Judy writes, “Who woulda thought that after all these years, landing a job interview would be so difficult? Just getting in the door to show them how cool I am is hard. It’s a tough sell in the market today.

“I hate to say that I’m old school. It’s something I hear old people say. But when I look at the tools I used as I started my career — the ones that are either collecting dust or framed in my memorabilia — I realize that it might be true. My Haberule type gauge, ellipse guides, arc templates, Rapidograph pens, pica rulers, Rubylith, dividers, color guides, stat machine and dry-transfer letters are things of the past. Who knows what all the hours of smelling rubber cement has done to my brain.

“I’ve taken the years off of my resumé at someone’s suggestion. (I am, however, not dying my hair.) Filling out job applications online has taken the fun out of presenting my work in person with a portfolio. My graphic design skills are lacking web credentials. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Print is slipping away.

“The worst part is that even though I have 35+ years in the field, no one is calling me back. I mean, forget the phone call, no one is even emailing me back.

“What now?”

—————

Hi Judy,

I’d say that print is slipping away, sort of. More like it’s morphing. The iPad, for example, is a print medium, with benefits. New Web-font technology brings the beauty and nuanced voices of print to the Web. For those of us who love type and print, this is exciting.

That said, video is hot, and it should be. It’s a more natural medium — “natural” being the way we actually experience life. Reading is the artificial thing. The surprise for me has been the speed of the advances in technology. We carry the world in our pockets now, in real time. What my iPhone will do is almost unbelievable. A short 10 years ago multimedia tied us to our desks, modems squawked, pages loaded at crawl speed and were ugly, search sucked; the whole experience was sucky.

Video is no longer a special event that requires high production values; it’s become more like chat.

Had nothing changed and print was still king, you and I would be kings, laid back, lavishly paid, dispensing with ease a lifetime of accumulated mastery, dabbling at our leisure in the new technologies. Fantasy Island.

When I was 30 and art director of the local city magazine, we hired a 50-year-old who was incredible at pencil-sketching layouts. He could whip out four pencil-sketched advertising mockups in 30 minutes, which invariably impressed clients and made our jobs easy. Problem was, this artist was stuck in the 1950s, where he had learned his skills. He’d grown inflexible, like unused muscles get. He couldn’t get his head into what we were thinking and the direction we wanted to take the design. He was of a different mind, and we eventually let him go. It didn’t help that he drank.

At the same time, we had a 70-year-old proofreader who was the opposite. Extremely skilled, curious, cooperative, fun-loving, hard-working. If we were up all night, literally around the clock, on a deadline, Stan would stay with us, proofing endless galleys of 6-pt. type (“This opening paren is five points, not six,” he said one memorable night), raising our awareness, increasing our knowledge, inspiring us with his perseverance and acceptance of only the highest standards. There’s a lot of Stan Ottowa in Before & After.

Stan didn’t have to do this. He could have accepted the world’s loosening grammatical standards and less-than-the-best craftsmanship. But he kept the bar high and in doing so called us up to it.

Anyway, all this to say that while you may lack this or that credential, you have more than the 30- (or 20-) somethings, whose experience, for all of their skills, is still thin and forming, and instead of just landing a job, you might think about how to find your “more” and then find the fit for it.

What do you know about yourself at 50 (or 60) that you didn’t know at 30? How does it apply to design, and specifically to job A, B, or C?

What’s your vision? In every life God has planted the seed of something important. By 60, many of the wishes, hopes and dreams of youth have fallen away. Yet this thing persists. You may already be living it. Or not yet. What is it?

Do you have a “bucket” list? What’s on it?

Don’t fret over who might hire you, which is to cede ownership of your life to others. Think instead about what you know and have and want, and work to that. What do you do that no one else can do? Where can you make a difference that no one else can make?

My guess is that you know.

Go for that.

—————

Hi John,

Divine intervention has prevailed! I found out that a friend worked in the marketing department of a national company headquartered in my hometown. Of course, she would be happy to walk something in.

The resumé I had carefully prepared would not work — that letter-size piece of paper just wasn’t talking. What to do? Again, divine intervention prevailed. I found myself in the Hallmark store looking at the singing greeting cards. Surely there would be an appropriate song. “Cheers! Everyone knows your name,” sang out. It was the start of a great idea.

Like most of my discoveries in design, it’s a matter of relaxing and trusting. (My love of graphics started in first grade when the teacher asked me to design the bulletin board. I looked up and “saw” it — heading, picture, body. I’ve been doing it ever since.)

I went back to my roots. With photos and X-Acto blades, old rulers and pens, I started crafting the perfect resumé. The photo of me standing in a cornfield became “Judy Robertson is out standing in her field.” The story of how corn starts as a small seed became my career path. When I was done, the stock card had been transformed into a one-of-a-kind work of art. If this didn’t get me the job, I was going to find a new career.

The words, “You’re the one who sent in that singing resumé,” are a gift every time I hear them at my new job.

—————

Dear readers, talk to me.

(Thanks to Lou Brooks’ great Museum of Forgotten Art Supplies. Those of you of a certain age who click the link, don’t get lost on Memory Lane!)

“How should a person in the creative industry build his or her résumé? In the past, graphic designers and illustrators spent loads of time designing and laying out their résumé — the theory was that the résumé was like the first piece of the candidate’s portfolio. However, most of the corporate jobs I have applied for have specified to submit a résumé in Microsoft Word or plain text; many corporations use word-search software to screen out candidates.

“My questions to you, Mr. McWade, are:

1) Should a Creative have a creative résumé, one that’s carefully designed?
2) How creative should a Creative get when putting together a Word-based résumé?”

———-

My short answers are:

1) No, if by “carefully designed” you mean stylized in some way.
2) Not any. Just type it cleanly.

I can’t speak for big companies that use word-search software to cull résumés. My experience there is zero.

But I have some attitude about this topic.

I’m not a fan of résumés, or at least of the old-school, apply-with-hat-in-hand approach to finding work. I’m less interested in having employees than I am in having collaborators, those who can work with me to make art that will make a difference.

What I want to see from you is not a résumé but something that tells me you are different, you are exceptional, you are compelling. It may be a conversation. It may be a powerful referral from someone I respect. It may be an impossible-to-ignore piece of work.

I do expect to see a portfolio.

I don’t really care how much experience (or education) you have. I care about what you can do. And what kind of person you are.

Landing a job is not a career goal. There’s a comic saying that goes, “I thought I wanted a career, but it turns out I just wanted a paycheck.”

Know the difference. A paycheck requires obedience. A career requires vision. And sacrifice.

Random notes:

Generally speaking, I’ve found that designers with a college education perform better over time than those without. This superiority is not always evident in the beginning. What emerges is a better grasp of the basics, more familiarity with excellent design, and more self-discipline. There are outstanding exceptions.

I’ve seen portfolios that exhibit beautiful, mature pieces, followed by pieces that are cheesy, cliché, derivative, sloppy, and so on, which makes me question the designer’s judgment and the good pieces. Lesson: Don’t put something in your portfolio just to plump it up.

I will always ask you under what conditions you designed a piece. Work done for a portfolio gives me a sense of your eye but not how you’ll do under pressure.

Never fudge the truth. If I can’t trust you 100% — and you, me — we can’t work together.

That’s more than you asked for. Keep in mind that my lens is narrow; Before & After is a small, unique business. So readers, talk to me. I’m especially interested in hearing from those of you who read résumés — specifically, designers’ résumés — and do the hiring.

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Jobs are on everyone’s mind. Recently, a longtime reader sent me the following career note:

“John, this has brought me to my breaking point.

“I understand that we have companies struggling for profitability throughout the U.S., and cutting corners has become everyone’s mantra. However, I never expected for my design services to be outsourced to foreign countries for cheaper rates.

“Earlier today, I was shocked to learn that another former client has outsourced web and graphic design services to a firm in Colombia. Initially I thought they were joking, until it became apparent that the vast majority of the work is being assigned to a Colombian agency for $11.50 US per hour.

“I have already lost a significant amount of business to companies working out of India. Their rate of $30 US per hour was less than half of mine. My client openly boasted about the amount of money he was saving as he gave me a look that said I’d been overcharging him. Evidently, the quality is good enough.

“In all my years as a designer and marketing director, I have never felt so hopeless or disgusted. I can’t be the only one affected by this trend. It’s putting me in a position where I need to be looking for clients once again. The last thing I expected after all these years is for clients to look past my skills and years of experience only to see my services as another commodity to leverage against.”

—————

Dear readers, it’s a difficult position to be in, and painful. Reminds me of the Chutes and Ladders game. The last thing you want near the end of a career is to slide down a long chute back to the beginning, but it’s happening to many.

The recession gets the blame, but it’s more than that. It’s that the world has changed. Technology has erased borders and barriers. Anyone can now connect with anyone, anywhere. Result: We all compete globally, and our high American lifestyle has us at a disadvantage. If Colombian designers can do for $11.50 what you charged $75 for, that’s where the work is going to go.

Recessions end, but this change is permanent. Our world will never again be as it was. It is not a passing phase. It’s a new day.

Global is the new local.

It’s a great time to be young and fresh. For those of us who aren’t, there is loss to suffer. Don’t underestimate your need to grieve, but then get your game face back on, and remember that you have the advantages of experience and perspective. Thing is, the playing field has never been so level. Everyone can compete — or cooperate — with everyone. Literally.

From my vantage point, I can see another perspective. Over three-quarters of our Facebook fans are international, from nations on every continent. They are eager to join the party. When you say of the Indians, “evidently, the quality is good enough,” I can tell you that yes, it is, and often it is better. There is a lot of design talent beyond our borders — educated, clear thinking, visionary, with great enthusiasm and a tremendous work ethic. To us insular Americans, this may be shocking. Get unshocked, and get ready to play. It’s a good thing.

Hey, some Irish kid just tore up the U.S. Open.

Before & After has felt the change, too. For our part, we’re spreading into video, iPad design, podcasts, webinars, and live seminars. Our focus is a little diffused right now; you may have noticed the slowdown. It’s the learning curve.

Keep me posted.

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When the tail wags the dog
By Seth Godin

Actually, it doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you’re any good at design.

If you’re reading this magazine, the odds are you are. You’re probably very good. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is whether you can sell design to your clients. What matters is that you’re able to implement the great ideas, instead of settling for the mediocre stuff that clients insist upon.

Have you ever seen an incompetent extension cord? An incorrectly mixed jar of mouthwash? An inferior gallon of gas?

Just about everyone thinks that we need to focus on the stuff we make. Just about everyone is wrong. The stuff we make is fine. We have everything we need, and everything is good enough.

On the other hand, have you ever been in a building where the architect did a bad job? Have you ever decided not to enter a restaurant because the lighting and look didn’t feel fun? Have you ever bypassed a magazine because it looked boring?

It turns out that design has too long been a poor stepsister. Design — (graphic design, product design, space design, interface design) the freelance work that you can get without a degree, that doesn’t pay enough, that has not nearly enough status — is no longer just a nice plus. Design is all we’ve got!

If you want someone to switch from a product they like, the only choice is to make a product they love — and that’s the work of the designer. Designers make things that create emotion. Designers create boxes and ads and brochures and buildings and steering wheels that we love.

So why do designers go last? Why aren’t you invited to chime in before the dies are cast (literally) and the budgets are set? Why doesn’t the board send the CEO to a design seminar at Parsons so she can understand how to make things people will love?

For too long, people who are passionate about design (that would be you, Before & After reader) have accepted their lot. They’ve assumed that they should shave their hours, discount their fees, do their work as journeymen and then move on.

It’s completely acceptable for designers to grumble about lousy clients. We apologize for our work, saying, “Well, it’s the best the client would let me do.” You should be ashamed to say stuff like this. Great design is not a luxury, and a compliant (even enthusiastic) client should not be a rarity.

We now have an obligation to sell our very best work.

No excuses. Go do it.

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(Those of you with the Before & After Master Collection have all of Seth’s editorials. This one appears in issue 37, page 7.)

Have you ever made a presentation to a committee/boss/client who could not converse in words? It goes like this: “Hmm. Mm-hmm. I’m not sure what I want, but I’ll know it when I see it.” And, “I can’t tell you what I like, but I know what I don’t like.”

The inability to articulate is a serious professional handicap. The problem is, it afflicts designers, too. Ask a designer to describe his fine technique and you might hear: “I air out the type until it feels right.” Or, “I isolate each color until one works.”

Until one works?

That’s not an answer.

Our teachers are equally abstract. One submitted to me an article on designing a newsletter nameplate. It began: “First select an appropriate typeface.”

How helpful.

Another, teaching on type, described Helvetica as honest.

With terms this vague, it’s no wonder nothing gets resolved. Just listen:

Client to designer: This is an important campaign; we have a big impression to make. Punch it up.
Designer: I know just the thing.

Later, at the presentation:
Designer: Isn’t it heavenly? The blue really makes it flow.
Client: There’s not enough ooommph.
Designer: I believe its beauty is its own ooommph.
Client: It’s not happening for me.
Designer: What do you want, then?
Client: Impact. Um, zip. I’m not sure; I’ll know it when I see it.

Later, over coffee:
Designer A: That great poster with the blue gradient fill? Jones didn’t like it. Too sophisticated.
Designer B: Aw! It was totally great! What did he want?
Designer A: Couldn’t say.
Designer B: Clients are so stupid.

Writing Before & After has made nothing more vivid to me than our need as designers to master the skills of verbal articulation. It is our job to understand and describe what we do, intelligently, perceptively, in English.

This is not a trivial matter. Would you pay your attorney for flow and oommph? Or your banker for a retirement plan that happens for you?

I doubt it.

But when you tell your boss that the company’s image needs to be perked up, do you expect her to know what you mean?

What, exactly, do you mean?

Do you mean Georgia or Verdana? Caps or lowercase? Black type or white? Can you explain which does what?

Do you mean four columns or three? Folded or flat? A new size? Why?

Do you mean red or blue? Why is one better? Can you say?

In Before & After planning sessions, we have a term we use called proof of concept. Say one of us makes the observation: Gray really works on that page. It’s probably true, but the statement is useless to the reader with a different page. If the page is important to us, we’ll make many layouts in an effort to articulate why the gray “works.” We will analyze these pages, often out loud, with a dictionary, until we can fit words to what we see.

When we’re done, the statement has been transformed into: Gray makes an image recede. It is now useful information, a statement of fact.

Some worry that getting technical like this takes the artistry and romance out of design. But it doesn’t, any more than knowing a recipe takes the goodness out of a tasty dish. Rather, it gives you the ability to create the dish — and even improve it — because now you know what’s happening.

Best, though, is that it gives you the vocabulary to tell others what’s happening in ways that they can understand and participate in. It puts everyone on solid ground.

It’s a skill you can learn.

You’ll find that while a client may not speak like a designer, he or she, like all of us, has a fine visual imagination, a theater in the mind. What’s fun is that your skill at putting solid words on vague images will light up that screen like a projector.

So do it.

Or just be a propellerhead.

—————

(This article was originally published in Before & After Issue 11.)

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Dear readers: A colleague — a non-designer — wrote to me last week asking for help in hiring a “creative services lead” to head up a new project for his business. What should he look for in a designer? Here are the eight qualities I like.

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—————

1) Passion, vision and self-motivation. Without these, you’ll be dragging a rock. You need someone who shares your vision. Nothing’s worse than a “what-do-you-want-me-to-do-next?” kind of designer. Well, no, yes there is. One who’s touchy and confusing, too.

2) Vocabulary. A creative lead should be able to articulate what’s happening and why, in language that you and your staff can understand. If you start hearing vague terms like “pop” and “impact,” make him explain what he means. Listen for, “If we do A and B, we can expect C.” This is not trivial.

3) Inquisitive intelligence. Look for someone who’s curious about almost everything and approaches life with a sense of wonder. Similarly, I want someone who’s taken the time to learn about my company and whose questions are perceptive.

4) Good conceptual skills. There are many ways to achieve any stated design goal. Conceptual skills find the new and interesting ones. You might articulate a hypothetical situation and ask her to describe three possible directions. Prepare to get out of your box. The best concepts are often unrecognized at first.

5) A portfolio. You’ll know in 15 seconds the designer’s skill level. Compare his work to excellence that you’ve seen, and don’t compromise. If it’s below what you’re seeking, end the interview right there. Politely, please.

6) Projects. If you see a lot of one-off stuff, no matter how attractive, it won’t tell you much; most designers can do nice, single pieces. Look for complete projects — Web site, print material and stationery, for example — that share a common look and purpose. Such work is more difficult to visualize, organize, and execute.

7) Real-world experience. The emphasis here is on “real.” Always ask under what conditions a design was achieved. How did the designer interact with the client? What was the role of each? Time frame? Revisions? Budget? Fantastic “portfolio pieces” are less desirable than solid design done under realistic conditions. If you find both, cheer!

8) Production skills. Your person will need production skills or know how to hire them. Nothing will slow you quicker than not being able to make something happen that you want to happen. Also, someone who understands typography is preferable to someone who can just type. Likewise, someone who understands the guts of Web coding is preferable to someone who can just run Dreamweaver.

—————

Miscellaneous notes:

It goes without saying that personalities must be compatible. Never hire an otherwise perfect candidate assuming that “he’ll change,” or that “you’ll change her.” You can usually feel the vibe right away. Trust it.

Even if you (both) like the vibe, it’s a good idea to establish a trial period. A person can be qualified and compatible, but for one reason or another can’t get the work done. You’re out of rhythm. Your work styles don’t jell. Something was misunderstood. Whatever the case, give yourselves at least a 90-day period in which either of you can terminate employment at will, for no cause at all. This is good for both of you. Creative work comes from love, passion and relationship. It can’t be faked.

Consider hiring and working long distance. Design is perfect for this, what with live chat and e-mail and FTP sites. I’ve worked with designers for 20 years who I’ve yet to meet face to face! If face time is really important, fly in once a month. That said, remember that it’s a slow market, and you may find the perfect someone who’d love to transfer to your area!

If your designer works from home, arrange for a trial period. I had a designer who tried working from home and his productivity plummeted, yet another thrives at home.

Last thing. I don’t look for a college degree. About 50% of my lifetime hires have had degrees. The average difference in skills is slight. The ones who’d been in good design programs were better than those who hadn’t, but such programs are not plentiful. I have observed, speaking broadly, that the college people tend to show better discipline in their work.

There are, of course, exceptions to all of this.

…

The iPad will cause change. No one knows in what way, though. That’s what makes it fun. It’s an unwritten story, full of possibilities.

What’s this have to do with design? Only everything. But before we go there, let’s talk about vision, and I’ll start by digressing.

One of the thrills of youth is that everything is possible. At 18, you can attend any school, follow any profession, travel anywhere, marry anyone or no one. There are practical restrictions but no conceptual ones. The freedom is exhilarating!

As you make choices, the possibilities diminish. Choose one school and you eliminate a thousand others. Marry one girl, and you forsake all ­others. Travel here, and you can’t afford there. Find a profession, and it becomes what you do. The better you get, the more distant alternative professions become. There is some irony in this. As you build your life, decision by decision, the possibilities of youth go away.

For some, this is a good thing. Possibilities are unsettling. Certainty, predictability, routine create a comfort zone. Life feels secure. These people become product reviewers.

But this is not you.

You have a life.

Interviewing Apple’s Steve Jobs for the April 1 issue of Time magazine, author Stephen Fry writes,

“In five years, Jobs has emerged from two serious health scares. His obituaries had been written, much as Apple’s had been back in 1997. ‘Is this then the curtain dropping on your third act?’ I ask. ‘Will you perhaps leave Apple on this high, a fitting end to your career here?’ ‘I don’t think of my life as a career,’ he says. ‘I do stuff. I respond to stuff. That’s not a career — it’s a life!’ ”

Indeed.

Jobs’ vision is not clair­voyance. It’s belief. Call it your gut, call it the love of the game. You do the work and put it out there, then watch the world respond. The combined response is what makes tomorrow happen. What it will become is too complex and inter­woven for any but the most superficial guesswork. Tomorrow is the story that we — you, me, everyone — write together.

So how do you design for this? Make your work beautiful. Make it simple. Make it clear. Put it out there. Cast off the illusion that you can control the results. People respond by comparing to things they already know, so prepare for criticism. Ignore most of it. Listen to the bits that resonate. Understand that the more original your work is, the less others will be able to help you.

Your design may be an iteration of one that has gone before. This is fine. But when you truly envision something new, when you feel that vibe, don’t back off. That’s the one that may change things.

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The post above is my back-page publisher’s letter from print issue 49, which is currently in the mail. The publisher’s letter has been a staple of Before & After for 20 years and is one difference between our print and PDF formats.
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How did you get where you are today, professionally? What paths did you take? What choices did you make? How did you make them?

I ask this regardless of when you began — whether you’re brand new or you’ve been designing for half a century.

Every life, as we all know, has decision points — do I go this way or that? — that affect the content and quality of everything that follows. Some are obvious. Others pass nearly unnoticed.

Some things we plan. But life has surprises. Fifteen years into my career as a magazine art director, the design world changed when it made the transition from drawing board to computer. It changed again with the rise of the Internet. Such changes impose demands. New skills to learn. New jobs to fill — or create! And they’re marked by loss and the grief that comes with it. Skills now useless. Income undependable. Certainties uncertain. Small things pervade. When design moved to the cold realm of digits and pixels, we all lost the warm touch of physically handling our art materials. This loss is still felt.

A few days ago, reader Christine Sawyer wrote to me with a frustration, a desire, and a decision to make — what to do with the rest of her career. It’s not a question that I can answer for her, as in, “do this” or “do that,” but her issues come so close to home that I think we might all benefit from hearing one another’s experience and the collective wisdom of the group.

Christine had this to say:

“I am reaching out to you for an opinion today. I really have an identity crisis as a ‘designer.’

“Let me explain:

“My academic background is business. I have an MBA.

“I really like design, though. I have tried several art forms along the years with no success. As a marketing person, I loved to work with my ad agency, and when I started my own business I quickly wanted to do things myself rather than give them to a designer. I found graphic design to be a better art form for me.

“I took continuing education courses in Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign and Dreamweaver, and other trainings (CDs and books).

“I subscribed to Before & After magazine, of course.

“I tried to get into the Bachelor program of a great design school in Montréal but was refused. I even took some of their classes just as an audit student (if that’s the English word for that). I found I was too ‘cerebral,’ not creative enough, not outside the box enough; I think I will always regret not to be able to take two years off my life to do the whole program, but I am 50 and don’t even live full time in Montréal.

“I find I very often get my inspiration from the work of others. I read creativity books, like the ones from Julia Cameron, to try to help my creativity. I still don’t find that I am very creative.

“So, in conclusion, I find myself being ‘not good enough’ as a designer. For instance, I belong to a free-lance Web site, and I present myself as a Web designer, but I never quite have all the qualifications required for the jobs offered. On the other hand, at times I am pretty happy with myself; for instance, when I did a WordPress Web site, montréalbydesign.com.

“I find that I am just a ‘me, too’ when it comes to design, and even though I am a strong marketing person and strategist, people in small-business Vermont don’t seem to want to pay for these expertises or don’t believe they can have a designer-marketer in one person. (They like the whole package when they start working with me, though, but they don’t always pay more for that extra expertise.)

“I have a great résumé as a business person. I even worked as an account director at the Ogilvy ad agency in Montréal. My Web site, Birchwood Ridge Group, shows my work.

“I am planning to take a photo class with The Photography Institute starting next week.

“Help me out, pleeeaaaaase. I really need help: How should I approach the rest of my business and professional life? Classes? Mentor? Other ideas?”

*  *  *

Dear readers, before you dive in with advice, please recognize that, by writing, Christine has entrusted me and now you with a precious and private thing — her life — and that in doing so, she has made herself extremely vulnerable to you. Respect that. Contemplate deeply. Take your time. Be sensitive. The issues that she faces are the issues that you and I face, packaged differently but only a little. Please don’t expect to have her answer — you don’t even know her, after all — but you may have some insight or life experience that can help Christine and perhaps others, too.

Your turn.