The Physical

You’ve seen it: brands parading newspapers, printed collateral and hand-crafted signage in sleek video campaigns. The same visual pop up over and over again.

There’s a strange irony here: thousands spent on polished video production… just to showcase paper.

Why?

Because I think we’re aching to feel something real.

We want texture. Tactility.

We want to brush up against something that exists outside the feed.

As AI floods every corner of our lives, from the emails we read to the copy we prompt into existence, there’s a subtle compression happening. A collapse of originality. A convergence of tone, structure, even punctuation (long live the em dash).

We’ve seen this before.

NFTs were the first warning shot.

I remember a VC fund manager pitching them as the future of ownership. Detached from the real, existing in code. But their fatal flaw was always the same: no physical anchor.

The only ones that made any sense were paired with something tactile—art, watches, sculpture, fashion.

I said back then: if Rolexes lived on the blockchain, there’d be fewer fake ones on peoples’ wrists (There’s a lot of fake ones).

That entire wave was an attempt to detach us from reality. To sell meaning without matter.

Commerce without a gold standard is value without grounding (how macro).

What happens when the lights turn off? When the servers go silent?

Like it or not we’ll be left with sticks and stones: the physical remains.

Even Zuck, who once preached the gospel of the metaverse, now lives on a beer-fed bison, off the grid in his big dooms day bunker.

Preaching virtual futures while quietly living a tactile, subsistence paradise. It’s equal parts comical and terrifying.

We are waking up to a strange truth:

Much of what we see online is a ghost echo.

Synthetic. Replicated. A dead internet.

And we might be approaching an inflection point.

Where content is spun up, logos are spun out, brands are indistinguishable.

Everything sounds the same. Everything looks the same.

I can’t unsee the ChatGPT default syntax, It stands out like dogs balls.

So what happens next?

We will return to what we can touch.

I believe this is why I’m drawn to materiality. I love architecture. Furniture. Form. Art.

Come to my home and you’ll find wood, chrome, concrete, copper, leather, stone, books, plants. Maybe even a sex swing (Design is subjective baby).

Things that last. Things that feel.

It’s not about luxury. It’s about presence.

I want to live in a pace (and mind) with things that inspire me because I want to live a life that feels real.

Not performatively curated to keep up with the jones. Nor attempt at a digital first.

So what does this mean for design?

It means more imperfection. More sketch. More texture.

Marks of the hand.

Brands with scars and grain and character.

A return to hand-drawn marks, layered visuals, film with grain, hand written letters, craft that doesn’t apologise for being personal.

Minimalism is fading. Maximalism is rising.

Historically, minimalism flourishes during booms: clean lines, muted palettes, restraint that whispers confidence. But in downturns, paradoxically that restraint gives way as we crave richness. Boldness. resonance.

When the world turns uncertain, we reach for the sensory. And what we reach for in our visuals often mirrors what we’re missing in our lives: clarity, emotion, energy.

A desire for presence, for boldness, for something to feel.

I don’t think we want neutral anymore.

We want life.