Category: Communication Design

Arriving at Kingston marked an important shift in how I approached my thesis. Before coming here, I saw the thesis primarily as something I needed to complete. It felt distant and intimidating, like something that existed somewhere in the future, but not yet part of my daily reality.

What I noticed early on was how many opportunities there are to encounter new ideas. Inspiration is not limited to lectures or assigned readings. There are constant talks, workshops, and events happening across the university. Just yesterday, for example, the student union invited Florine Bonaventure, a creative director, to give a talk. Listening to people speak about their own practice and process makes the idea of creative direction feel much more real and accessible. It also shows how many different paths and approaches exist. I will reflect more on this talk in my next blog entry, but moments like these make research feel connected to a wider creative community.

Another thing that stood out to me was the physical structure of the classroom itself. The tables and chairs are not arranged to face the lecturer in a traditional way. Instead, they are organised for group work, allowing students to sit together and face each other. Most of the time, we are encouraged to work in small groups, often using large sheets of paper to share and discuss ideas. These groups change regularly, since no one has a designated seat. This means you are constantly exposed to different perspectives and ways of thinking.

This setup changed how I engaged with my thesis topic. At the beginning, I was hesitant to talk about it. I struggled to explain it clearly, and I was unsure how it would be understood by others. It made sense in my head, but when I tried to express it out loud, it felt vague and incomplete. Because of this, I avoided talking about it in detail.

However, over the past weeks, I found myself in situations where I had to explain my ideas repeatedly. In group discussions, workshops, and informal conversations, people would ask what I was working on. Over time, it became easier. Each time I explained it, something shifted slightly. The act of verbalising my thoughts helped clarify them.

What also made a difference was the feedback I received. Hearing responses from people with different backgrounds and perspectives allowed me to see my ideas from outside my own thinking. Sometimes they made connections I had not considered, or asked questions that helped refine my direction. Through these conversations, my thesis topic slowly became more defined.

If you want to see the “Lifestyle Branding” dream in its wildest form, you have to look at the Mercedes–AMG x Palace Skateboards collaboration. A German luxury performance brand meets a gritty London skate label. At first it made no sense to me. But it was actually a genius move.

Nachdem wir mehrere unterschiedliche Gespräche bezüglich Masterarbeit mit verschiedenen Menschen hatte, ist mir klar geworden, dass mir noch etwas der Fokus fehlt. Bei meinem Gespräch mit Frau Lagger, haben wir zwar auch klargestellt, dass zu Beginn des Researchs auch noch kein exakt klarer Fokus stehen muss, dennoch wäre es gut, einen Bereich und eine Zielgruppe zu definieren – einfach damit ich es mir leichter und greifbarer mache.

Ich find es immer sehr schwer, einen klare Fokus zu finden, weil das ja bedeutet, dass interessante Themen herausfallen könnten. Hier also erstmal, was ich gern mitdrin hätte.

Reime

Klar, das ist offensichtlich und der Hauptfokus meiner Arbeit.

Humor

Nachdem ich letztens die eine Masterarbeit zum Thema Humor im Design gelesen habe, habe ich nochmal mehr gemerkt wie interessant ich Humor und Witz eigentlich finde, auch wenn es schwer messbar ist. Aber gerade das macht es so interessant und in kombination mit Reimen vielleicht auch gut erforschbar.

Außerdem schafft Humor einen niedrigschwelligen Einstieg in jegliche Kommunikation. Oft werden so Hemmschwellen reduziert und Botschaften zugänglicher gemacht (Eisend & Kuß, 2009). Menschen reagieren offener auf spielerische statt belehrende Sprache. Besonders bei Text im öffentlichen Raum kann oft der erste emotionale Impuls entscheiden und Humor könnte diesen Impuls positiv färben. Gleichzeitig ist natürlich auch die Frage, wie weit Humor gehen kann und ab wann Grenzen überschritten werden oder ernste Themen zu witzig dargestellt werden.

Anwendungsbereich: Aktivismus/ gesellschaftliche Kommunikation

Ich arbeite in meinen bisherigen Projekten häufig mit gesellschaftlichen oder feministischen Themen, auch sichtbar hier im prozess meiner Blogposts. Dabei interessiert mich irgendwie immer weniger laute oder konfrontative Protestästhetik, sondern subtilere, alltagsnahe Interventionen und gleichzeitig Gestaltung die Menschen eher einlädt als belehrt.

Ich hab durch vorherige Arbeit und Praktika auch ein paar Kontakte bei Greenpeace und zu aktivistischen Gruppen in Graz, deren Standpunkte ich für meinen Research gut nutzen könnte.

Außerdem sind viele aktivistische Gestaltungen recht ernst, schwer oder moralisch aufgeladen und solche Kommunikation kann logischerweise schnell abschreckend oder überfordernd sein, vor allem für Menschen, die sich damit eher wenig befassen wollen und damit im Straßenbild überrascht werden.

Ich hab gemerkt, dass ich selbst auf humorvolle oder gereimte Botschaften stärker reagiere als auf reine Forderungen. Deshalb interessiert mich, ob spielerische Sprache wirksamer sein kann als klassische Appelle und Aktivismusformen.

Mögliche Forschungsfrage (fokussiert yeha):

Wie beeinflussen gereimte und humorvolle Formulierungen die Wahrnehmung, Merkfähigkeit und emotionale Zugänglichkeit gesellschaftlicher Botschaften im öffentlichen Raum im Vergleich zu sachlich formulierten Aussagen?

Oder aber, wenn ich mehr in Richtung Gestaltung gehen möchte:

Wie beeinflussen typografische und layoutbezogene Gestaltungsstrategien die Wahrnehmung, Lesbarkeit und Merkfähigkeit gereimter Sprache in der visuellen Kommunikation?

One thing the fashion world understands better than the sports world is Desire. Most sports teams want to sell as much merch as possible to as many people as possible. In the end, that’s mass produced stuff that also feels cheap. Lifestyle and more exclusive brands do the opposite: they make less than people want.

One of the first concrete steps I took in my research process was creating a Figma file to collect references. Instead of using traditional academic tools, I began documenting books, images, and thoughts visually. Whenever I found a book in the library that interested me, I took photos of the front and back cover and placed them into this file.

This method might feel informal and unstructured for some. I mean, it did not follow conventional academic standards, and people might question whether it is the “right” way to approach research. However, I realised that this visual system allowed me to engage with my research in a more intuitive way.

Seeing the books as images, alongside my own notes and reflections, made the research feel more tangible. It allowed me to see relationships between different sources more clearly. Instead of existing as isolated texts, the books became part of a larger visual landscape of ideas.

What surprised me most was how naturally patterns began to emerge. Even when I selected books based on intuition rather than relevance, many of them explored similar themes. Questions about perception, environment, attention, and meaning appeared repeatedly.

Over time, the Figma file became much more than just a collection of books. It started to include everything that influenced my thinking. I wrote down things that were said during lectures at Kingston, notes from the workshop at UAL, and reflections on documentaries I watched, even when they were not directly related to my thesis. I added feedback I received from my lecturers, ideas my friends shared with me in conversations, and even things my dad said that stayed with me afterwards. Sometimes it was just a sentence, a question, or a song title that captured a certain feeling or direction.

This made me realise that research does not only happen in structured academic settings. It happens constantly, through conversations, experiences, and observations. The Figma file became a space where all of these fragments could exist next to each other. It allowed me to take these moments seriously and recognise them as part of the research process. (I love it)

This process helped me understand that research does not have to follow a rigid structure from the beginning. Developing a personal system made the process more accessible and engaging. It also made me more confident in trusting my own way of working. Looking at the file now, I don’t see a finished structure, but a growing archive of my thinking. What initially felt random and unorganised slowly began to form connections.

When you go to a the F1 Race at the Red Bull Ring, you usually get a special version of the Red Bulletin —a booklet filled with all of the Red Bull Content, ads, (Red Bull) driver infos, and maybe some more information. And while Red Bull is generally doing a good job, it’s designed to be used for a few hours and then thrown in the bin.

Closely connected to avoidance was procrastination. Even when I had time to work on my thesis, I often found it difficult to begin. The act of starting felt much harder than the work itself. I would sit down with the intention to work on it, but quickly find myself distracted by smaller tasks or well… MY PHONE.

What I noticed was that the anticipation of working on the thesis created more stress than the actual process of doing it. Once I started reading, collecting references, or writing down thoughts, it didn’t feel as overwhelming as I had imagined. But reaching that point required overcoming a mental barrier.

I think part of this came from the expectations I associated with the thesis. It felt like something that needed to be meaningful and well-developed from the beginning. This created pressure to make the “right” decisions early on. As a result, I hesitated to make any decisions at all.

This made me realise how much procrastination is connected to uncertainty. It is easier to delay something than to confront the possibility of making mistakes or choosing the wrong direction.

What helped me move forward was shifting my perspective. Instead of seeing the thesis as a single large task, I began breaking it down into smaller actions. Taking photos of books, writing short reflections, or organising references became manageable entry points. These actions did not require immediate clarity, but they allowed the process to begin. Clarity does not appear before the process begins, but emerges through the process itself. Understanding this helped me approach my research more realistically. Instead of waiting for the perfect moment, I learned to value small, consistent steps.

For a large part of the semester, I avoided thinking about my thesis. I was busy with other university projects, workshops, and deadlines, and it was easy to focus on tasks that had clear expectations and immediate outcomes. These projects gave me structure. I knew what to do, how to do it, and when it needed to be finished. The thesis, in contrast, felt abstract and undefined. There was no immediate urgency, no fixed form, and no clear starting point.

Because of this, I kept postponing it. I told myself that I would start once I had more time, or once other projects were finished. I convinced myself that I needed the right moment to begin, even though that moment never really arrived.

Looking back, I realise this is a pattern I have experienced before. When something feels important but uncertain, I tend to avoid it. Not because I am not interested, but because the openness of it feels overwhelming. The thesis carried a different kind of weight compared to other projects. It felt more permanent, more personal, and more significant. This made it harder to approach.

At the same time, I now understand that avoidance did not mean the thesis was absent from my thinking. Even when I wasn’t actively working on it, I was still encountering ideas that influenced it. Lectures, conversations, exhibitions, and books all became part of my research indirectly. I just didn’t recognise it as such at the time.

Avoidance created the illusion that I was delaying the process, but in reality, the process was already happening in the background. My interests were forming gradually, even without conscious effort.

Reflecting on this made me realise that research is not a purely linear or controlled process. It includes phases of uncertainty, hesitation and distance. These phases are not necessarily unproductive. They allow ideas to develop more naturally, without forcing premature decisions.

Recognising my avoidance was an important turning point. It made me more aware of the emotional and psychological dimensions of research. The difficulty was not only about finding a topic, but about allowing myself to engage with something that didn’t yet have clear boundaries. Understanding this helped me approach my thesis with more patience.

At the beginning of the semester, I felt completely lost when thinking about my thesis. Not in the sense that I had no interests, but almost the opposite. I had too many ideas, too many directions, and none of them felt stable enough to commit to. Every time I thought I had found something, I would question it again. It felt like everything was possible, which strangely made it harder to begin.

Looking back, I realise that I expected myself to start with clarity. I thought I needed to know exactly what my thesis would be about before allowing myself to explore it. But this expectation made it difficult to move forward. Instead of helping me, it made me feel stuck.

During lectures, workshops, and conversations, I saw how open the process actually is. There is no single correct starting point. Research is not about immediately knowing, but about gradually finding direction through exposure and reflection.

What I understand now is that feeling lost was not a failure of the process, but the beginning of it. It forced me to question my assumptions and stay open. Instead of following a predefined path, I had to start paying attention to what genuinely interested me.

This uncertainty also made me more aware of the themes that kept reappearing in my thinking, such as chaos, attention, atmosphere, and meaning. At the time, these ideas felt random but over time I started seeing relationships between them.

This phase taught me that not knowing is not something to avoid, but something to work with. It creates space for ideas to develop more naturally, without forcing them too early into fixed forms.

Throughout this research phase, I’ve spent a lot of time in libraries. Especially since coming to Kingston, visiting the library has become a regular part of my routine. This might be because of how big and comfortable the Kingston University library is, or simply because I feel motivated to make the most of my time here and use the facilities available to me. But I’ve noticed that the library has become more than just a place to work. It has become part of my research process itself.

I’ve always loved spending time in libraries and bookshops. As cheesy as it sounds, it really feels like entering a different world. There is something about being surrounded by books that makes knowledge feel physical and accessible. It creates a kind of quiet focus that is very different from being online. Even though I would argue that my social media feed is quite educational and inspiring, it doesn’t create the same depth of attention. Scrolling feels fast while being in a library feels slower and more intentional.

What became especially important during this phase was how I started collecting literature. Instead of using a structured or academic system, I began simply taking photos of the front and back of books that interested me and placing them into a Figma file. It’s probably the most unprofessional way of collecting literature for a thesis. But visually seeing the book covers alongside my thoughts made the process more engaging and personal. It didn’t feel like a boring literature research, it felt like building my own archive.

I didn’t even limit myself to design-related books. Most of my visits were to a different Kingston campus library and ended up in sections like psychology, politics, and cultural studies. I picked books purely based on intuition picking titles, colours, or topics that caught my attention, without worrying whether they were directly relevant to my thesis.

What surprised me was that even though these choices felt random, connections began to appear. Many of the books, in different ways, touched on similar themes: how people understand the world, how environments shape behaviour, how meaning is constructed, and how individuals exist within larger systems.

This experience also changed how I think about chaos in relation to research. At first, my approach felt disorganised. I wasn’t following a clear structure, and my collection of books came from different disciplines without an obvious order. But over time, patterns began to emerge. What initially felt like chaos started to form its own internal logic.

This impulse has influenced my research by helping me trust a more intuitive approach. Instead of forcing my thesis into a fixed direction too early, I’ve allowed myself to collect fragments, ideas, and references from different fields, wishing there was more time to just focus on this process. But unfortunately this phase of searching for a topic has to come to an end soon…

Links:
https://www.kingston.ac.uk/library/
https://www.bl.uk