Design operates in two worlds at once. One makes people feel. The other helps them do. Schrödinger would be proud of the superposition our field embodies; a blend of emotion and logic, both striving to lead. Contradiction after contradiction, making us question if it really is that black and white.
In Creative Work as Argument, we framed design as a series of compounded arguments. We lead with emotion, then use strategy to justify our logic. In Reading the Room, we built on that, showing how every element is a cue. Meaning exists whether you intended it or not.
Do those ideas feel like they contradict each other? Good. That friction is real, and it's your job to work through it. If you can't sort the friction, your audience won't either.
Susan Sontag warns that to interpret is to impoverish. And in writing this, I’m guilty of exactly that. I’ve taken her warning and bent it into a frame for our chapter. That’s the paradox: we can’t design without interpreting. We trade what’s visceral for what’s explainable, what’s immediate for what we hope someone might decode. Sontag isn’t against meaning; she’s reminding us that analysis always risks flattening the force of experience.
This chapter isn’t about choosing sides. It’s about directing forces. You’ll learn to sequence, contrast, and braid emotion and logic so that one sharpens the other rather than dulls it. Sometimes feeling has to lead, sometimes function must. Your job is learning to sense when interpretation clarifies and when it kills the spark.
The audience doesn't care what you meant. They care what it made them feel, what it let them do, and whether the remembered you at all.
Emotion and function are often treated like opposites; like you're supposed to pick one, then justify not having the other. That framing is wrong. It forces a false binary. What you have is a spectrum, with thousands of design decisions sliding up and down its length. Not a war between two sides. A question of what comes first, and what earns the focus.
Think about any campaign, product, or brand moment that stuck with you. Did it lead with clarity, or did it lead with feeling? Did it open with proof, or did it spark something before you even understood it? How it first hit you, before you had time to interpret, is what shapes everything that follows.
So when we say emotion vs function, what we're really asking is:
That's what this chapter will help you do. First, we need language for the spectrum itself.
As soon as I mentioned “spectrum,” you probably imagined a slider. Pull toward emotion, lose function. Pull toward function, lose emotion. Land somewhere in the middle, and you’ve “balanced it.” I’m sorry to disappoint you, there is a tension here that requires more nuance.
The tension is a vital tool in design. Sometimes we resolve it loudly, with provocative proof. At other times, we let it simmer, letting feelings sit just beneath the surface. But it’s always there. One priority always ends up carrying the weight.
What matters is how deliberately you let one side outweigh the other. That choice is what shapes the work. Sometimes clarity has to dominate; sometimes feeling does. The work gains definition not by splitting the difference but by leaning with purpose.
On one end, function leads. Clarity is the value. Success means someone used it, trusted it, or completed the task without friction.
On the other end, emotion leads. Feeling is the driver. Success means that someone cared, remembered, or connected with them before they ever thought about acting.
And in between is our optimal zone. Shared, but not equal. One side may pull harder, but both still shape where the rope lands and how the work is perceived.
YYou’re trying to understand where the pressure sits, and what happens if you pull the wrong way, not trying to split the work down the middle. Once you know this, you can make informed decisions—what leads, what supports, what structure makes the whole thing land.
We’ll break this spectrum down into four working modes: ways of approaching creative decisions once you have named where the tension lives. Feel-first. Prove-first. Fusion. And finally, Sequence, putting it all together. Each one comes with its specific risks, tells, and use cases.
Let's start pulling.
Emotion leads when logic doesn't land quickly enough.
The benefit of emotion is that the reaction is instantaneous and carries throughout the whole interactive process. If you are working in a space where the audience doesn't have to care (where attention is optional, where we haven't earned trust, where logic would bounce without a spark), emotion has to go first. You cannot reason someone into caring. You have to make them feel something first.
The functional layer does not disappear; quite the opposite. Emotion invites people in, but it's only effective if there's something underneath it worth staying for. A spark without substance burns out fast. The job of emotion is to draw attention, not to replace intention.
So when should emotion lead? When launching something new, especially in a category that's stale, or when repositioning a brand or trying to change perception before behavior. These moments are begging for an emotional spark. It cues recognition about before the functional message kicks in.
It helps to read the situation like a strategist. Audience state tells you what they're ready to hear. Are they bored? Defensive? Hopeful? Emotion adjusts accordingly. Context tells you what they've already seen before, and what they're likely to ignore. Goals tell you whether you're trying to change hearts, minds, or habits, and in what order.
The best feel-first work knows what it's evoking. Not just a feeling, but what emotion and when, identifying the cues that shape a brand's personality. Whether these anchors are interest, resonance, or reflection, not everything has to happen at once, but it all has to make sense together.
We can reflect on Don Norman's three levels of emotional design, as outlined in his book "Emotional Design". In the book, he described emotion as either visceral, behavioral, or reflective.
The emotional levers we pull here allow us to use all three.
But not every situation calls for feel-first. Sometimes clarity is the urgency. Sometimes trust is a prerequesite. Emotion should be registered second, because the risk of misunderstanding is too high.
When function fails, emotion won't save you. Let's see what happens when understanding must comes first.
Function must lead when understanding is the priority.
There are moments where clarity is not optional. Times when the audience is not here to explore, feel, or reflect. The message needs to be unmissable, and the structure needs to hold.
Function is what gives form to the message. It carries the logic, and it defines the hierarchy. It ensures that what needs to be seen is seen, and that what needs to happen can happen. When something is complex, unfamiliar, or dependent on trust, the audience does not want to be charmed. They want to be reassured.
So, when should the function go first? If the action matters more than the impression, or usability is make-or-break. When the communication must work across language barriers, time pressures, accessibility constraints, or legal obligations. These are hard requirements.
Function also leads when confidence is fragile. If your audience is skeptical, rushed, or overwhelmed, an emotional appeal can come off as noise or overly assertive. Clarity builds trust. A clean interface, a simple headline, a grounded structure then earns enough breathing room for emotion to follow.
Creating function-forward design doesn't mean stripping personality. You build a structure before you add tone. You understand what the audience needs to know, what they need to do, and how quickly they need to do it. Emotion is still welcome, but it is folded into the flow, not driving it.
If Don Norman gave us the emotional tiers, we can borrow from Jakob Nielsen for the functional ones. Good function works on three fronts:
Function is not the boring choice, it is the necessary one. It respects the audience's time, focus, and finally, their decision-making process. When done well, it doesn't limit emotion; it creates the structure for it to show up with purpose.
Some work does require more than structure. Requiring both clarity and feeling, simultaneously, in the same breath is where things get harder. This is where fusion comes in.
Some situations don't let you choose, emotion and function must land together.
You're building clarity and feeling into the same unit, not building a hook, then a handoff. Structure has to inform and persuade. Tone has to guide and connect. Cues have to do both jobs at once.
Fusion is intentional, not a compromise. Every element has to carry weight from both sides. If clarity fails, trust erodes. If emotion falls flat, nothing resonates. This is where cue literacy matters. As we explored in Reading the Room, every cue is doing something. In fusion work, it's all about pulling the right levers so that emotion and function are inherently tied together, rather than operating with the expectation that the other will help guide the audience. You're not toggling between the two; you're fusing them into one experience.
Fusion requires you to work in layers. If something only does one job, it had better support something else that does both. A phrase that explains and evokes. A rhythm that builds trust while holding attention. A composition that clarifies without dulling the brand's voice.
Fusion isn cohesion and control. Knowing what lever each cue pulls, and when makes fusion the hardest mode to get right. But when it works, it just lands.
Design rarely stays in one mode, the best work shifts.
You might open with a sharp emotional cue to pull someone in, then transition to a function to lead them to act. Or start with a fused structural line that instills curiosity, then expand into feeling once the audience is grounded. Sequencing is the process of shifting moades without stalling; guiding attention and shaping meaning over time without blurring what matters.
Sequencing is where most projects break. Designers attempt to blend modes rather than respecting each element's intentional function. They are hoping everything will mix evenly. It won't. You do not need to blend. You need a rhythm.
Sequencing is the act of knowing when to switch. It's temporal, not tonal. You're staging the work in phases: hook, inform, convert, reflect, while staying in control of the emotional and functional cues each one requires. A homepage might open with feeling, lead into value, and resolve with clarity. A pitch deck might begin with an insight, build tension, and then release into proof. The point isn't modal consistency. It's an intentional progression.
Done well, sequencing is invisible. The audience does not notice the shift; they simply keep moving forward, feeling what they're supposed to feel and understanding what they need to know. If fusion is about compressing forces, sequencing is about timing them.
Sequencing reveals itself first in the writing, and after the writing in the layout. The rhythm lives in the order of ideas, the pacing of claims, and the way tone evolves from one sentence to the next. The designer's job isn't just to make the words look good; it's to help them land in the proper order, with the right emotional and functional weight. That's why you can't just plan the sequence. You have to feel if it's working.
Designers are good at spotting what's wrong with an isolated screen, sentence, or slide. But that's not where most breakdowns happen. It's the sequencing that slips, a fault in the way one idea leads into another, or doesn't.
To verify that your sequence is working, you need to test for movement. Not just "Does this element work?" but "Does it carry us where we need to go, when we need to get there?"
Every sequence starts with a cue. Ensure it's the correct one.
If it doesn't make them lean in, it's not a hook. It's just a headline.
Sequencing is an earned progression. One idea should unlock the next.
Good sequencing ends with clarity. Not just about what was said, but what stuck.
You don't have to get it perfect. But you do have to get it felt. Great sequences feel smooth and inevitable. We carry the audience, one lever at a time.
Sequencing is a strategic choice. That strategy call rarely lives in a vacuum. Sometimes the audience needs to feel something. Sometimes the business needs a result. Your job is to find where those needs align or make a deliberate tradeoff when they don't.
What are we trying to achieve?
A mood? A metric? A moment people remember? A behavior that shifts? Now cross-check that against your constraints. You're not working in theory. You're working with a budget, a timeline, a client, and a team with specific strengths.
Here's what a strategic call accounts for:
The right decision isn't always the most exciting one. But it has to be defendable. So say it out loud:
"We're leading with feeling because trust doesn't matter if they never look."
"We're opening with clarity because misunderstanding would tank the campaign."
"We're fusing because both matter and the context demands it."
If you can't make that case out loud, it probably will not hold up under pressure. Make the call. Own the tradeoff. And move forward with intention.
IKEA and McCann Tel Aviv released 3D-printable add-ons that make existing furniture usable for people with disabilities. Function leads: genuine parts, immediate utility. The emotional impact stems from empowerment and openness, rather than sentiment. Won a Black Pencil at D&AD, global press, and actual adoption. (Source)
Takeaway: sometimes the most powerful feeling is dignity, delivered through practical fixes.
Ant Forest turns carbon-saving behaviors into a game inside Alipay. Users earn "green points," grow virtual trees, and then see real trees planted in their name. Emotion is driven by pride, play, and social proof. Function (tracking, payment rails) sits underneath. By 2019, 500 million users had planted over 100 million trees. (Source)
Takeaway: If engagement is optional, spark a feeling first, then let the infrastructure scale the impact.
The government's "Unite Against COVID-19" system employed plain language, consistent visuals, and a unified voice to guide the nation. Function first: what to do, when, and why. Emotion followed through empathy and the "team of five million" frame. Result: high compliance and fast control of spread. (Source)
Takeaway: In a crisis, comprehension is the emotional strategy.
Find a Real Piece.
Pull up one thing you've made. A web page, a pitch deck, an ad, a brand video. Whatever it is, ensure it progresses through multiple cues.
Pick the Opening Frame. Look at the very first thing someone sees or hears. Write it down. Then answer: What lever is it pulling (emotion or function)? Is that the one you meant to lead with? Is it sparking interest or just filling space?
Track the Cue Order. Pick 4 moments in the flow. For each, answer: What is this trying to evoke in the audience or make them understand? What's the dominant lever: emotion, function, or fusion? Does this build from the moment before, or break the rhythm?
Name the Missed Beat. Where does the flow collapse? What moment stalls the rhythm, confuses tone, or undercuts clarity? What emotion or insight should have landed there instead?
Rewrite One Sequence. Pick three parts that currently feel out of sync. Now, re-sequence there order in a way you understand. Why this order? What does it feel like now?
Make the Out-Loud Case. Say your decision aloud, literally. "We're opening with [emotion/function] because [audience need]. We're switching at [moment] to [new cue] because [tactical reason]. We're ending on [message or mood] because [what it should stick]."
You just finished the hard part.
You can frame problems, argue choices, read cues, and now time them so they hit. That is control, not just luck.
You're directing and feeling with purpose. Function with teeth.
One more piece to lock in the foundation. Even perfect timing fails if no one remembers you. Up next: Differentiation, Distinctions, and Intersections. You've built the argument. Now let's sharpen those teeth.