the opposite, when design is embedded from the start, considered not just as a visual layer but as a way of thinking, shaping strategy, and delivering impact.
Design is not just what something looks like. It’s how it works. It’s how someone navigates an aged care portal with arthritis or low vision. It’s how a young person feels when they see themselves represented on a platform for the first time. It’s how a service builds trust, communicates clearly, and avoids failure demand. That kind of thinking doesn’t come from a plugin. It comes from lived experience, constant practice, and deep empathy.
Tools are not the enemy here. They have their place. They make design more accessible to more people, which is a good thing. But what we’re losing is the appreciation for the why behind design decisions. Why we choose specific colour contrasts. Why we break content up into smaller chunks. Why we advocate for fewer choices, not more. These aren’t arbitrary—they’re rooted in research, psychology, cultural understanding, and accessibility standards. A template can’t know that.
It’s also important to acknowledge the invisible labour behind good design. The testing, iteration, auditing, and listening. The work that happens before a single pixel is pushed. Good designers don’t just move things around, they ask hard questions. Who is this for? Who might this exclude? What assumptions are we making? And how can we make it better, not just for the majority, but for the margins?
The truth is, good design is often undervalued because it works. When it’s done well, it feels seamless, effortless, or even obvious. But that invisibility is deceptive. It hides the dozens of decisions, the late-night sketching, the uncomfortable conversations, the endless push for clarity and cohesion. When you replace that process with automation or a “design-it-yourself” kit, you get something that might look designed, but lacks soul, strategy, and meaning.
So no, I’m not anti-tool. I use many myself. But I am anti-undervaluing the craft. I’m advocating for a return to respect for the expertise, and the people who’ve dedicated their careers to shaping how others experience the world. Let the marketers use Canva. Let the students whip up a poster. But when the stakes are higher, when accessibility, equity, inclusion, and impact matter, let the designers do the designing.
Not because we’re precious. But because we know what’s at stake when design is treated like a commodity, rather than a responsibility.