Every decision we make—from the layout of our living room to the design of national policies—shapes the life we will inhabit tomorrow. Design is not just a product, logo, or building, but an act of disciplined imagination: the ability to rethink systems, relationships, experiences, and the rules that govern society. It is a way of making choices that determine both our immediate reality and our long-term future.
EU data clearly shows that countries investing in design and innovation achieve faster productivity growth and measurable gains in competitiveness, innovation capacity, and ecological performance -demonstrating that design methodologies are among the most effective tools for addressing complex societal challenges in the green transition and social innovation.
And where does that leave us? In a region where the creative sector is chronically undervalued and where young talent often leaves in search of better opportunities, it is difficult to speak of any strategic approach to design as a driver of development. Serbia is a particularly fragile example: design is still marginal in policymaking, and universities— rather than being supported as laboratories of innovation—often operate under pressures that weaken their essential mission to educate the generations who will reimagine our society. Instead of using design to solve problems, our institutions too often reduce it to a decorative tool, disconnected from public interest.
Of course, none of this is new. Design has always been entangled with political and financial power. Architecture offers the clearest example, historically positioned at the crossroads of ambition and capital—captured incisively in Dejan Sudjić’s The Edifice Complex, which describes the impulse of powerful actors to immortalize themselves through buildings that project authority more than they serve people. But today, when societies urgently need designers to take greater responsibility and guide clients toward more socially grounded goals, the creative sector faces a troubling counter-trend: design-washing—when prestige is used to give problematic projects a veneer of respectability. In many global contexts, celebrated studios accept commissions that prioritize spectacle over community, sidelining transparency, fairness, and environmental consideration. Unfortunately, similar patterns occasionally appear in the Balkans as well, where public processes are sometimes reduced to formality, participation is symbolic, and design becomes a mask for decisions that fail to serve citizens.
This is why one principle must remain non-negotiable: good design requires good intentions. As in any profession, ethics draw the boundary between harmful and beneficial outcomes. A value system that places human and environmental dignity—not just profit—at the center of the brief is the only sustainable foundation for meaningful work.
Yet there is another chapter to this story—the reason I remain committed to this profession:
the transformative power of design when it serves the community.
When processes become inclusive rather than imposed from above, we witness changes that far exceed aesthetics and cannot be measured by glossy renderings alone.
Denmark and Finland use national design strategies to improve public services, healthcare, and policymaking—designers sit at the table alongside lawyers, economists, and urban planners. Paris dramatically reduced congestion by creating extensive cycling infrastructure and reclaiming public space for people. Ljubljana stands out as the region’s pioneer of sustainable urbanism: from pedestrianizing the riverfront to large-scale greening and integrated mobility systems, it shows how small countries can become major examples.
In these contexts, design is not a luxury or decoration for investor-driven ambitions. It is treated as a public good—a method for governing complexity: improving public services, strengthening competitiveness, reducing environmental impact, and building more inclusive communities. These decisions directly affect well-being. Happiness Index rankings consistently place countries with strong design governance—Denmark, Finland, Iceland, the Netherlands—at the top. Their success is inseparable from design choices: accessible public spaces, human-scale housing, transparent planning, and participatory governance. Happiness, in other words, is often a design outcome.
Is it too ambitious to dream the same for the Balkans?
Despite systemic obstacles, the Balkans possess an extraordinary strength: young people whose creativity and courage defy circumstance. Our designers, architects, engineers, and artists generate imaginative ideas with far fewer resources than their peers elsewhere. Through platforms like Mikser Festival, Young Balkan Designers, and Next Gen Design, I see their urgency to address injustice, their intelligence in crafting solutions, and their refusal to accept inherited failures.
The region’s creative potential is real and measurable. What is missing is an environment that recognizes this potential as a national asset rather than a marginal sector.
The responsibility for this gap lies with institutions that undervalue autonomy, underinvest in education, and overlook creativity as a strategic resource.
If Balkan countries want a sustainable and humane future, they must begin treating design as a tool for societal progress—supporting education, encouraging experimentation, and ensuring that public projects reflect public interest.
Because whether we acknowledge it or not, every policy, every street, every building, every curriculum, every investment choice is a form of design. And through those choices, we shape—quite literally—the future we will all live in.