I’ve been working as a web site designer for a little over ten years, long enough to see how differently the role is perceived compared to how it’s actually lived. From the outside, people often imagine clean mockups, creative freedom, and quick launches. The reality has been far more grounded. Most of my early work involved fixing things that weren’t supposed to be broken—layouts that collapsed on mobile, contact forms that never sent emails, sites that looked polished but quietly failed the businesses behind them.
I didn’t begin with a strong opinion about design. That came later, shaped by projects that went wrong and a few that went surprisingly right.
One of my first long-term clients came to me after spending a significant amount on a site that everyone internally liked. The problem was that customers didn’t seem to care. Calls slowed. Emails dropped off. When I asked what success looked like for them, there was a long pause. No one had defined it. Reworking that site wasn’t about visual changes as much as deciding what the site was supposed to help someone do within the first minute. That experience changed how I approached every project after it.
Design decisions have consequences you don’t see right away
Early in my career, I made choices based on what looked impressive. Complex layouts, clever navigation labels, custom interactions. They often photographed well for a portfolio. Then came the follow-ups. Someone couldn’t update a page without breaking the layout. Another client avoided touching their own site because it felt fragile.
I remember a project where a client insisted on a highly customized homepage with multiple interactive sections. It launched smoothly, but months later they called, frustrated that simple updates required outside help. We eventually simplified the structure. Nothing about the business changed, but the site became easier to live with. That taught me to think beyond launch day.
A web site designer doesn’t just design for how something looks. You design for how it will be used six months later by someone who didn’t build it.
What experience teaches you to watch for
After enough projects, patterns become obvious. One common mistake is designing before understanding content. Placeholder text makes everything look neat. Real content exposes weak hierarchy and unclear messaging. I’ve learned to ask for drafts early, even rough ones, because design should support real words, not idealized ones.
Another issue is too many voices. I’ve worked on projects where feedback came from five departments, each pulling the site in a different direction. In those situations, my role shifted from designer to translator. Helping teams decide what actually matters often did more for the project than refining visuals ever could.
There’s also the temptation to copy competitors. I’ve rebuilt sites that closely mirrored others in their industry, only to discover they inherited the same usability problems. Experience teaches you to ask why something exists before recreating it.
The unglamorous side of the work
Much of my time as a web site designer has been spent on details most people never notice. Adjusting spacing so text breathes better. Simplifying navigation so fewer people get lost. Removing features that sounded good but didn’t help anyone.
I once spent an entire afternoon debating whether a button should say “Get Started” or “Request a Quote.” It sounds trivial until you realize that language shapes expectations. The wrong phrase can bring the wrong inquiries or discourage the right ones. Those small decisions add up.
Maintenance is another overlooked part of the job. I’ve inherited sites that were beautiful but brittle. One update broke three things. After rebuilding them with simpler systems, clients often said they felt more confident managing their own content. That confidence is rarely discussed, but it matters.
How my perspective has changed
After ten years, I’m less interested in trends and more interested in durability. I care about whether a site can grow with a business, whether it can be updated without fear, and whether it communicates clearly to someone who’s visiting for the first time.
I’m also more willing to say no. Not to be difficult, but because I’ve seen where certain choices lead. Experience gives you a longer view, and sometimes the most helpful thing a designer can do is steer a project away from unnecessary complexity.
The projects that stay with me aren’t the flashiest ones. They’re the ones where clients later told me their site felt easier—easier to explain, easier to update, easier for customers to use.
Being a web site designer for this long has stripped away some of the romance of the role, but it’s replaced it with something better: a clear understanding of what actually helps people. When a site quietly does its job without drawing attention to itself, that’s usually a sign the design choices were made with experience, not ego.