Design must reflect the practical and aesthetic in business but

Host: The city was alive with motion—lights bleeding into the night, cars streaming like metallic veins through the streets. In the distance, a skyscraper glowed like a monolith of ambition, its glass façade reflecting the shifting colors of a digital billboard: “Innovation for the Future.”

Jack and Jeeny stood on the rooftop of an old warehouse, looking down at the neon maze below. The wind carried the faint hum of the city’s pulse—machines, voices, commerce, and dreams—all woven into one restless sound.

Jeeny tightened her coat, her eyes scanning the luminous skyline. Jack leaned against the rail, his cigarette glowing like a small defiance against the mechanical glow.

Jeeny: “Thomas J. Watson once said, ‘Design must reflect the practical and aesthetic in business but above all... good design must primarily serve people.’”

Jack: “Ah. The classic contradiction—serve the people, but make it profitable. Sounds like a business slogan dressed in morality.”

Host: The city lights flickered, painting their faces in alternating shades of cold blue and tired amber. The smell of ozone hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of Jack’s smoke.

Jeeny: “No. Watson wasn’t selling anything. He understood that design is power—because it shapes how people live. Look at architecture, technology, even furniture—everything we touch, see, or use carries a message about who we are.”

Jack: “And most of those messages are lies. The sleekness of your phone doesn’t mean it respects you. The ‘eco-friendly’ packaging still ends up in the ocean. You say design serves people, but tell me—who are those people? The users? Or the shareholders?”

Host: Jeeny turned, her eyes catching the light of a nearby sign, its reflection shimmering across the surface of her cheek like liquid glass.

Jeeny: “It’s supposed to serve everyone. Or at least, it should. That’s the tragedy—you see what design has become, and I see what it was meant to be.”

Jack: “Idealism. You talk like you’re describing religion, not design.”

Jeeny: “Isn’t design a kind of faith? Faith that we can make life better, not just prettier? Watson’s quote isn’t about profits—it’s about purpose. Good design listens to human need.”

Jack: (a short, sharp laugh) “Human need? You think the chair in your office listens to you? The phone screen that steals your sleep? Design doesn’t serve people—it seduces them. The whole system runs on addiction, not empathy.”

Host: A train horn wailed somewhere in the distance, long and mournful. The wind picked up, fluttering Jeeny’s hair, carrying with it the faint scent of metal and rain.

Jeeny: “Then maybe the problem isn’t design, Jack. Maybe it’s the designers. The moment they forget they’re serving people and start serving their own ambition—that’s when beauty turns toxic.”

Jack: “And yet the world rewards that. Nobody remembers the humble designer who made something kind. They remember the one who disrupted the world—even if he broke it.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe disruption isn’t progress. Maybe it’s vanity with better branding.”

Host: Jack looked at her for a long moment. The light from a nearby advertisement flashed over his face—first bright, then gone, like a moral code blinking in and out of relevance.

Jack: “You really believe beauty can still be moral?”

Jeeny: “I have to. Otherwise, we’re just dressing greed in good taste.”

Host: The rain began to fall, soft and steady. Droplets tapped the metal railing and slid down the windows like quiet tears. Below, the streets turned slick and reflective, mirroring the chaos above.

Jack: “You know what I see when I look at this city? Efficiency. Profit. Design optimized to extract every second of human attention. Look—billboards tracking your eyes, ads learning your fears, apps predicting your loneliness. That’s design today.”

Jeeny: “And yet here we are, standing on a rooftop, arguing about conscience. That means something human still resists.”

Host: Jack tossed the cigarette, watching the ember fall through the rain, a tiny comet vanishing into the dark.

Jack: “You sound like the ghost of Bauhaus preaching to Silicon Valley.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Bauhaus believed design could unite art and function. We’ve split them apart—made one worship money, the other chase meaning.”

Jack: “Because meaning doesn’t sell.”

Jeeny: “It used to. Look at Dieter Rams—his ‘less but better’ philosophy shaped decades of design. Or think of Apple before it became a luxury cult—those early devices were built to empower, not enslave. Design once asked, ‘How can this help?’ Now it asks, ‘How can this hook?’”

Host: Jack stepped closer to the edge, the rain streaming down his face, blurring the line between raindrops and regret.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe design should serve people. But people don’t know what they want. They don’t want truth—they want comfort, ease, status. You give them something good for them, they ignore it. You give them something addictive, they worship you.”

Jeeny: “So what? You stop trying? You give up on designing better just because people are flawed?”

Jack: “I stop pretending it’s noble. The world runs on manipulation. Design just learned to make it look beautiful.”

Host: Her jaw tightened, but her voice was calm—like rain steady on stone.

Jeeny: “And yet... every once in a while, a design changes a life. A prosthetic that gives someone their movement back. A ramp that makes a child in a wheelchair smile. A book layout that helps a blind person read. That’s design too, Jack. Not the billboards—those moments.”

Jack: (quietly) “You’re talking about exceptions.”

Jeeny: “No. I’m talking about purpose. We can’t all change the world, but we can choose which part of it we serve. You see commerce. I see care.”

Host: The rain fell harder now, a full curtain between them and the city below. Thunder rolled, low and deep, as if echoing the weight of their words.

Jack: “You really think purpose can survive profit?”

Jeeny: “It has to. Otherwise, we’re just engineers of emptiness.”

Host: Jack turned away, watching as a beam of light from a passing helicopter cut across the skyline, scattering through the mist. His reflection in the wet glass looked older, lonelier—like a man who had built things, but not belonging.

Jeeny watched him, her eyes softening with something like pity—or understanding.

Jeeny: “Design is language, Jack. And language defines reality. You can build cages or bridges. You decide what people walk across.”

Jack: (after a pause) “You think we’re still capable of bridges?”

Jeeny: “If we remember who we’re building for.”

Host: The storm began to break, the clouds thinning, revealing faint streaks of moonlight. The city below shimmered like a restless ocean of human intention—ugly, beautiful, alive.

Jack took a long breath, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Jack: “Maybe Watson was right, after all. Design should serve people. But maybe... that’s the hardest thing to remember when the world pays you to forget.”

Jeeny: “That’s why we need people who won’t forget.”

Host: The rain stopped. The sky was still heavy, but light had returned—soft, fragile, persistent. Jeeny looked out across the city, and Jack followed her gaze.

Down below, a street vendor was unfolding a small cart, its canopy striped in faded colors. He set up under a flickering lamp, serving hot food to late-night workers passing by—simple, warm, human.

Jack smiled, the first true one of the night.

Jack: “Maybe that’s it. Maybe good design looks like that cart down there. Small. Useful. Honest.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It doesn’t have to change the whole world. Just serve one person well.”

Host: The wind quieted, carrying only the distant hum of the waking city. The rain glistened on the rooftop like spilled silver.

And as Jack and Jeeny stood side by side in that fragile moment, the city no longer looked like a machine—it looked like a heartbeat, pulsing beneath a fragile skin of light.

Good design, they finally understood, was not about power or profit—but about care. It was about remembering that behind every object, every line, every structure… there was a person.

And that, above all, was what design was meant to serve.