Design is Governance

Transcript

When most people hear the word design, they think aesthetics.

Beauty. Art. Color stories. Typography. Texture.

And they’re not wrong.

I’ve spent a lot of my life focused on aesthetics.

I’m a photographer and a video documentarian.

Through the lens of a camera, I learned that framing is power.

What you include. What you crop out.

Through video, I learned that sequence can shape meaning.

The entrance that makes us shriek. The gaze that cuts deeper than words.

I buy books based on their cover design. I flip through periodicals to study their layouts. I format my manuscript drafts with “just the right font.”

Through print, I learned that hierarchy is never neutral.

Font weights signal importance. Margins signal breathing room. White space is not empty. It’s intention.

Design is not decoration. It’s decision.

And decisions inform systems.

Long before I studied corporate governance, I was studying composition.

Long before I had language for institutional design, I was noticing what was centered and what was marginal.

I looked to Richard Scarry’s Busytown and David Macaulay’s architectural cross-sections — animals showing me the order of things; buildings split open to reveal beams, scaffolding, pulleys.

Both of these authors taught me that the visible layer is rarely the most important one.

You know how when something is coherent, streamlined, and sturdy, we assume it was designed?

But when something feels chaotic, unfair, or fragile, we’re more comfortable assuming that maybe it was accidental.

And look, sometimes that is true.

But more often, there is also a design behind that, even if no one will admit it.

I grew up immersed in branding, marketing, and communications. I grew up around conversations about audience, not just reach. Debates about whether something felt authentic or just attractive and events where brand was not simply messaging, but meaning-making.

Work and life were part of the same sentence.

I began to understand that design determined participation.

Who showed up. Who felt seen. Who felt invited. Who felt peripheral.

That imprint remains with me.

So when I hear “brand,” I don’t just see visuals, campaigns, slogans or logos.

I see composition, hierarchy, framing.
I see load-bearing decisions.

And that is governance.

Later, studying corporate governance, I recognized the same truth in a different language.

Board composition shapes the space for dissent. Incentives shape how much risk you tolerate.
Structure determines what becomes possible.

In leadership roles focused on Diversity and Inclusion, I saw organizations trying to fix individuals while preserving the systems that produced the problems.

More training. More coaching. More performance language.

Meanwhile, the same people received the same plum assignments.
The same borderline toxic behaviors were excused and rewarded.
The same definitions of “potential” prevailed.

I began asking a different question:

What story is the system telling us about who will succeed here?

Because if the outcomes repeat, that’s not coincidence.

That is design.

At a certain point, I realized I didn’t want to hold the emotional or professional labor of inequity any longer.

I wanted to redesign the room.

And that shift, it clarified everything.

Aesthetic design declares values. Structural design enforces them.

You can publish a snappy mission about belonging.
But who gets the stretch assignment?

You can create a rainbow-infused Pride campaign.
But whose spouse can be named without hesitation?

You can design a beautiful showroom.
But who feels surveilled inside it?

You can say you value innovation.
But what happens to the person who challenges consensus?

Aesthetics tell me what you want people to feel.

Governance tells me what you are willing to protect.

Brand is not what you say. Brand is the story your structures repeat.

Culture is not a slogan. It is signal, repeated over time.

And those signals are not accidental.

They’re designed.

Even when no one claims authorship.

If certain voices consistently advance, your design is working.

If certain identities consistently contort themselves to survive, your design is working.

If success depends on proximity rather than contribution, your design is working.

The question is not whether you have a culture.

You do.

The question is whether you built it on purpose.
Whether you are willing to dismantle what no longer serves.
Whether you care about the long run.

Design is governance.

And governance determines who thrives.