In the world of graphic design, trends are endlessly discussed. We all know it—every season brings lists of predictions: dominant colors, effects that are supposed to “reign” in the coming months. The industry dives in wholeheartedly, marveling at novelties that seem to help us stay afloat in a dynamic environment. Meanwhile, it is becoming increasingly evident that this fetishization of trends not only narrows our perspective but also degrades design to the role of disposable scenery. Designers have become hostages to ephemeral whims, reducing their work to an annual exchange of a fashionable t-shirt.

To avoid extremes—let me clarify: Trends in design have their place—they are quick to implement, responsive to market needs, allow for visual differentiation, and offer a chance for creative play. However, they are a response to the present, not the future. Trend-focused design is like working in reactive mode, subordinated to market impulses, which rarely go beyond immediate needs. Capturing the audience's attention? Done. What next? It’s hardly groundbreaking to say that a trend, by definition, has a short shelf life—it works here and now but leaves a void in the longer term. A trend is good one-time-use fuel. And I know that this argument may still not convince many.

What I want to understand as an opposition to perceiving design as trend-prone is the concept of a megatrend. It’s about recognizing the system of reality around us. The challenges that shape us. These are forces that genuinely shape our world. Urbanization, climate change, advancing digitalization, or functional illiteracy—these are processes that don’t ask for our opinion but force us to react. Design, as an interdisciplinary field (including visual design), has always had the potential to address these challenges constructively.

The problem is that design is increasingly ceasing to be an initiative and is becoming an adaptation. Clients need a project that “works” in a given context, so designers deliver exactly that—a project tailored to current expectations. Marketing and sales gradually build the dominance of an approach focused on the here and now. Questions like “what if...” disappear. Instead, design becomes a market function—it meets expectations but rarely goes beyond them. It doesn’t ask critical questions.

In the face of technological acceleration, the role of the designer is changing dramatically. AI, automation of design processes, or new digital tools are like a double-edged sword—they can increase efficiency but also dehumanize the design process. In this context, addressing topics like accessibility, ethical approaches to technology, or inclusive design seems urgent. This is not just a field for innovation but also a space where design can reclaim its role as an initiator. A role that fuels changes in the status quo.

One of the key megatrends that should interest the design world is functional illiteracy. In an era of information overload and complex interfaces, more and more people struggle with interpreting basic visual messages. How to design in a way that not only “looks good” but also genuinely helps users? This question demands that designers return to the basics—thinking about usability, cultural context, and responsibility for communication.

We also cannot overlook the impact of the culture of immediacy in which we operate. Social media requires us to constantly produce content, and the rapid turnover of topics makes long-term projects less appealing. Though it may sound quite radical, designers are becoming hostages to algorithms. It’s understandable—everyone wants to be visible—but at what cost? The loss of broader perspective and genuine agency?

This is exactly what Connie Willis portrays in "Bellwether," where people follow fads not out of necessity but from a sort of instinct of belonging—as if being part of the crowd were more important than the direction itself. This satire on collective behavior sounds familiar, perhaps too much so. We designers, like the characters in the novel, are often swept away by the rhythm imposed by trends—not because they are the best choice for a perspective longer than their lifecycle. Willis, with humor but also irony, reminds us how easy it is to lose individuality and the ability to shape our own paths. Perhaps all this wishful thinking is just a pipe dream.

Victor Papanek, one of the most important voices in the history of responsible design, advocated that design should primarily be a tool for change. Today, looking at the dominant role of trends, it’s hard to resist the impression that this approach has been pushed to the margins. Designers have the potential to shape the world, but they increasingly choose to follow what “works” in the current season.

Can trends and megatrends be combined? I’d like to answer confidently—of course. But I must slow down, temper my response. I’ll write—I think there’s a chance. Design doesn’t have to be a choice between one or the other—it can draw from both sources. The key lies in finding balance. But perhaps even more in appropriately tailoring specific solutions to their longevity within social dynamics. Design should be sensitive to the context of the present but must not forget what shapes the future. This requires courage, reflection, and a willingness to ask questions that may be uncomfortable—both for clients and for ourselves. And perhaps it’s crucial to cultivate a skeptical approach to the system we operate in while also fostering it toward our personal actions.

Visual design doesn’t have to be merely a tool to meet market needs. It can and should be a space for initiating change, building new narratives, and responding to deeper social needs. But to achieve this, we must stop focusing solely on what is trendy and start noticing what is truly significant. Otherwise, design will remain a beautiful but empty gesture towards, let’s face it, big capital. And yet, it can be so much more.