EPC Dialogues 02 - Between Function and Feeling: Problem-Solving and Poetic Vision

In an age ruled by dashboards, deadlines, and data, the measure of design often begins with one question: Does it work? But beneath that surface lies another, more tender inquiry: what does it awaken?

This quiet tension between function and feeling came alive in a spirited debate at the Extended Pack Collective's Dialogue Series. Designers took sides. And then, to their surprise, they switched them. What started as a binary conversation evolved into something far richer: exploring the dual role of design in the world.

The Practical Pulse: Design That Works

The first argument was practical. For the end user, the value of design is often in what disappears. A product that works seamlessly doesn't draw attention to itself. It simply performs. And in doing so, it earns trust.

Many designers, especially those navigating complex, fast-moving environments, don't always have the luxury of rethinking reality. They have constraints, deliverables, and clients. They need to solve what's in front of them.

This mindset reflects the rise of design thinking, a structured process that turns ambiguity into action. It's brought tangible results: the Apple mouse and the Embrace infant warmer, built for premature babies in underserved regions. These aren't abstract ideas. They are interventions that change lives.

The Expansive Gaze: Design That Sees Differently

Others in the room offered a different kind of lens. What if design's deeper power isn't just in what it solves but in what it makes us notice?

Sometimes, a "problem" is just the surface symptom of a deeper cultural blind spot. In those moments, design becomes less like a wrench and more like a telescope, reframing what we see, feel, and understand.

The example of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with gold, was brought up. It didn't start as a strategy. It began as a sensitive gesture. What followed was a new visual tradition and an entirely different way of thinking about imperfection, repair, and beauty. It became a metaphor, embraced across design, mental health, and art.

This is the territory where design overlaps with philosophy. For example, Henry Ford imagined a car not because people asked for it, but because he reframed what mobility could mean.

The ROI Trap: When Impact Becomes the Only Story

At the heart of the debate sat a critical question: Does the glorification of impact, particularly business impact, drain design of its poetic value?

This isn't theoretical. When Pepsi unveiled a new logo in 2009, it came with a baffling 27-page justification rooted in magnetic fields and mathematical arcs. The result was mocked online and remembered more for its absurdity than its effectiveness. The poet drowned in the over-optimisation.

In contrast, consider the iconic contour bottle of Coca-Cola. The brief was simple: create a shape that could be recognised in the dark or if shattered. The result wasn't just distinct; it became symbolic - a form that told a story, a design that became its form of language.

There was also a quieter story shared. A team spent months updating their product's visual language in colours, typography, and spacing. At the time, leadership questioned the effort. It didn't change any functionality. But a year later, users began to comment. It just felt better - more delightful, more alive. Beauty had taken time to reveal its usefulness.

Standardisation and the Disappearing Soul

Then came the most visceral critique: has design become so efficient that it's lost its soul?

Look around most cities today. Grey cars, glass towers, identical bollards - you could be in California, Singapore, or Berlin. Everything looks vaguely the same. Efficiency has sanded down identity.

Why are all cars painted grey? Because it's cheaper to manufacture, easier to maintain, and more reflective of sunlight. Why do buildings favour glass facades? Because they're faster to construct and signal modernity, even if they make no sense in hot, dusty climates.

But in doing so, what do we lose? The village lamp used to have its ornamental flourish. The street corner that once felt local. Design, when homogenised for scale, stops whispering stories.

Hope in Personalisation

Despite the gloom, there was hope. As manufacturing shifts toward customisation - with 3D printing, modular systems, and AI-assisted design - we may enter an era where function and poetry no longer have to compete.

The future might let us have both: uniqueness at scale. Designers referenced the work of futurists who believe homes, products, and interfaces will one day be deeply personal.

One toy is shaped like a parrot in Delhi, and another is shaped like a fox in Kyoto. Not because it's "better," but because it tells a story.

The reference to Uglies, a dystopian film in which teenagers undergo surgery to become beautiful by the same standard, hit home. The design world, too, flirts with that line, erasing nuance in pursuit of mass appeal.

So, What Kind of Designer Are You?

As the conversation drew close, the most profound realisation was that everyone had switched sides at least once. Defending opposing views wasn't just a game. It revealed something more profound: the tension inside every designer.

Great designers don't take sides; they practice both.

They solve problems. And they reframe them.

They honour constraints. And they question them.

They meet deadlines. And they push beyond them.

They walk the tightrope between function and feeling.

And maybe that's the real gift of design - not to choose, but to hold the paradox.

The next time you sit down to design, pause for a second.

Not to ask, "What should I build?" but "What truth am I missing?"

Sometimes the crack is the canvas. Sometimes the constraint is the clue. And sometimes, the problem is not the wrong question, but the wrong question entirely. That's where the poetry begins.