Ivan Alonso, Associate Creative Director at Handsome—a holistic experience design agency—embodies a seamless fusion of artistry, strategic thought, and cultural awareness. From his home studio, Ivan crafts immersive brand ecosystems, collaborates with emerging and established companies, and documents life through film photography. After hours, he’s often immersed in ambient sound design, hands-on film development, or contributing his time and energy to local arts organizations.
Spanning years of agency and in-house experience across the Midwest and the West Coast, Ivan’s journey is far from linear. His multifaceted background includes building intricate brand systems, creating experiential touchpoints, and designing visual narratives that bridge the commercial and the deeply personal. Ivan's approach to design is anchored not only in aesthetics but in ethical consideration and social awareness—a mindset continuously nourished by a handful of deeply influential books. Here, he shares the five titles that have left an indelible imprint on his creative philosophy and professional evolution.
Bridging Creativity and Strategy – The Brand Gap by Marty Neumeier
When I first encountered The Brand Gap, I was at a crossroads in my career—a moment where artistic ambition began to collide with commercial expectations. I had spent years honing my visual language, mastering tools, and developing campaigns, yet I often felt the work lacked strategic depth. There was a noticeable dissonance between beautiful output and meaningful brand outcomes. This book provided the conceptual scaffolding I didn’t realize I was missing.
What makes Marty Neumeier’s writing exceptional is not just its clarity, but its capacity to demystify the complex terrain of branding. For many designers, especially those early in their journey, the term "brand strategy" can feel elusive or even intimidating. Neumeier systematically dismantles that fear. Rather than positioning branding as a corporate monolith, he humanizes it—describing it not as logos, typefaces, or color palettes, but as the emotional shorthand between an audience and an organization.
The core premise is deceptively simple: a brand is not what a company says it is—it’s what people say it is. This insight changed the way I approach every design brief. It introduced the notion that creative output must be built on a framework of perception, alignment, and storytelling. Without a unifying narrative or emotional core, even the most polished aesthetics fall flat. The Brand Gap doesn’t offer formulas; it offers mental models, adaptable across industries, mediums, and audiences.
Understanding the Emotional Engine of Brands
One of the most compelling concepts explored in the book is the emotional engine that drives successful branding. Neumeier presents the idea that people don’t buy products—they buy feelings, associations, and meanings attached to those products. A brand, in this context, becomes a vessel for trust, belief, and shared identity. As I internalized this idea, my approach to design matured. No longer was I simply generating visuals—I was crafting emotive ecosystems that spoke directly to human psychology.
This emotional underpinning is especially relevant in an era dominated by digital interfaces, algorithmic engagement, and fragmented attention spans. The modern consumer doesn’t engage with a brand once; they interact with it repeatedly across diverse channels, forming a constellation of impressions. What this book teaches is how to choreograph those impressions so they reinforce a singular, authentic identity. Consistency becomes more than aesthetic; it becomes behavioral, experiential, and ultimately, emotional.
It encouraged me to lean into storytelling as a core design tool. Every element—from typography to motion graphics—became an extension of narrative. If the brand’s voice is empathetic, the typography needed to be warm, the imagery relatable. If the voice is confident, perhaps the layout must reflect clarity and boldness. This emotional calculus became a crucial part of my design process, shifting my role from decorator to interpreter of meaning.
The Intersection of Intuition and Logic in Creative Work
Neumeier’s genius lies in his ability to reconcile the creative impulse with strategic rigor. He doesn’t advocate for choosing between logic and intuition—he argues for their synthesis. This balance is something I struggled with early on. Like many young creatives, I often found myself protective of aesthetic choices, clinging to instinct while dismissing strategic critique as restrictive.
However, The Brand Gap recontextualized strategy not as limitation but as liberation. Strategy offers clarity, and clarity empowers creativity to flourish with purpose. A well-articulated brand strategy gives creative professionals the parameters they need to experiment with confidence. Knowing the “why” behind the design choices imbues the work with relevance, cohesion, and staying power.
This intersection of left and right brain thinking is one of the book’s most profound contributions. In the studio, it allowed me to speak fluently with marketing teams, product leads, and executive stakeholders. I could translate visual ideas into measurable business impact, bridging the gap between inspiration and execution. It elevated not only the quality of my work but also its credibility.
The book also introduced me to the concept of differentiation as a brand’s lifeline. Neumeier insists that if you’re not different, you’re invisible. That stark observation led me to question how I could infuse uniqueness into every project. Was the visual identity merely aesthetically pleasing, or did it carve a recognizable niche in a crowded market? Was the tone of voice truly resonant, or was it a generic echo of competitors? These questions became foundational.
Enduring Influence and Real-World Application
Years after first reading The Brand Gap, its impact continues to inform the way I mentor junior designers, build brand systems, and engage with clients. It taught me that good design doesn't start in Illustrator or Figma—it begins in understanding, in empathy, in the nuances of human connection. Before wireframes, before mockups, comes alignment: between company values, audience needs, and the promises a brand dares to make.
This alignment is not a one-time achievement—it’s an ongoing practice. Every new campaign, touchpoint, or product launch is an opportunity to reinforce or erode that brand perception. What this book drives home is the idea that branding is not static; it’s a living, breathing dialogue with the world. Designers, therefore, are not just artists or technicians—they are cultural interpreters, narrative engineers, and architects of trust.
Even beyond visual identity, the book encourages expansive thinking. It nudges creatives to consider user experience, tone of communication, customer service interactions, and even company culture as integral to the brand. This 360-degree view has been instrumental in helping me guide cross-functional teams and align multidisciplinary efforts into a cohesive brand expression.
In retrospect, The Brand Gap arrived in my life not just as a resource, but as a paradigm shift. It provided language for instincts I couldn’t yet articulate and frameworks for problems I hadn’t fully grasped. It made me realize that branding is not just about recognition—it’s about resonance.
The Blueprint of Modern Design – Towards a New Architecture by Le Corbusier
Le Corbusier’s Towards a New Architecture is not just a seminal text—it is a declaration of intent, a philosophical manifesto disguised as architectural theory. When I first encountered this body of work, it was immediately apparent that his vision extended far beyond bricks and mortar. This wasn’t merely a collection of design principles—it was an articulation of how built environments shape human behavior, social systems, and the spirit of an age.
What continues to mesmerize me about Le Corbusier is his polymathic instinct. He refused to confine himself to the rigid title of "architect." Instead, he moved fluidly between disciplines—painting, poetry, photography, industrial design—embodying a broader, interdisciplinary vision that many contemporary designers now strive for. His thoughts reflected a mind capable of perceiving patterns across different domains and distilling them into unified architectural propositions.
Reading Towards a New Architecture feels like being granted access to a creative consciousness that sees no boundaries between functionality and beauty, between utility and poetry. It’s a text that insists on clarity, order, and efficiency—yet remains steeped in artistic aspiration. It rejects ornamentation for ornamentation’s sake but embraces a kind of expressive minimalism that feels just as rich as any decorative excess.
A Vision for Human-Centered Spatial Thinking
Le Corbusier’s work is often viewed through the lens of modernist innovation, but what makes this book endure is its deep commitment to the human condition. He did not see architecture as an isolated discipline. Rather, he viewed it as an armature for life itself—a system that could elevate the human experience if treated with intentionality. This book is suffused with ideas about proportion, rhythm, light, and movement, yet these are always presented in relation to the needs of real people inhabiting real spaces.
He introduced the concept of vertical urbanism, advocating for high-rise living not as a compromise, but as a pathway to healthier, more organized societies. His belief in rooftop gardens, wide boulevards, and open interiors challenged prevailing norms and invited designers to envision a built environment that fosters wellbeing, not merely shelter. Reading his essays, I was particularly struck by his calls for spaciousness—not just physical, but psychological. He saw homes and cities as containers for human potential.
This human-centered perspective profoundly influenced my approach to both physical and digital environments. The ways people move, interact, pause, and transition through spaces became central to how I now design user experiences, spatial narratives, and brand activations. Whether working on a retail concept or digital interface, I’ve found Le Corbusier’s philosophies surprisingly adaptable. His prioritization of flow, clarity, and modularity echoes in every wireframe, layout, and customer journey I help craft.
Design Principles Rooted in Function and Foresight
Among the most influential declarations within Towards a New Architecture is Le Corbusier’s rallying cry that “a house is a machine for living in.” Though often misunderstood or taken out of context, this phrase is a powerful metaphor for a broader ethos—one that prizes function without forfeiting elegance. He was not reducing life to mechanics; he was elevating the idea that design should be engineered to serve, support, and inspire the rhythms of daily life.
In today’s fast-evolving design landscape, where technology rapidly redefines interaction and consumption patterns, this utility-driven framework is more vital than ever. Le Corbusier’s modernist insistence on simplicity, repetition, and logical organization can be observed in the DNA of everything from mobile apps to branding systems. His influence permeates not just physical structures but also the digital architectures we now inhabit.
What I find most relevant to contemporary creative practice is how his methodology encourages us to anticipate—not merely respond to—future societal shifts. He was acutely aware of urban expansion, population density, and industrial growth, and his designs were positioned to address these inevitabilities. That mindset—designing not just for the now but for the imminent—continues to resonate with me in brand development and experience design. It’s not enough to react to trends; we must create frameworks that remain flexible and resilient over time.
This foresight fosters a kind of sustainable creativity. Instead of designing for ephemeral beauty, Le Corbusier teaches us to invest in enduring clarity. This has guided me toward solutions that are adaptable yet deeply anchored in purpose—solutions that evolve with user needs without losing their core identity.
Revisiting Timeless Ideas in a Rapidly Changing World
What makes Towards a New Architecture so valuable is that it rewards repeated reading. Each time I revisit its pages, I uncover new nuances that connect directly to my current projects or design inquiries. Whether I’m conceptualizing a minimalist packaging system or developing a spatial experience for a brand activation, the principles embedded in Le Corbusier’s writing offer a compass. They urge me to ask essential questions: Is this solution humane? Is it scalable? Is it truthful?
Design is, at its core, a response to context. And while our tools, technologies, and platforms continue to shift, the underlying human needs—comfort, inspiration, connection—remain remarkably consistent. Le Corbusier’s work helps me bridge that paradox. His commitment to timelessness in design does not resist change; it prepares for it. He saw the future not as a threat, but as a canvas. And he believed that, with rigor and imagination, we could shape that canvas with care and coherence.
This kind of thinking is invaluable for today’s multidisciplinary designers. It empowers us to move beyond short-term fixes and toward visionary systems. Systems that honor the subtleties of human emotion while embracing the efficiencies of modern production. Systems that invite people to dwell—not just in physical spaces, but in meaningful brand narratives, product ecosystems, and experiential environments.
Rethinking the Visual Narrative – Ways of Seeing by John Berger
When I first read Ways of Seeing by John Berger, it was assigned in a visual studies course during art school. At the time, I didn’t realize I was about to unlock an entirely new way of experiencing and creating visual culture. What began as an academic reading assignment quickly became a philosophical framework—one that would go on to influence not just my design work, but the very lens through which I interpret the world.
Berger doesn't just teach you to look at art; he challenges you to see—to become aware of what influences your perception, what shapes your interpretations, and who ultimately holds the power in visual communication. Through this seminal text, I came to understand that images are never neutral. Whether intentional or incidental, they carry ideological narratives and reinforce particular worldviews. Berger’s radical proposal is simple yet transformative: every visual artifact exists within a socio-political framework, and to truly understand it, we must engage critically with its context.
As a designer and visual storyteller, this revelation permanently reshaped how I approach composition, framing, symbolism, and messaging. Every brand photograph, every digital interface, every campaign narrative carries subtext—often reflecting values, assumptions, and cultural norms. Berger invites us to question those norms, to reconsider the default settings of visual culture, and to design with conscious intent.
Unpacking the Politics of the Gaze
One of the most profound contributions Berger makes in Ways of Seeing is his deconstruction of the gaze—specifically, how power is distributed through the act of looking. He draws on the tradition of art criticism but reinvents it, exposing how traditional perspectives have often been male-dominated and Eurocentric. He articulates how women have been historically portrayed not as subjects but as objects, framed for consumption rather than for complexity.
This idea—the politics of the gaze—has become an essential principle in my creative work, especially in brand photography and visual storytelling. It reminded me that representation is not a passive act. Choosing who is shown, how they are shown, and in what context is inherently political. This applies not just to editorial or art photography, but also to advertising, product design, and even UI elements.
When designing visual narratives for brands, I began questioning whose stories were being elevated and whose were being erased. Was I replicating traditional hierarchies? Was I unintentionally excluding certain identities? Berger gave me the vocabulary and confidence to challenge these patterns—not through reactionary critique, but through intentional design choices.
This sensitivity to perspective has opened new dimensions in how I approach inclusive branding. Rather than defaulting to the most marketable or visually conventional option, I now consider broader implications. Does this image reinforce stereotypes? Does it simplify lived experiences? Ways of Seeing compels us to elevate authenticity over convenience.
Design as a Medium for Critical Dialogue
Designers are often taught to solve problems, streamline experiences, and delight users. While these goals are valuable, Berger’s philosophy adds a deeper layer: that design can also provoke, challenge, and deconstruct. Ways of Seeing posits that every visual output is also a form of discourse, a message embedded in aesthetic form. For me, this reframed design not as a neutral service, but as a narrative tool with transformative potential.
In client projects, this manifests in subtle but impactful ways. When working on brand identity, I no longer ask only what a company looks like—I ask what it stands for and how that translates visually. In campaign strategy, I interrogate how imagery might subconsciously shape viewers' beliefs or behaviors. Even in typography or iconography, I reflect on symbolism, on resonance, and on cultural baggage embedded in design systems.
This shift in mindset doesn’t slow down creativity—it enriches it. It pushes the creative process beyond decoration into intention. By allowing space for tension, contrast, and critique within visual storytelling, I find the work often resonates more deeply. Audiences today are incredibly visually literate; they sense when something is authentic, and they also sense when it isn’t. Berger’s work provides a framework for designing with transparency and sincerity.
Ways of Seeing also validated the act of questioning within a professional setting. Where previously I may have hesitated to push back against a brief or suggest a more nuanced approach, Berger gave me the confidence to bring critical theory into commercial practice. Not every project allows for disruption—but every designer can bring awareness to the table.
The Enduring Relevance of Visual Literacy
We live in a visually saturated world. From social media scrolls to digital ads, brand billboards to augmented reality filters, we are constantly interfacing with designed visuals. In such a landscape, the ability to understand and critique images is not optional—it’s essential. Berger’s Ways of Seeing equips creatives with the tools to navigate this complexity with clarity and ethical awareness.
Even years after my first reading, I return to the book as a touchstone. It reminds me that visuals are cultural artifacts, and as designers, we are cultural producers. This carries an implicit responsibility. Our role isn’t simply to make things beautiful or functional; it’s to make them meaningful, responsible, and honest. The decisions we make about imagery, tone, and visual hierarchy all contribute to broader narratives that shape public imagination.
In educational settings, I’ve also recommended Ways of Seeing to young creatives and students. It bridges the gap between aesthetic analysis and social consciousness, between theory and application. It’s one of those rare books that doesn’t just age well—it becomes more urgent over time. As new technologies like AI-generated images, deepfakes, and immersive media redefine what is real, the questions Berger asked decades ago become more critical.
Staying Grounded in a Creative Career – How to be a Graphic Designer, Without Losing Your Soul by Adrian Shaughnessy
In the unpredictable landscape of the creative industry, where innovation is relentless and comparison is constant, Adrian Shaughnessy’s How to be a Graphic Designer, Without Losing Your Soul stands out as a rare compass. It is both sobering and supportive—equal parts mentorship and manifesto. I first encountered this book during my earliest days as a junior designer, at a time when I was immersed in the excitement of the profession yet riddled with uncertainty about my direction.
What this book offered me then—and continues to offer now—is a deep sense of clarity. It acknowledges the unspoken pressures of the design industry: the glamorization of burnout, the ambiguity of freelance independence, the awkwardness of negotiating your worth, and the internal conflict between art and commerce. Where most resources focus on technique or portfolio-building, Shaughnessy zooms out and addresses the person behind the pixels.
He makes space for the messy, human side of being a creative professional—the self-doubt, the imposter syndrome, the ethical dilemmas. In doing so, he redefines success not as popularity or prestige, but as alignment: the consistent reconciliation of your values with your professional path. This book gave me the language to not only navigate the business side of design, but to stay grounded in who I am while doing so.
Cultivating Ethics in a Commercial Environment
A key lesson embedded throughout this book is the idea that ethics are not optional—they are essential. The creative industry, while often romanticized, can be riddled with grey areas. From unpaid pitches to speculative work, from over-promising to under-delivering, the line between survival and exploitation is often blurry. Shaughnessy confronts these issues head-on, offering guidance that is both principled and pragmatic.
One of the most transformative ideas he shares is that designers are not just executors of client requests; they are consultants, advisors, and collaborators. That distinction empowers you to have a voice in the room, to push back when necessary, and to advocate for ideas that serve both creative quality and ethical responsibility. I began approaching client relationships with a different posture—not one of subordination, but of mutual respect and shared accountability.
This shift influenced how I price my work, how I structure timelines, and how I determine whether to accept a project at all. I began prioritizing partnerships where alignment of values was just as important as creative freedom. In practical terms, this has helped prevent burnout, foster stronger collaborations, and produce more meaningful results. In philosophical terms, it has helped me preserve my creative spirit.
Shaughnessy also explores the responsibilities designers have in shaping culture. Whether consciously or not, every campaign, logo, or interface contributes to public narratives. This awareness encouraged me to be intentional about the kinds of messages I promote and the industries I serve. Ethics, for me, became not a set of rules to follow, but a living conversation with my work.
The Freelance Path and the Studio Mindset
Another invaluable aspect of this book is its exploration of two dominant career paths in design: freelance and studio practice. Shaughnessy doesn’t prescribe one over the other. Instead, he lays out the truths, myths, and nuances of each, allowing readers to decide which path best suits their temperament, ambition, and lifestyle.
His treatment of freelance life is particularly instructive. He doesn’t romanticize independence but instead reveals the logistical, financial, and emotional reality of working for yourself. Time management, cash flow, networking, and self-discipline are all examined with honesty. I found these insights extremely helpful when I transitioned into freelance consulting. The advice prepared me for the often invisible labor that comes with creative autonomy: proposal writing, client education, and long-term relationship building.
On the other side of the coin, Shaughnessy examines studio culture—its potential for creative synergy, mentorship, and resource sharing, but also its potential pitfalls, such as office politics and hierarchical stagnation. Reading his perspective helped me become more discerning in the kinds of work environments I choose to participate in. It taught me how to contribute meaningfully in team settings while maintaining a strong personal vision.
This dual understanding of freelance versus studio dynamics has been essential in shaping my hybrid career. I’ve moved fluidly between agency roles, in-house positions, and independent consulting, but with a consistent internal compass. The book doesn’t just help you find your place in the industry—it empowers you to define it on your own terms.
Sustaining Creativity Without Losing Yourself
Burnout is a frequent topic in creative circles, yet few resources approach it with the nuance and care that Shaughnessy does. He recognizes that creativity is not an endless reservoir—it requires rest, renewal, and boundaries. His reflections on self-preservation struck a deep chord with me, especially during periods when I felt stretched thin by deadlines, revisions, and client expectations.
One of the book’s enduring gifts is its validation of introspection. Shaughnessy encourages readers to periodically reevaluate their goals, motivations, and definitions of success. This ongoing process of self-inquiry has become a cornerstone of my creative maintenance. When I begin to feel disconnected from my work, I return to the central question the book poses: “What do I stand for as a designer?”
This question has helped me weather the noise of trends, competition, and career pressure. It’s also prompted me to diversify my creative outlets—experimenting with analog photography, sound design, and mentoring younger designers—all of which feed my primary design practice with renewed energy and insight. The idea isn’t to isolate your career from your personal growth, but to let the two evolve in harmony.
Shaughnessy doesn’t pretend that maintaining your soul in this industry is easy. What he offers, instead, is the reassurance that it’s possible. Through honest storytelling, clear advice, and hard-earned wisdom, he creates space for designers to define success not by industry standards, but by personal integrity. And in doing so, he leaves behind not just a guidebook, but a philosophy.
Designing with Purpose – Design for the Real World by Victor Papanek
Victor Papanek’s Design for the Real World fundamentally reshaped my definition of what design could—and should—be. I encountered it during a university course focused on design advocacy, fresh off an internship with a studio committed to social innovation. The timing was impeccable. This book validated and amplified a growing belief in me: that design is not a luxury, but a responsibility.
Papanek’s writing is unflinching. He doesn’t shy away from indicting the industry’s complicity in consumerism and ecological harm. Instead, he charts a course toward conscientious creativity—design that uplifts, empowers, and sustains. His arguments for inclusive, human-centered, and ecologically aware design still influence the way I think about brand development and product systems.
This book constantly reminds me that our work exists within broader systems—economic, environmental, cultural—and that we have the agency to design against exploitation. It’s a guide for anyone who believes design should solve real problems, not just aesthetic ones.
An Evolving Design Ethos Rooted in Reflection and Responsibility
Ivan Alonso’s curated booklist isn’t merely a snapshot of personal inspiration—it’s a roadmap for a meaningful creative practice. These books reflect an ethos that prizes critical thinking, cultural awareness, and ethical engagement. They have helped him navigate a landscape where the creative, the commercial, and the communal intersect in increasingly complex ways.
From The Brand Gap’s lessons in strategic clarity to Design for the Real World’s impassioned plea for social responsibility, each title offers something beyond instruction—they offer transformation. These books encourage us to not just refine our craft, but to deepen our convictions. They prompt us to question who we design for, how we communicate value, and what legacies our work will leave behind.
In a time when design trends shift faster than we can prototype, Ivan’s reflections remind us that a designer’s impact is measured not only by deliverables, but by the values embedded within them. It’s a reminder that great design isn’t just about what we make—it’s about how, why, and for whom we make it.
Final Thoughts
The creative journey is never linear—it’s a mosaic of influences, experiences, and evolving intentions. For Ivan Alonso, this journey has been deeply enriched and continually reshaped by the books that have offered him not only design insights but also critical lenses through which to examine his role in the industry. These five works—each distinct in focus but united in depth—form a framework for both professional excellence and personal integrity.
In a world that increasingly values rapid iteration, attention-grabbing visuals, and algorithmic optimization, returning to foundational texts like these can be grounding. They serve as intellectual anchors amid the volatility of trends, client demands, and market shifts. More importantly, they reinforce the belief that design isn’t just about aesthetics or output—it’s about responsibility, cultural sensitivity, and long-term impact.
Ivan’s reading list emphasizes that creativity should not exist in isolation. Whether it’s Marty Neumeier encouraging designers to embrace business realities, John Berger challenging the political implications of imagery, or Victor Papanek insisting that design must serve humanity, these authors champion a broader, more conscientious perspective. This aligns powerfully with Ivan’s ethos as a creative director—his commitment to empathy, ethics, and meaningful contribution in every project he touches.
As technology evolves and industries continue to blur the lines between art, commerce, and social change, designers are in a unique position to influence not just products, but perceptions. The books Ivan has drawn from act as compasses for that responsibility, guiding him—and those who follow in his footsteps—toward thoughtful, intentional, and impactful design practice.
Ultimately, the lessons found in these texts encourage creatives to do more than solve problems; they invite them to question which problems are worth solving in the first place. They push designers to navigate their careers not by following formulas, but by cultivating curiosity, nurturing awareness, and committing to work that resonates beyond the brief.
These books are more than inspiration—they are companions for the long road of creative growth. And for Ivan Alonso, they are essential tools for a design practice rooted in authenticity, innovation, and humanity.
