From BIOS Jumpers to Figma Stocks
Reflections on the journey from curious tinkerer to designer — and what it means when the tools we use become investment opportunities.
"Tap to be among the first to invest in Figma: the design tool behind countless apps, including this one."
—A recent push notification I received from an investing app.
Great, what’s in for me? Do shareholders get their feature requests merged faster?
I get it — platforms go public. In another timeline, you’d buy a wrench to build a house. In this one, the wrench sends you a push notification asking you to buy equity — in the wrench. And yes, you still need to pay for the Pro plan.
Then there’s Figma Config — or any tech conference, really. It’s no longer just a tool; it’s a vibe. A movement. And sometimes, if I’m honest, it feels a little… culty.
A self-reinforcing feedback loop where we design tools to improve tools that we design tools with. Like a Ponzi scheme — but with gradients and keynote hype instead of guaranteed returns.
I grew up taking computers apart.
Literally.
When my parents set a BIOS password to reduce screen time , I opened the case and bridged a jumper to bypass it. XP was too expensive, so I ran Linux and learned how to customize my OS. That early friction shaped the way I see digital tools: not as sealed boxes, but as systems we can understand, improve, and humanize.
I worked as an IT administrator at my school, helped elderly people organising their everyday digital life over chats, coffee, cake, pizza and wine.
That mindset led me to UX: helping others navigate technology at the root.
Instead of solving problems one-on-one, I wanted to work on software more people could benefit from — to remove friction where it originates.
When Design Was Just… Design
At 12, a neighbor who runs a medium sized software company introduced me to C#. I built games and small tools. I showed them to everyone in the office building which held multiple companies ( I just walked in. Maybe I didn’t care - maybe not realize back then). I loved the feedback loops, the fast iteration, the joy of making things that others could use.
That curiosity has never really left me.
But the design and tech world has evolved.
Today, I spend much of my time working in Figma. It’s an extraordinary tool — intuitive, collaborative, and genuinely changed how we design together. But when I got that push notification inviting me to “invest in Figma,” something gave me pause.
The Tools of the Trade Becoming the Product
It struck me: we’re not just using the tools anymore — we’re being invited to buy into them. Literally.
It’s not a bad thing. It’s part of a broader shift in how design is valued, seen, and funded. But it also reveals how blurred the line has become between practice and platform — and maybe even purpose.
In many ways, it reflects a broader macro trend:
the financialization of creativity.
As Nick Srnicek wrote in Platform Capitalism, tools today aren't just neutral instruments — they’re platforms designed to extract value from participation.
When the medium becomes the market, it’s worth asking:
What does that mean for those of us who entered design to make technology more humane, more accessible, more useful?
Part of the Machine
In many ways, modern design work feels frictionless.
My M-series MacBook stays cool no matter how many prototypes I run. AI helps me draft copy (and prototypes). Figma syncs perfectly in real time.
There’s no resistance anymore.
But there’s also less clarity about what we’re actually building — and who it’s really for.
Sometimes it feels like we’re all running on rails — productive, efficient, and just abstracted enough to forget we’re part of a machine that keeps asking for more: more metrics, more features, more engagement, more growth.
What used to feel like craft now feels like throughput.
And what used to feel like curiosity now feels like optimization.
Staying Grounded
I work in a fast-paced, international design environment. It’s exciting, challenging, and full of smart people solving real problems.
But every now and then, I think back to my younger self — the kid running Linux on salvaged hardware, helping neighbors with their printers, just excited to build something helpful.
And I wonder: how do we carry that spirit with us, even as the tools — and the stakes — evolve?
Remembering Why We Started: Design in an Age of Optimization
Maybe meaningful design today isn’t about being faster or more scalable — maybe it’s about remembering why we started.
Maybe it’s about building with care, not just speed. About keeping a little room for curiosity, even as the systems around us get more rigid and optimized.
Maybe the most radical thing we can do as designers now… is to slow down and ask who we’re really designing for — and why.
This isn't a critique of Figma, or even of companies going public — I use these tools daily, and they’ve transformed how we work. What I’m reflecting on is something subtler: how the nature of creative work is changing when the tools we use become platforms, markets, and even investment pitches.
As the job market shifts — with fewer pure design roles, more UX engineer hybrids, and rising pressure to be a “unicorn” — I’m simply wondering aloud:
What’s next for designers who got into this field to make technology more humane, not just more efficient?
Interesting reads
→ Jenny Odell – How to Do Nothing
Jenny Odell writes about the value of resisting productivity as the sole measure of meaning. That thought lingers when I think about the quiet joy of simply fixing a printer or helping someone get their email to work again.
→ Matthew Crawford – Shop Class as Soulcraft
Crawford argues that manual, skilled work has an intellectual and moral depth that’s often lost in white-collar abstraction. I think about that when comparing the satisfaction of building something real versus tweaking another layer group.
→ Ivan Illich – Tools for Conviviality
Illich believed tools should amplify human agency, not reduce it. When tools become markets, it’s worth asking: are they still ours to shape, or are we being shaped by them?