It's a very strange thing for a designer to say, but one of the

The quiet craftsman and philosopher of modern design, Jonathan Ive, once spoke these words of humility and discernment: “It’s a very strange thing for a designer to say, but one of the things that really irritates me in products is when I’m aware of designers wagging their tails in my face.” In this confession lies not irritation, but insight — a warning against vanity disguised as artistry. Ive, who shaped the language of modern technology through his work at Apple, reveals that true design must serve the user, not glorify the maker. To design well is not to boast, but to disappear, allowing the creation itself to speak in silence.

To understand these words, we must understand the man. Jonathan Ive was the mind and hand behind the forms that defined a generation — the iMac, the iPhone, the MacBook. His work shaped not only how the world uses technology, but how it feels in the hand, how it lives in the home. Yet for all his achievements, Ive despised arrogance in design. He loathed when objects proclaimed, “Look how clever I am!” For him, good design was humble, invisible, inevitable. When he said he hated “designers wagging their tails,” he spoke of those who build not for purpose, but for applause — whose work seeks admiration rather than understanding. Such design, he believed, breaks the sacred bond between creator and creation.

In these words echoes an older wisdom, known to craftsmen and builders throughout history. The cathedrals of Europe, those vast symphonies of stone, were built by men whose names have been forgotten — for their work was not to exalt themselves, but to honor something higher. The master mason did not carve angels to show his skill; he carved them because the structure demanded beauty, because the divine deserved devotion. Likewise, in Japanese craftsmanship, the ideal of shibui — beauty without ostentation — teaches that perfection is not to be announced but discovered. The truest form of design, whether in temples, tools, or technology, is one that disappears into purpose.

Consider the story of Dieter Rams, the legendary designer for Braun, whose minimalist vision deeply inspired Ive himself. Rams once said, “Good design is as little design as possible.” His radios and appliances were so clean, so restrained, that they became almost invisible — but in their quietness lay their perfection. They did not cry out for attention; they simply worked, gracefully, with human life. This is what Ive meant: when design becomes self-conscious, when it “wags its tail” to show off its cleverness, it distracts from what matters. The user should feel harmony, not be reminded of the designer’s ego.

But Ive’s warning reaches beyond design — it is a truth about creation itself. In every art, from writing to architecture to leadership, there is the temptation to be seen. The artist longs to be admired, the speaker to be praised, the leader to be glorified. Yet the greatest works are those that forget the self in the act of service. The poet Homer, though immortalized by his verse, did not write to be known; he wrote to give voice to the spirit of his people. The teacher who truly changes lives does not seek fame, but understanding. In this, Ive’s wisdom becomes moral: when the self demands attention, the work loses its soul.

For Jonathan Ive, humility was not weakness — it was the foundation of mastery. His designs, like whispers, allowed users to feel intelligence without noticing it. The edges of an iPhone, the click of a button, the simplicity of a screen — all were born from unseen labor. In their clarity, one felt not the presence of a designer, but the presence of thoughtfulness. Ive’s genius was his restraint, his belief that good design should feel natural, like a pebble smoothed by the tide — so inevitable that it seems it could not have been otherwise. Such is the mark of true craftsmanship: it feels discovered, not imposed.

So, my listener of the future, take this lesson to heart: in whatever you create — be it art, invention, or legacy — resist the urge to “wag your tail.” Do not build to be admired; build to be understood. Do not seek to dazzle with cleverness; seek to serve with clarity. When your work becomes transparent, when it disappears into function and meaning, then you have touched the highest form of art. For greatness is not in being noticed, but in making something so right that it feels as though it has always been there.

And when pride tempts you, remember Jonathan Ive’s wisdom: the truest beauty is not loud, but quiet — not boastful, but pure. The perfect design, like the perfect life, does not announce itself. It simply is. Therefore, let your works speak not of your brilliance, but of your care. Let them live humbly, gracefully, and with purpose. For when you vanish behind your creation, when your ego falls silent and only meaning remains — then, and only then, have you truly designed something worthy of time.