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This could be one of those texts that begins with an intimate reflection, carefully crafted to move the reader and capture their attention from the very first line. However, instead of that, this text begins—like so many others—with a definition from the Real Academia Española (RAE).

It may seem like an unoriginal decision, even a bit dry. But in fact, I identify it as an instinctive gesture: in the midst of confusion, trying to find something familiar and cling to it as a way to start building.

Speaking of instinctive things, you’ll notice that this text raises more questions than answers—because what is life, if not that?

Hard and soft definitions

The Real Academia Española defines “designer” as a “person who is dedicated to design, especially to make something afterward.” A phrase more confusing than clarifying.

Even so, amid the opacity of that definition, there’s an idea worth rescuing: make something afterward. The notion that design precedes tangible action—that it leads and guides it—corresponds with the idea of design as a thoughtful, planned process through which something is projected.

However, the RAE also offers the following definition: “It specifically refers to someone who designs fashion.” And here’s where we need to take a deep breath and question what we’ve just read. Not so much because of the article used—which could be the subject of a whole other debate—nor the reference to fashion itself, but rather because of the deliberate and overly simplified narrowing of such a vast, complex, and multifaceted field as design, down to just one of its many branches.

So it becomes clear that seeking official definitions may not be enough. Where else could we turn? What other voice could help us understand what a designer is?

A different source

A quite obvious option these days—perhaps too obvious not to take advantage of—is to consult artificial intelligence.

When asking ChatGPT “What is design?”, it provided two far more relevant responses:

"Design is the process of planning and creating visual, functional, or structural solutions to solve a problem or meet a need. It is applied in many fields (such as graphic, industrial, architectural, digital, fashion, etc.) and combines creative, technical, and practical elements."

And a general definition:

"Design is the activity through which objects, systems, services, or experiences are conceived and developed to fulfill a specific function, with intention and purpose."

Beyond the content—which undoubtedly offers a richer view than the RAE’s—there’s an interesting detail to highlight: we’re using a tool designed to help us understand what design is. That paradox is significant. AI itself is part of a design process: it was programmed, trained, and made available through an interactive interface. Consulting it is, in itself, a design practice in action.

Now, let’s go back to those definitions. The first thing we notice is the concept of planning, something we already sensed in the RAE’s version, highlighting design’s relationship with ideation and development processes. It also underscores the breadth of the discipline, framing it as an interdisciplinary field that combines the theoretical and practical aspects of the domains it interacts with, to—just as the second definition proposes—conceive not only objects and solutions, but also systems, services, and experiences.

Since asking questions is free, let’s go a bit further. When asked “What is a designer?”, the AI responded:

“A designer is someone who shapes ideas, translating concepts into visual, functional, and meaningful solutions. They don’t just create beautiful things—they organize information, communicate messages, and solve problems through composition, color, typography, and other visual elements. A designer observes, analyzes, experiments, and builds. They think about the user, the context, and the emotion their work can generate. Their work is everywhere: in the books we read, the objects we use, the identity of brands, and the cities we inhabit. In short, a designer shapes the world around us.”

In line with what was discussed earlier, this definition brings up key words: translate, build, shape. All of them suggest a process, a transformation. Here, the idea of solving something is deepened. As it rightly states, it’s not just about making beautiful things—it’s about researching, analyzing, observing, and creating meaningful solutions designed for a context and a user.

We could then attempt a first synthesis: design involves a project-based process that begins with an idea, concept, need, or problem, and seeks to give form to a functional, meaningful, and situated solution.

So far, so good. But it’s still complex—why?

What real voices say…

Part of the problem lies in the fact that design is not a fixed or closed field. Its meanings change over time, across cultures, and with the needs of each era.

The Colombian anthropologist Arturo Escobar, in Autonomy and Design (2016), states that one of the challenges in thinking about design is its ubiquity. Design is everywhere, even in places we don’t typically identify as such. Our everyday life—especially in modern, urban contexts—is deeply designed: from the mate cup we drink mate from each morning before work, to the very act of working to earn money and sustain our lifestyle. Roads, the economy, politics—everything is part of a cultural fabric that has also been designed. Design isn’t limited to tangible objects. As Escobar suggests, it also shapes practices, meanings, ways of life. We design relationships, systems, experiences.

This makes it even harder to establish a concrete definition. And perhaps for that very reason, each person understands something different when they speak of design.

Víctor Papanek, back in the 1970s, already warned that design is an innate human ability. Since prehistoric times, we’ve designed tools to survive, structures for shelter, strategies to hunt and eat, and ways of life to continue existing. In this sense, we all were—and still are—designers.

Much more recently, Ezio Manzini revisits this idea by stating that in a constantly changing world, we all design: some do it professionally, others as part of daily life.

So, what distinguishes a professional designer from anyone else?

From industrial to social

For a long time, design was seen as an ally of industry: a tool to create attractive products that fueled consumption. Papanek criticized this approach for its harmful nature, denouncing the superficiality and waste that often accompanied it.

Today, however, a different conception is gaining ground: design as an agent of social transformation. We talk about transition design, ontological design, systemic design, design for the common good. Social design. Each of these variants expands the field and responsibility of the designer, showing that it’s no longer enough to create functional or visually appealing things. Design is also expected to be sustainable, ethical, conscious.

In fact, this isn’t new. In the First Things First 2000 manifesto, thirty-three graphic designers, art directors, and visual communicators already proclaimed:

"There are pursuits more worthy of our problem-solving skills. Unprecedented environmental, social and cultural crises demand our attention."

In this sense, I dare say that design is not an end in itself, but a means to imagine and build more livable futures.

The names of design

It’s true that the expansion of the field has led to multiple specializations: Industrial design, Graphic design, Fashion design, Experience design, Service design, Systems design, Interior design, Web design, Packaging design, Editorial design, Participatory design, Information design, Advertising design... and the list goes on. Each of these branches deals with different types of problems, with varying tools, processes, and goals.

Part of the difficulty in understanding what design is lies in the fact that, although these branches fall under the same label, they don’t necessarily share a common language. In fact, there’s not even a standard vocabulary within each specialization. Each designer has their own processes and design methods—sometimes even without fully being aware of them. What do we do when we design? What’s the recipe for designing? Are designers fully aware of their own design process? Could they describe every step they take when designing? Is the process repeatable?

Verónica Devalle, a sociologist specializing in culture and design, notes that designers often find it quite difficult to answer those questions because describing the logic behind their design processes ends up being what she calls a “black box”—an action without full awareness of its execution. Perhaps this stems from the fact that designing seems like an almost inherent human activity. Still, as Devalle says, the fact that many design without being fully aware of what they’re doing doesn’t mean it’s mere chance.

On the other hand, the large number of specializations also means that, for example, a fashion designer and a strategic designer might have no interest in each other’s daily challenges. And yet, both design. What do they share, and how do their creative processes differ? How can we define what makes someone a designer? Is there a typical designer we could base ourselves on? Who would be the “most designer” among all possible designers? Can this even be measured?

Good design and its criteria

The question of what makes good design is inevitable. What makes something well-designed? Aesthetics? Functionality? Clarity of the message?

There’s no single answer. Although there is a certain shared intuition—we all recognize bad design when we see it—the criteria are multiple and often contradictory. Perception of design is mediated by experience, context, culture; and what’s a brilliant solution for one person may be inadequate or unsatisfactory for another.

Burton Kramer, Canadian designer and artist, once said in his essay El Hambre that true designers are experts in generalities: they absorb everything they can and thus know how to cook “tasty dishes for all occasions.” A gastronomic metaphor suggesting that good design requires a sensitive palate—but above all a storehouse of associations and connections that activates at the moment of creating.

He adds that “our reaction to any form is modified (sometimes considerably) by the ways it relates to our storehouse of associations, parallels, and connections.” Could it be the characteristics of this storehouse that make a good designer? Could a good storehouse make a good designer?

Kramer also mentions:

“Designers and other (hungry) creative types are interested in a varied menu that can include toys, African sculpture, pre-Columbian art and artifacts, Indonesian masks, puzzles, music, typefaces, signs, dolls, Molas, magazines, books, more books, trying to find through all this what is going on, trying to learn how everything came to be this way. And throughout this endless process, the designer who knows a little about many things will start to piece parts together, establish parallels, and make connections.

This opens a new perspective: there are as many possible ways to design as there are connections within each storehouse. What possibilities are there then to define the design process?

Perhaps good design is not a formula and does not depend on aesthetics —though that is also a debate for another article— but rather an attentive, conscious, informed practice composed of a balance between intuition, technical knowledge, aesthetic sensitivity, and ethical responsibility, where both the complexity of the context in which it is situated and the nature of the problem it faces are taken into account.

A map without borders

We return to the initial question, because after all, we still haven’t said what design actually is.

Neither the RAE definition nor ChatGPT’s exhaust the meaning, and neither will any conjecture ventured in this text, as my biases prevent complete objectivity on the matter. For the same reason, as useful as it might be for some challenges faced by the profession, I also don’t believe any professional dictum can once and for all explain what design is and what it comprises. Because, whatever design is understood to be, it is certainly not a static definition.

Let everyone determine their own nuance of the definition according to what seems best to them and when it seems best. Perhaps the issue is not to define design or the designer, but to accept its constant redefinition and understand that it is the mold of the world, something as vast as the perspective of those who think and practice it. Like a map without borders.

In that sense, I choose to believe in the green nuance, because it seems to me that today, more than ever, it is called to accompany the cultural, social, and environmental transitions we are undergoing.

I believe in the designer as a shaper of realities, who takes the intangible —whether a concept, a need, an emotion— and gives it form in the physical or digital world, altering the way people experience their environment. And if we are all designers and we all design, then we are all capable of shaping the reality in which we live. So the question that may be worth more is: how do we want to design the world we live in?

Tokyo is a leading web design agency with an award-winning design team that creates innovative, effective websites that capture your brand, improve your conversion rates, and maximize your revenue to help grow your business and achieve your goals.