I recently attended the Design Currency conference in Vancouver, and two of the presentations stand out most clearly for me: Marian Bantjes’ strong defense of artistry and craft in design and Frank Chimero’s lively and compelling argument for the pursuit of a sense of delight in user interfaces (and design in general).

There has been a great deal of discussion in our community regarding ‘design thinking’ and design’s relevance and value to the business community and other buyers of design (and the conference dug into this at length as well). I have long been an advocate of a stronger business focus in design – informed in no small part by my past corporate marketing experience – and a clear separation between art and design. However, the closer our profession has aligned itself to these ideals, the more I have felt that something is missing. The Bantjes/Chimero one-two punch was the clarion call I needed to put language to this gut feeling. It’s not easy to say, but I think I got it wrong; I’m not happy simply being a tool of business.

It makes my clients (both small and large) comfortable when I explain design as a business tool; it makes something intangible feel solid, valuable and measurable. Comfortable clients, as we all know, are easier to work with. However, I now feel that this emphasis on design as a tool strips it of its magic, its mystery. And it is magic, but that’s not a bad thing. Give ten designers the same inputs and you will get ten different solutions. That’s really a wonderful thing; in Frank Chimero’s words, a “delightful” thing.

I’ve been giving quite a bit of thought lately to the concept of trust in business. Not so long ago if you went to town to buy a cow, you went from seller to seller, looked them in the eye, talked a bit. If your gut told you something was a bit off you’d walk on to the next seller. Eventually you’d settle on a cow, a seller and a price – maybe a couple of nice chickens or your firstborn – and shake hands on the deal. That thing with the gut was called trust.

Fast forward a few years and we started exchanging little discs of metal for our goods and services, removing ourselves from the actual things we were trading. Then came companies and stock markets. It’s pretty safe to say the whole trust part of the transaction got pretty strained for awhile there.

Now here we are in the 21^st century: paying for goods and services with pieces of plastic that represent the amount of little shiny discs a bank is willing to lend you. We buy books from Amazon, music from iTunes and everything else on eBay – all without once speaking to another human being. We entrust our identities and finances to brands; PayPal has our credit cards, Google our email and Facebook our personal information. No eye contact, no handshake – it’s a bit flaky sometimes but we still trust.

So what does this have to do with design? Actually, as it turns out, quite a bit.