Define Your Plasticity, Don’t Defy it

I was told “you’re too thin”, “your thighs are too far apart”, “you’re too dark, you look like a cockroach”, “you’re lazy”, “you’re an idiot”. It started when I was five, this comparison to the ideal. I took all of these in; they grew inside me, bloomed and fermented with the years – these voices, these thoughts, these ideals. They are still, to this day, in the driver’s seat. They are the reason why I chase perfection, why I look up to the symmetrical face, the button nose, the Western ideal.

It manifested as a way of seeing and judging myself, becoming my judgement of what defines beauty. Whether the beauty of one’s body, face, eyes, hair, nose, projecting into the form of design, the symmetrical, the minimalist, the “less is more”. All ideals borrowed from the Western ideal of what beauty represents and what it doesn’t. And it still simmers, guiding my moves, shaping every choice I make.

Is this why I was never interested in the familiar, in the imperfect? Conversely, is this why I am drawn to fight for the marginalised, the different, the imperfect – while constantly keeping my judgement of myself in check, measuring who I am, how I am, against a Western-inspired ideal of perfection, of beauty?

This dogma – this “less is more” – is admired by designers, often without fully understanding how to achieve it, why to aspire to become it, where it comes from. And when designers do achieve it, they feel a sense of greatness, a sense of belonging to the cultural elite, to the level of Le Corbusier, Dieter Rams, Mies van der Rohe. Styles, products, and architecture alike seem to follow this doctrine. But what if less is actually less? What if we need more? What if we want more, feel more, be more, take up more space? What if we want our world to reflect individualities instead of a single universal archetype – The Modulor? Where does this judgement of beauty actually come from? 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder – and the stories they carry

We all have preferences in aesthetics, brands and products we use daily. These preferences are deeply personal, yet they are shaped by the communities we follow or the media we consume. Meeting people who share the same style can make you feel like you belong to a community that understands you, hears you, embodies you, and reaffirms your identity and worth, through the image they project with their aesthetic choices. These choices signal social class, emotional state, or economic status, either reinforcing or challenging the status quo, a status quo that is abstract, silently agreed upon, and constantly observed and judged by the mass.

There are many definitions of the term “aesthetic” in academia, but for the sake of this article, we will follow two. The first was presented by Palmer, Schloss, and Sammartino (2013), who synthesised multiple empirical studies on visual aesthetics and human preference. ¹ They define aesthetics as the study of how our minds work when we judge something. It’s about how we decide whether something is “beautiful” or not, “pleasant” or “unpleasant” without any practical purpose, or without having an interest in this specific object we are judging. ¹ In other words, we’re not judging it for its use, we’re judging it based on how it makes us feel. These feelings range from awe (“Oh wow, this is wonderful, I love it!”) to ick (“Yuck, that’s awful, I hate it!”). ¹

​​In the same paper, the authors reference Immanuel Kant, the German philosopher, who argued in Critique of Judgment that beauty is linked explicitly to the viewer’s mental experience rather than the object’s physical properties. ¹ Kant claimed that aesthetic judgements are defined by three key features: subjectivity, disinterested nature and claim of universality. ¹ We will focus on the two that the authors agree with. The first is subjectivity: judgements are grounded in personal experience, whether liking or disliking (or sometimes both, I would argue). The second is the disinterested nature of aesthetic appreciation: our response to an object as aesthetically pleasing is not motivated by personal gain, use, or desire. Looking at a sunset and thinking it is beautiful is a disinterested reaction – you are not trying to own the sunset or use it, you simply enjoy it for what it is. ¹

But then, what influences our subjectivity and disinterest in an object, shaping how we feel and guiding our aesthetic judgement?

Another study, Self-reference and Emotional Reaction Drive Aesthetic Judgment, shows that aesthetic experiences are strongly shaped by self-reference and emotional reaction. ² Self-reference occurs when we relate an experience to our own personal self. For example, when a painting reminds you of a childhood memory. Emotional reaction refers to how strongly a painting makes us feel, whether positively or negatively, and how these feelings influence our aesthetic judgement. The stronger these feelings, the easier they are to recall later. ²

The study also finds that objects connected to our own memories and identity are more likely to be judged positively, while unrelated or negatively associated forms tend to be seen as less beautiful, or even unpleasant. This shows how personal meaning shapes aesthetic preference. ²

Going further into the neuroscientific perspective, Ishizu and Zeki’s Toward a Brain-Based Theory of Beauty found that judging something as beautiful activates the brain’s reward and approach systems, driving us toward things we desire. Conversely, judging something as unpleasant triggers circuits linked to avoidance or threat, even when we are simply looking at it, without any practical purpose. ³

What these studies show is that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. The same object can make one person feel delight and another feel discomfort. Interestingly, these feelings of liking and disliking are not just opposite ends of a scale, they are wired differently in our brains. The fact that positive and negative aesthetic reactions are processed in distinct neural circuits reinforces that beauty is not a single, objective measure, but a deeply subjective experience. Aesthetic judgement depends on our history, our memories, and our sense of self. This is why preferences in beauty are so personal, they are shaped by our identity and experiences, not by the object itself.

What registers as pleasant or unpleasant?

So far, we’ve seen how subjectivity and the disinterested nature of aesthetic judgement play a huge role in whether we find something beautiful or unpleasant. But what exactly makes our brains respond this way? Which experiences activate pleasure circuits, and which triggers discomfort? These reactions are shaped not only by personal history and identity, but also by cultural exposure and repeated associations.

A major factor in liking or disliking something is familiarity. As discussed in Issue 1, repeated exposure to a pattern, object, or visual can increase our liking for it – a phenomenon known as the mere exposure effect. ⁴ The more we see it, the more fluent it becomes for our brain to process and comprehend, and the more rewarding it feels. Fluency seems to activate reward areas in the brain. ⁵

However, studies almost always show that every coin has two (or more) sides. Over time, repeated exposure can dampen the reward we initially felt. What once excited us may become less pleasurable. This phenomenon is known as affective adaptation. This highlights that aesthetic experience is dynamic. Our preferences are shaped not only by history and identity but also by the way repeated experiences interact with our brain’s reward system. ⁶

Throughout the history of studying aesthetics and beauty, researchers have often tried to determine whether our preferences are innate or learned. Most studies have focused on the Western world, with participants largely from that region. However, one massive study collected over 400,000 aesthetic judgments from more than 4,800 participants across ten countries (Mexico, India, Turkey, Nigeria, South Korea, Japan, Poland, Germany, France, and the US) examining shape, curvature, colour, melody, and harmony. For the sake of this article, we will focus only on the visual attributes tested. ⁷

Even though the results show a generally high level of agreement across countries regarding shapes and curvature, there are still clear but minor cross-cultural differences. For example, Japan shows a unique preference for straight lines, whereas France tends to dislike them. Similarly, Japan and Germany show distinct preferences for “disproportionate” curves, despite the fact that most countries consistently favour symmetrical S-shaped curves. 
When it comes to colours, there is more variability. Most countries show a shared preference for bluish hues and dislike dark sandy tones, but there are disagreements considering colour combinations across cultures. ⁷ Therefore, my view is that although some similarities appear to be universal, the presence of even minor cross-cultural differences suggests that judgements of beauty are shaped to a large extent by learning and cultural context rather than being innate.

Another aesthetic factor, symmetry, has long been considered a universal marker of beauty. It appears frequently in art, design, and nature, and is often assumed to be instinctively pleasing. However, one study tested symmetrical and asymmetrical patterns with both four-year-old children and adult participants to examine whether a preference for symmetry is innate. ⁸ When comparing the two groups, adults both looked longer at symmetrical patterns and preferred them aesthetically. Children also looked longer at symmetrical patterns, however, they did not show a clear preference for them. This suggests that simply paying more attention to a visual does not necessarily mean it is liked. It may also suggest that symmetrical patterns attract more attention than asymmetrical ones. So, overall, these findings support the idea that aesthetic preference is flexible, and that symmetry may be learned over time rather than being innate. ⁸

But then, why do we often find the complex, the novel, or the disproportionate unattractive? 

One explanation is, again, processing fluency: the harder our brain finds it to understand or process an object or visual, the less immediately pleasant it feels. And yet, complexity and difference can also spark curiosity. At first, they may feel challenging to comprehend, but the more we engage with them, the more interesting they become. Immediate pleasure may have the strongest effect on initial attractiveness, but interest emerges when we think more carefully, especially when the design is unusual. ⁹
As a designer, this is a crucial point to learn. Triggering interest through complexity teaches us, stretches our thinking, and helps us grow. The more fluent we become at processing something unusual, the more we appreciate it, and the more we grow our beauty library.

How did we get here?

Design is meant for others. But for many designers and architects, it exists only for themselves, ignoring the needs of the people they are designing for. Why is that? What is it about designing for people with different abilities or needs that feels unappealing to the “cool” or exclusive designers? Is it really because, within every designer, there lives an artist desperate to get out – to be seen, to show the world who they are – rather than to design for an “other”? This hidden artist does exist, and its ego inevitably shines through every project. Every product or service they design often carries their signature, marking them as part of the “big names” of design. But is it ever okay to put our own identity before the people we’re supposed to design for?

Hey, I am one of those designers. I don’t have a big name or a design signature, but I aspire to. I won’t pretend I’m above it. One of my idols is Le Corbusier.

“There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportion.” — Edgar Allan Poe, 1838

I mentioned two things earlier in the article: First, how we project our own bodies onto how we judge beauty, measuring ourselves against what we’ve learned to consider “beautiful”. Second, we explored one of two different definitions (or perspectives) of aesthetics.
With these in mind, I would like to focus on Alexander Baumgarten’s ¹⁰ idea of linking beauty to the body. In his book Disability Aesthetics, Tobin Siebers builds on Baumgarten, arguing that aesthetics start from the body, not from abstract ideas of beauty. ¹¹ Siebers explains that the human body plays two roles in aesthetics: it’s both the one creating and the one being looked at, judged, and felt. When we make art or design, we’re making things that matter because they can actually change how we feel. We even treat these objects as if they were alive, as if they have their own kind of presence or energy, the kind we usually attribute to people. ¹¹

But not all bodies are treated equally in this process. Our reactions are quick, automatic, emotional, and show how easily we accept some bodies and reject others. Some feel comfortable to our senses, others make us uneasy or resistant. It’s a gut reaction. ¹¹ Siebers also notes that since the 1800s, history has tried to separate the body from art, telling us we should enjoy it with our minds only, as if our bodies didn’t matter at all. But when we think that way, we shrink what art can actually be. ¹¹

Artworks that deal directly with the body often push back against the idea that art should be pure, perfect, or separate from real life. At the same time, they – sometimes unintentionally –  show us images of disability – revealing bodies that are wounded, ill, impaired, or marked by trauma, through injury, disease, war, accidents, or mental differences. Even when we don’t label them as “disability”, we tend to read them that way. Our reactions, whether it is pleasure or disgust, or both, says a lot about what our society values, about who belongs, who is beautiful, and who isn’t. ¹¹ Siebers reminds us that within all our imperfections, and within what humanity is all about, beauty lies.

Reconnect to Your Inner Self

I never realised this before, but my favourite artists are drawn to the complex, the raw, the disproportionate. From Francis Bacon to Lucian Freud, to Judith Scott, to Louise Bourgeois. The ones who dared to defy conventional beauty, who showed what it really means to be beautiful, to be raw, to be real. They shake our emotional reactions, dig into our self-references, and project them to us. They create their beautiful realities, and in turn, make our realities beautiful.

That is Art – when it embraces you fully, sweeps you off your feet, and takes you into another individual’s world, with their imperfections, their emotional rollercoasters.

And yet, we designers, with our hidden little artist-wannabes, often forget to reach within. We forget to embrace our complex, our layered, our colourful, our messy, our emotional. Even though the artist lives inside us, somehow, its identity still clings to the minimalist, the perfect, the white, the empty – Bauhaus, Mies van der Rohe, striving for the simple under the motto “less is more”. Flat walls, glass, thin structures, smooth surfaces, clean, universal aesthetic. Design assumes, even today, the standard of an able-bodied – the Modulor of Le Corbusier –  ignoring everyone else.

“Less is more” is dominant, I hear it every day, it is celebrated in the Scandinavian design sphere, and continues to strongly influence many non-Western designs and architectures. Along the way, we designers have forgotten where beauty really lies: within our bodies, within our realities, within the realities of others, beyond the mould that we were sanctioned to fit.