Think About Category

I was never an illustrator, but during my time as an Industrial Design student, there was an artistic drawing course, and the teacher was a Japanese man who had been living in Brazil for several years. He was one of those guys who economized on words and laughter. But he easily spent his talent in the way he taught.

The students would adjust the paper on the easel and begin sketching with charcoal and chalk some object displayed in the room.

Once, when I finished a drawing, he examined it seriously, and after a while, nodded his head: “Good.” Another eternal Oriental pause that lasted a few seconds, and then he said: “Do another one.”

What do you mean? Hours of giving my best at the easel, only to have to start all over again from scratch?

I looked at the Japanese guy with a grumpy face. But I thought he might be some kind of Mr. Miyagi, so I let it go.

Years later, working with infographics at a newspaper’s newsroom, I had a colleague who had an amazing drawing style, with an innate ability that he could use both for cartoons and for elaborate illustrations.

He would make a work of art with an idea in his head and a mouse in his hand. His problem was that, most of the time, after hours of drawing, he would forget to save his work. And that’s when his computer, out of breath, would decide to crash—and he would lose everything.

In desperation and racing against the clock, he would redo everything. But this time, much faster.

What connects these two stories is that, inevitably, the resulting drawings would end up surprisingly better. More interesting than the versions that had been overly worked on before.

Why? Because we end up getting attached to a single idea and blocking out alternatives. And somehow, we don’t erase the previous image. It stays there, visually etched in our memory.

In our professional daily life, it’s also like that: we can start, develop, and present a project, only for it to be discarded. That’s when it’s time to activate visual memory, keep the basics, eliminate the excess, and refine the essentials. And create an even better version.

 

In the 1970s, three researchers conducted a fascinating study on how familiarity influences our preferences. Published in a scientific journal, their work revealed an essential truth about human nature: we are drawn to what feels familiar. To demonstrate this, they devised an experiment with a simple yet profound design.

The researchers gathered a group of women and asked them to compare two versions of the same photograph: one that showed the subject as they appeared in reality and another that presented a mirrored version of the same image.

Back then, they used photo negatives—a now-obsolete medium—but the principle remains relevant today. Since you may have never seen a film negative, let me update this example to modern terms. Imagine taking an old photo of yourself, scanning it, and printing two versions: one in its original form and the other flipped horizontally.

Now, picture this scenario. You’re asked to choose which version you find more appealing. Simultaneously, someone else evaluates the same two versions and picks their favorite. What happens? You’ll likely prefer the mirrored version, the one that matches what you see every day in the mirror. Meanwhile, the other person, accustomed to seeing your face as it naturally appears, will prefer the unaltered version.

Why Familiarity Matters
This phenomenon occurs because our preferences are deeply tied to familiarity. Your friend gravitates toward the version of you that they’ve seen countless times in the real world. You, however, are most familiar with your reflection, as mirrors dominate your personal experience of your face.

This subtle yet powerful bias demonstrates how deeply ingrained familiarity is in our psyche. It’s not just about faces—it’s about everything we encounter, from the brands we trust to the designs we find appealing. We are wired to feel comforted and reassured by what we already know.

Design, at its core, is about communication. It’s about conveying ideas, emotions, and solutions in a way that resonates with your audience. But here’s the catch: when creating something new for a client, you’re effectively showing them a “reversed photo” of themselves. They’re not yet familiar with your vision or how it reflects their identity, needs, or values.

This disconnect can lead to challenges. As designers, marketers, or creators, we often fall in love with our ideas. We imagine clients seeing the brilliance of our work immediately. Yet, when they don’t respond as expected, it’s easy to feel frustrated or discouraged. The truth is, their hesitation isn’t a rejection of your skills—it’s a natural reaction to the unfamiliar.

How to Align Your Vision with Theirs
To win over a client, you need to bridge the gap between their current perspective and the new ideas you’re introducing. Here are some strategies to foster that connection:

Start with Empathy. Before diving into solutions, take time to understand your client’s world. What are their priorities, challenges, and aspirations? Familiarize yourself with their brand, audience, and personal preferences. The more you understand their perspective, the better you can align your designs with what feels “right” to them.

Involve Them Early. Don’t wait until the final presentation to unveil your ideas. Share sketches, mood boards, or prototypes early in the process. This allows clients to see how their input shapes the project, fostering a sense of ownership and familiarity with the evolving design.

Tell the Story Behind Your Design. Help clients understand the rationale behind your choices. Explain how each element connects to their goals, values, or audience. When they see the thoughtfulness behind your work, they’re more likely to embrace it.

Incorporate Familiar Elements. While innovation is crucial, anchoring new ideas in familiar elements can ease the transition. For example, use colors, shapes, or fonts that reflect their existing brand identity while introducing fresh twists.

Be Patient and Open to Feedback. Reactions to unfamiliar designs aren’t final judgments—they’re opportunities for dialogue. Listen to your client’s concerns without defensiveness and be willing to adapt. Often, these conversations lead to stronger, more aligned solutions.

The Science of Familiarity in Consumer Behavior
The concept of familiarity extends beyond client relationships. In consumer psychology, it’s known as the mere-exposure effect—the idea that people tend to develop a preference for things simply because they’re exposed to them repeatedly. This principle is why successful brands invest heavily in consistent messaging, visual identity, and advertising. Familiarity breeds trust, which ultimately drives loyalty.

As a designer or creator, you can leverage this insight by ensuring that your work resonates not just with your client but also with their audience. Think about the emotions and associations your design evokes. Does it feel approachable, trustworthy, or aspirational? These elements contribute to a sense of familiarity and connection.

When Familiarity Meets Innovation
While familiarity is essential, it’s not the whole story. Innovation—offering something new and exciting—is equally important. The challenge lies in balancing the two. Too much familiarity can feel boring; too much innovation can feel alienating.

The sweet spot is familiar novelty—designs that feel fresh yet grounded. Consider how successful brands introduce change. When Apple redesigns its iPhone, the updates are incremental, ensuring the product remains instantly recognizable. This balance allows them to push boundaries without alienating their loyal customers.

A Lesson for Creators: Design for the Consumer
Ultimately, the key takeaway is this: design isn’t about the creator’s preferences—it’s about the consumer’s experience. Whether you’re crafting a logo, developing a product, or curating a marketing campaign, the goal is to evoke a sense of connection and recognition. When people see themselves—whether literally or metaphorically—in your work, they’re more likely to embrace it.

So, the next time you present an idea to a client, remember the reversed photo experiment. Their initial reaction might reflect unfamiliarity, not dissatisfaction. By understanding their perspective, involving them in the process, and finding ways to connect your vision to their identity, you can create something they’ll not only accept but truly cherish.

Ultimately, the cost of acquiring a customer can be lower than the cost of buying a mirror.

In 1933, German psychologist Hedwig Von Restorff conducted a simple yet groundbreaking experiment on human memory. She presented participants with a list of words that were all categorized similarly, except for one word that was completely different.

For example, the list could include words like “cat,” “dog,” “lion,” and “tiger” (all related to animals), with the word “conduit” (out of context for animals) inserted. After the list was shown, participants were asked to recall as many words as possible.

This phenomenon came to be known as the Von Restorff effect, which revealed that isolated items stand out in memory due to their uniqueness.

Naturally, businesses have leveraged this effect to create more impactful advertising campaigns. A commercial or ad that breaks away from the typical visual or narrative patterns of conventional media can be more effective in grabbing attention and being remembered. For instance, an ad may feature an unusual element or an unexpected image associated with a product to ensure it stands out in the consumer’s mind.

In design, highlighting certain visual elements can make an item more memorable. This is commonly used in user interfaces and website design, where key elements are emphasized to capture the user’s attention.

In a world saturated with information, uniqueness has become a powerful tool to attract attention and improve customer retention, whether for products, brands, or ideas.

The American John Cage (1912-1992) was a composer who is probably known for just one work: 4’33”. It is an experimental piece that can be performed by any instrument and, even better, by any person.

The score instructs the performer to NOT play their instrument for exactly four minutes and thirty-three seconds, because the “music,” in this case, consists of the ambient sounds that the audience hears during the performance.

In short, a very simple little piece of music.

But, no matter how much this might seem like pure nonsense (I, for instance, wouldn’t pay to attend such a concert, since I could play it for free on the piano here at home), there is an interesting question to analyze not by what it is, but by what is around it.

Imagine a piece of paper with nothing written or drawn on it. Just a blank space.

This empty area actually has the same importance as the written or drawn elements on it. It is this separation of background and elements, as well as sound and silence, that explains the dependence our perception has on the surrounding environment.

Take, for example, the classic image of the two heads facing each other.

Or am I seeing a white vase? In any case, both options are valid. Figure and background have the same importance.

Similarly, we can say that size and brightness are also relative. Look at the figure below and say without thinking: are the shades of gray in the central square of these two figures the same?

They are. The simultaneous contrast of the surrounding squares is what ends up deceiving our eyes.

And what about the diameter of the central dots in the two illustrations—are they the same?

Yes, they are. The small and large dots around them, when seen side by side, create this perception.

So, now that we know that there is no such thing as “nothing” and that even the illusory emptiness of a blank page has its function in design, I had an idea: I’m going to write a book with only blank pages.

Preferably one where the reader can read for exactly four minutes and thirty-three seconds.