After writing several blog posts about emotional design, theory, tools, and examples, I noticed that my view on this topic has slowly shifted. At the beginning, emotional design felt like something you could define, explain, and apply through clear principles. But the more I worked with it, the more personal it became.
For me, emotional design is no longer just a design approach or a research topic. It has become a way of looking at design in general.
One thing I keep coming back to is the idea that design is never neutral. Even when designers try to be “objective” or purely functional, emotions still slip in. Through colour, typography, structure, tone of voice, or even what is left out. I personally believe that emotional design is not something you either do or don’t do. It happens anyway. The only question is whether it happens consciously or accidentally.
What fascinates me most about emotional design is how subtle it often is. It does not need big gestures or dramatic visuals. Sometimes it is a small detail that makes a difference: a calm layout that makes me feel less overwhelmed, a friendly microcopy that reassures me, or typography that feels balanced instead of aggressive. These moments are easy to overlook, but they strongly influence how I feel during an interaction.
At the same time, emotional design also makes me uncomfortable sometimes. When emotions are used too strategically or manipulatively, the design starts to feel dishonest. I often catch myself asking:
Is this design trying to support me, or is it trying to push me into a decision?
This question has become very important to me. I don’t see emotional design as a tool to control users, but rather as a responsibility. Designers influence moods, expectations, and sometimes even self-perception. That can be empowering, but it can also be overwhelming or excluding if done without care.
Another personal realisation is that emotional design starts with the designer’s own mindset. I noticed that when I am stressed or impatient, my design decisions tend to reflect that. Things become cluttered, rushed, or overly complex. When I slow down and think about how someone else might feel when using or seeing my design, the outcome often feels calmer and more intentional.
For me, emotional design is closely tied to empathy, but not in a kitschy or superficial way. It is not about making everything “nice” or “happy”. Sometimes it is about acknowledging frustration, seriousness, or complexity. I think good emotional design does not avoid negative emotions at all costs, but handles them honestly and respectfully.
I also don’t believe that designers can fully control how people feel. Everyone brings their own experiences, expectations, and emotions. What designers can do, in my opinion, is create spaces that feel considerate. Spaces that don’t shout, don’t confuse unnecessarily, and don’t assume too much.
Looking back at my earlier blog posts, I notice that I often searched for explanations and frameworks. Now, emotional design feels less like something I need to define and more like something I need to practice consciously. It is a mindset I want to carry into my future work, rather than a checklist I want to follow.
If emotional design means anything to me personally, then it is this:
Designing with awareness that there is always a human on the other side. Someone who feels, reacts, remembers, and carries those experiences with them long after the interaction is over.
And maybe that is what makes emotional design so challenging and so meaningful at the same time.
