There’s a moment in a designer’s career when the centre of gravity shifts. Early on, the work is vertical. You focus on a feature, a flow, a specific screen. Success looks like shipping something self-contained and polished. But eventually you start seeing past individual pages. You notice the connective tissue. You realise the real work — the work that makes products feel inevitable — happens horizontally.

Horizontal systems work lives in the layers users don’t consciously register: the surfaces and the patterns that quietly set expectations. It’s the logic of spacing, the rhythm of typography, the weight of icons, the structure of navigation, the behaviours that repeat and accumulate until they become a product’s signature. It’s not one screen but the consistency between fifty of them. It’s not the shine of a new feature but the feeling that every part of the product speaks the same language.

This type of work asks a different question: not What is the solution? but What is the underlying system? You start designing rules, not just outcomes. You think in patterns, not pages. You build surfaces that act like foundations — platforms for features you haven’t even imagined yet. It’s slower, deeper, more strategic. It demands taste, restraint, and a willingness to solve problems that no one else can name but everyone else feels.

And when it’s done well, it becomes invisible. Users don’t thank you for coherent spacing or a predictable drawer behaviour. But they move faster. They trust the product. They feel the craft without having to look for it.

This is the kind of work I want to do next.