Are we designing workplaces that merely preserve our comfort?
Or are we designing environments where the next generation can flourish without first having to prove they belong?
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Last week’s Meander (Upside Down Draftsman) reflected on the extraordinary life and career of Paul R. Williams—an architect whose talent, discipline, and social intelligence earned him a literal and figurative seat at the design industry table. His story is often told as one of triumph: a gifted professional whose work was so refined, so undeniably excellent, that the industry could not ignore him.
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But if we are honest, that telling is incomplete.
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His brilliance may have secured him a chair—but what happens when the table itself is guarded? And what happens when inclusion is defined not by contribution, but by conformity?

These questions are not relics of the past. They are alive in our studios, our firms, and our professional organizations today.

A Seat at the Table — and Who Decides?

The phrase “seat at the table” suggests welcome. It implies belonging, contribution, and shared responsibility. But every table has someone who built it. Someone who decides how many chairs it holds. Someone who determines who is invited—and who is not.

In earlier eras of our profession, those decisions were often explicit. Race, access, and social barriers were not subtle. Highly capable designers learned to adapt in ways that would make many of us uncomfortable today—altering their behavior, their presence, even their posture at the drafting table—not because of any deficiency in ability, but because of a deficiency in perception.

It is tempting to relegate such realities to history. But the mechanism of exclusion rarely disappears; it simply evolves.

Today, the question is less likely to be, “May you sit here?” and more likely to be, “Will you fit here?” And that distinction matters.

The Subtle Currency of Conformity

In contemporary design culture, the gatekeeping is rarely blatant. Instead, it appears in expectations:

• “This is how we’ve always done it.”
• “You’ll understand when you have more experience.”
• “Just follow the standard.”

These phrases may be well-intended. They may even be practical. But they can also quietly communicate something else: Your voice is not yet valid.

When younger designers enter our offices, they bring with them a different cultural literacy. They are fluent in digital tools that some of us had to learn later in life. They think in layered media, cross-disciplinary references, and rapid iteration. They are often more comfortable with collaboration and transparency than hierarchy and guarded authorship.

Yet how often do we evaluate them primarily on how quickly they conform to our methods?

We may not say it aloud, but we sometimes measure young professionals not by the value of their contribution, but by the speed of their assimilation.

And that is not mentorship. That is replication.

The Risk of Replication​
Replication feels safe. It protects standards. It maintains consistency. It safeguards the legacy of a firm or institution.

But design has never advanced through replication alone.

Williams himself did not replicate. He innovated within constraint. He designed with elegance and restraint, yes—but he also responded to context with precision and empathy. His adaptability was not compliance; it was intelligence.

If we only train younger designers to reproduce our own thinking, we risk building an industry that grows older without ever growing wiser.

The challenge, then, is not to abandon standards. Standards are essential. The challenge is to distinguish between foundational principles and personal preferences.

There is a difference between teaching structural logic and demanding stylistic uniformity. There is a difference between upholding professional ethics and preserving ego.

And younger designers can feel that difference immediately.

Listening Before Leading

The most powerful shift we can make as seasoned professionals is deceptively simple: listen before leading.

When a young designer proposes an unconventional layout, our first instinct may be to correct. But what if our first question was instead, “Tell me why you chose that?”When they prioritize user experience metrics or digital modeling precision over hand sketches, we might be tempted to insist on “the old way.” But what if we asked, “What does this method allow you to see that I might not?”Listening does not surrender authority. It refines it.

True mentorship is not the act of pressing someone into our mold. It is the act of helping them discover how their particular strengths serve the profession.

Talent does not always look like tradition. It may arrive with a different accent, a different rhythm, a different approach to problem-solving. Our responsibility is not to flatten that difference, but to steward it.

Inclusion Without Investment Is Illusion

There is another danger we must confront: symbolic inclusion.

Inviting someone to the table without genuinely valuing their contribution is not inclusion—it is optics.

This can happen subtly in professional organizations, committees, and firms. A young designer may be given a seat but not a voice. They may be present, but not heard. They may be assigned tasks, but not entrusted with decisions.

In such cases, the table becomes decorative.

The deeper work of inclusion requires investment—time spent understanding strengths, opportunities offered for meaningful contribution, and trust extended before perfection is proven.

The question for us is this: are we creating pathways where excellence can be recognized in its many forms?

Or are we only recognizing excellence when it resembles our own?

The Courage to Share the Table

Perhaps the most uncomfortable truth is this: sharing the table requires surrender.

It requires acknowledging that the industry will not look exactly as we shaped it. It requires releasing some control. It requires accepting that younger designers may challenge assumptions we have long held.

But this is not loss. It is evolution.

Design is, at its core, an act of imagining a future that does not yet exist. How ironic it would be if those of us entrusted with shaping physical futures resisted the human future unfolding before us.

Younger designers are not a threat to legacy; they are its continuation.

And they will continue it differently.

Beyond the Table

Maybe the metaphor itself needs expansion.

What if the goal is not merely to secure more seats at an existing table? What if the goal is to build larger tables—or new ones entirely?

Many of the most powerful shifts in our profession have come from people who refused to accept the existing seating chart, choosing instead to create new spaces where different kinds of talent could thrive.

Our aspiration should be greater than admiration of resilience. It should be the construction of environments where resilience is not a prerequisite for participation.

In practical terms, this means:

• Creating mentorship programs that emphasize two-way learning.
• Valuing technological fluency as much as tenure.
• Encouraging experimentation within safe professional boundaries.
• Recognizing that diversity of thought strengthens, rather than weakens, cohesion.

When we move from guarding the table to expanding it, something remarkable happens: the industry grows not only in size, but in depth.

A Personal Reflection for the Profession

If we are honest, many of us can recall a moment when we were the younger designer in the room. We remember what it felt like to want to contribute—and to hesitate. We remember the tension between respect and self-expression.

The measure of our leadership today may well be found in how we respond to that same tension in others.

As designers, we are builders—not only of homes, but of cultures within our firms and institutions.

So let us ask ourselves, again:

Are we designing workplaces that merely preserve our comfort?
Or are we designing environments where the next generation can flourish without first having to prove they belong?

A seat at the table is a beginning.

But a table that welcomes, listens, and grows—that is design at its most human.

This topic will be explored more deeply at our annual D+B Conference in Cleveland later this year, where we will intentionally turn our attention toward the next generation of leadership within AIBD. A featured session, “The Future of AIBD,” will center on a dynamic panel discussion composed of some of our youngest and brightest members. These emerging professionals will candidly share their experiences as designers entering and navigating the industry, the obstacles and opportunities they have encountered, and the shifts they believe are shaping the profession. More importantly, they will offer thoughtful insight into how we, as an organization, can refine our focus, strengthen our mentorship culture, and position AIBD for meaningful growth in the years ahead.