Recently, much of my free time has been going towards doing research and writing for the next round of blog posts for the forthcoming quarter of content for this website. While sometimes, my research has asked for me to do deep dives into articles, brands, and other material of interest, sometimes my research is the product of a critical question. For such reasons, I decided to ask one: do design awards matter?
And while I have gotten a chance to read everything from a host of snarky dispositions suggesting that they do not, to the more self-aggrandizing, creatively indulgent opinions suggesting that they do, as a professional I find that it is sometimes worthwhile to look at one’s life, their needs, and draw their own conclusions.
For most independent designers and businesses alike, much of the value of a design award—short of being a really expensive pat on the back—is the fact that such an achievement can help bolster one’s credentials, shore up client confidence, and yes, make you more money.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that the biggest perceived reason for design awards is that there is a belief in them giving designers more negotiating power with higher profile clients—which in turn corresponds to more money.
To this, however, I have now begun to ask a set of different questions: if larger clients, and by extension money, are big pieces of why design awards matter, then why not simply pursue work with larger clients and leave costly design awards entirely out of the equation? Hell, if money matters, then why not simply pursue rich clients, and leave high profile clients out of the equation?
I think the greater point that I am trying to get at is that for as many designers and other types of creative professionals there are out there, it could be possible that some of us have skewed, or warped, definitions of success. I think part of this—at least, in design—is because the field is so varied across disciplines, that doing something such as pursuing rich clients is much easier for a graphic designer, than it is for say, an architect. So when we try to talk about success in ways that are uniform to the entire field of design, we have to offer advice that scales between disciplines in order for it to seem valid to people of two entirely different creative backgrounds.
I think the other part of why the definition of success in the design field is so warped, is because much of what we compare ourselves to in the various forms of media surrounding our profession only ever seems to present success in one particular, uniform way. The problem with this approach is that it promotes the idea that the only way to succeed is to commit oneself to one set of regimented activities—and much of the time, these activities are the ones that everybody is trying to succeed at.
Want to be a successful designer? Get an MFA. Join a firm. Pay your dues. Work your ass off. Move up. Lead projects. Innovate. Apply for awards. Win awards. Get bigger clients. Make more money.
Rinse, fucking, repeat.
Just as much as I’ve seen magazine contributors promote this narrative, I see it on blogs, Twitter feeds, Instagram, YouTube, and even reddit pages where fly by night strangers asking for career advice tend to congregate only to hear silicon valley fucknuts tell them to “simply not suck.” And to be clear, I’m not saying that it is wrong. I’m merely saying that there are other ways to be successful as a designer—and if designers had more exposure to them, I don’t think they would care so much about whether or not they win awards.
I have an award-winning design and marketing agency right here in the town where I live as a freelancer. They work with a few big clients. They have some pretty nice work. And for years before the pandemic, I would regularly apply to this firm to try and get a foot in the door as a digital marketer. But because I did not have a college degree at the time, I would be regularly denied—despite knowing what I’m talking about and having a highly interdisciplinary knowledge of digital production techniques. While it would have been nice to work there, and maybe even build a name there, I walk past that spot every day now and can’t help but feel like I’m the real winner.
While designers at this firm may have an opportunity to work with a couple of high-profile clients, gain great production experience, and may eventually apply for awards and win them, I have the ability to set my own hours, be geographically located wherever I want, and I make almost as much—if not more—per year than many of the highest-ranking employees in this award winning firm—on literally a fraction of the clientele.
Now I am sure that if you were to speak to the people that run this business, they might say that while my personal achievements are great, they still have the ability to work with some of the best clients in the world.
And that may be true, but so do I.
I think that young designers out of college who want to put their abilities to the test have a greater desire for the glory of competition—and I think that competition is a great thing because it is what spurs on progress and innovation. At the same time, I think older designers (who may have even spent a little time as starving artists), tend to favor career stability. I know that I sure as shit do: making 10 grand a year in your 30’s isn’t sexy.
Something that happens to all of us is that as we get older, have a desire to build roots, and maybe even do things like start families and build meaningful community relationships. That tends to be harder to do with income that wildly varies between months, weeks and years—or is too low to even be considered a real income at all. It is here, I think, that the concept of who is the “best client in the world” for a designer begins to change.
Sure, for the firm nut, that client may be a Coca Cola, a Nike, or an Apple—and I think most designers and creative professionals of all experience levels would be inclined to agree. But something that I have begun to do is re-frame many of the relationships that I have with my clients to what my needs are in this period of my life. As someone who values stability, while I will never turn down a gig with a company like Coca Cola, I also recognize that really anybody who can afford my services—and appreciates my look—will suffice.
That is why I am working for some of the best clients in the world right now, and you very well might be too: Because between budget size, peace of mind, chemistry and flexibility, these clients don’t have to be blue chip customers for me to feel as if my needs are being entirely met. I am able to make the money I want, buy the tools I need, and live a life that is excessively comfortable relative to the various lifestyle constraints that I have put on it. The point is that while the pathway to success in the field of design can be a conventional one, it can also be unconventional if you structure your life—and your business—the right way. The point is that there are multiple approaches to doing something, and even in the highly methodical and calculated world of design, this rule applies. Hell, there are designers making upwards of $200,000 a year on fucking fiverr. Do you think they give a shit about design awards? Probably not. Do you think these folks still love doing what they do? Probably.
Ultimately, designers need to come up with a definition for success that works for them. Everybody else will tell you what it is that you have to be, or need to do, in order to be worthwhile as a professional. Some of this advice might be right, and some of it might be inconsequential, or outright wrong. But if there was any piece of advice that I would give to designers starting out, it is this: consider decoupling your perception of artistic success from your perception of monetary success. it is not that selling out is the key to happiness, so much as it is that it is possible to experience different forms of success in ways that are independent of one another—and that can be a key to happiness. Sure, it isn’t a silver bullet, but bare minimum: you will move forward in life.
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