My skin is burning. In a trance, I put one foot in front of the other. My gaze follows the brown-reddish ground, streaked with pale veins. I feel restless and follow a voice that seemingly knows where we are and where we need to go. Everywhere I look, I am surrounded by rock. The brown-reddish rock rises high above me, encircling me far beyond my head and imagination. My feet hurt.
I grow nervous, and the excitement I initially felt has almost completely faded, as has my trust in the path ahead. Then, as one shoe after another alternates in my field of vision, suddenly, between all the grey-reddish-brown rock, a small, delicate purple spot appears. A few tiny flowers have dared to emerge between the rocks. Suddenly, I’m completely distracted from my aching feet, from my burning skin, and for a few seconds, even my uncertainty disappears. I wonder how these seemingly delicate little plants managed to find a small fertile crack amidst all that hard rock, interrupting the seemingly endless barren landscape like a little troublemaker or perhaps a shimmer of hope, depending on how you look at it.
I pause for a short moment. Then, again, one foot in front of the other. Suddenly, I notice how the person in front of me is carefully stacking little cairns, as a sign for hikers following behind. Kind of like: “Hey, I was here before you, and you can follow this way, you’re on the right path.” I’m a little touched by the mindfulness and care with which this person perceives their environment and the people following. I continue, and I realize how I suddenly reactivate my own sense of hope, but I had to notice it consciously. Eventually, we reached a trail again, one I could follow for kilometres with my eyes, finally knowing where it would lead. The weight of the rock that had seemed to crush me lifted from my chest.
What does my last hike (don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful, and I’d do it again exactly the same) have to do with design? Some readers might be wondering. Fair question. I’ll try to connect the dots.
When I graduated last year with my Master’s degree in Eco-Social Design, my excitement was at its peak. Spirits were high, just like before the hike. One last summer in Italy, then: full-speed career mode. What I hadn’t quite anticipated was that “full speed ahead” would mean more than just being a freshly graduated, highly motivated eco-social designer who can’t help but constantly question and critically reflect on everything.
I also hadn’t fully realized, perhaps because of living in my own bubble, that just because trans- and interdisciplinary work is written all over an institution’s mission statement, doesn’t mean it’s actually being practiced there. Whether that was naïveté or optimism—I’ll leave that open for now. On top of that, I definitely didn’t expect that I would have to explain over and over again what exactly Eco-Social Design is, after all, I explained the practical approach in my projects in my portfolio (believing that it would actually be looked at). But also why exactly I am the person they should hire. Me, not just any Eco-Social Designer, but specifically me. It’s a deeply uncomfortable feeling. Especially as more applications go unanswered or end in rejection, or worse, in a “close but not quite” email, I started doubting myself. I also started doubting eco-social design itself, as the necessary, boundary-pushing, system-innovating discipline we often say it is. Donna Haraway’s “Staying with the Trouble” (2016) keeps echoing in my mind. So—I stay.
I stay because, somewhere deep down, what was drilled into us during the Master’s program still sticks: Collaboration, Proximity, and Care (DDCAST, 2025). Guiding principles I don’t want to give up on yet—or maybe that’s just my (seemingly lost) hope speaking. Either way, I keep wondering whether the approach of “Design for Systemic Change” is just a bit too far removed from the reality we currently experience. Sure, I understand Manzini’s pillars theoretically, but I catch myself feeling a bit disillusioned, because what if this is all just too far away from what our generation is dealing with right now? Increasingly neoliberal narratives spread by politicians and media, relationships increasingly maintained through social media rather than in real life, and the bitter realization that the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Resolution 217 A (III) of December 10, 1948) is, in reality, debatable, negotiable, and absolutely not unconditional.
As Adam and Groves (2007) describe it, futures that are too distant or decontextualized from people’s realities are simply hard to relate to. And honestly, I feel like that’s where a lot of designers are at right now—at least the ones I talk to, including myself. We’ve learned all the tools, prepared for “life after graduation,” graduated with honors and awards, and then months of struggling just to find a job. And weren’t we taught that exactly our holistic, systemic thinking and ability to facilitate innovative processes is what the world needs most right now? So, where are these jobs for (Eco-Social) Designers supposed to be?
It might be an overly simplified question, but it keeps coming back to me as I wade through the jungle of job applications. Especially when I learn, after yet another rejection, that over 360 people applied for that one position. At least I made it to the longlist of the “top 30 applicants.” There it is, that neoliberal competitiveness creeping into my head, the very mindset I try so hard to reject.
Anyway, back to connecting the dots. What design can do, and what I truly believe in, is practicing and making hope tangible. But that, too, takes practice. Through mindful observations, for example, something we’re actually really good at. Whether it’s being in constant exchange with your surroundings, noticing the small purple flowers growing through a crack in the stone, watching someone carefully build a cairn, or being asked whether you want to write a Fragmeister article about it. Somehow, you always find your way back to some sort of path, whether it’s a tiny trail or a highway, with detours or directly. So to everyone navigating the post-graduation jungle right now, let’s keep walking. Maybe a little hike will help you too, to gather some energy and find the words, or at least some confidence, to answer those endless “why you?” questions with a bit more strength, even if you still don’t have the answers yet.
References
Adam, B., & Groves, C. (30 Sep. 2007). Future Matters. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/ej.9789004161771.i-218
Haraway, D. J. (2016). Staying with the trouble : making kin in the Chthulucene. Duke University Press. https://doi.org/10.1515/9780822373780
DDCAST. (2025, May 1). Ezio Manzini „SMALL, LOCAL, OPEN AND CONNECTED“ (No. 221) [Audio podcast episode]. In DDCAST – Was ist gut? Design, Kommunikation, Architektur. Deutscher Design Club. https://open.spotify.com/episode/7igsTplNYatYVDXt0R2AuT?si=589003685f4b4
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