The phone vibrated again, an insistent little buzz against the table. 4:52 PM. The last sliver of afternoon sun, barely visible through the smudged office window, seemed to mock the screen’s glow. Another email. Subject: “Quick follow-up on Project Atlas”. My heart sank, a familiar, heavy feeling. My manager’s message, concise as ever, was already loading: “Great work on the report. Just pop it in a presentation. Make it look professional. Need it for the 9 AM board meeting.” A sudden, bitter taste filled my mouth, not unlike that unexpected bite of bread from earlier, the one that turned out to be… well, you get the idea. It was the taste of unasked, uncompensated labor.

This isn’t just about a late request; it’s about a widespread, insidious assumption.

A decorative flourish applied in 2 minutes, like sprinkling a final dash of something on an already cooked meal. But it’s not. It’s a skill. A distinct, often complex, and deeply undervalued skill that requires specific tools, training, and a creative eye. To demand it from someone who isn’t a designer, without providing any of the necessary resources, is to create what I’ve started calling a “competence tax.”

The Competence Tax in Action

Think about Adrian C.-P., a museum education coordinator I met at a conference last year. Adrian, a meticulous historian who could trace the provenance of a 12th-century artifact back through 22 distinct owners, found himself spending 2 hours every week wrestling with PowerPoint. His expertise was in bringing history to life, connecting dusty archives to eager students. Yet, his performance reviews often included comments about the “visual impact” of his presentations. He’d spend valuable time trying to make a basic timeline look “sleek” instead of refining the stories he was telling. He shared a story about needing 42 different iterations to get a particular graphic “just right,” only for it to be dismissed in 2 seconds. He’d get home, exhausted, feeling like a fraud, despite having dedicated 272 hours to curriculum development that quarter.

It’s a peculiar form of impostor syndrome, isn’t it? We’re judged on competencies outside our domain, often without being told what “professional” even means. Is it a specific font size? A particular color palette? The right balance of white space? Nobody says. You’re just supposed to *sense* it. It reminds me of those “spot the difference” games, except the differences are invisible to one player. And the stakes are your professional reputation.

Design vs. Decoration

This isn’t a rant against design; far from it. Good design is powerful. It clarifies, it engages, it persuades. My frustration isn’t with the value of professionalism, but with the burden of its superficial application being shifted onto shoulders ill-equipped to carry it. It’s like asking a brilliant chef to also design the restaurant’s entire interior in 2 hours. Both skills are essential for a great dining experience, but they are distinct, requiring different toolsets and training.

Some might argue, “It’s just part of the job now. Everyone needs basic design literacy.” And I agree, to a point. Basic literacy, yes. But the expectation often goes far beyond basic. It enters the realm of “design thinking” without the actual “designer” part. We’re expected to intuitively grasp principles of visual hierarchy, composition, typography, and color theory – things that professional designers spend years mastering. It’s not about being able to recognize good design; it’s about being able to produce it on demand, under pressure, with zero resources, and 2 minutes to spare. This is where the “shadow work” truly begins, eating into time that could be spent on actual core responsibilities.

The Promise of AI and Empowerment

The rise of AI tools promises a different future, a way to democratize professional visuals without demanding a degree in graphic design. Imagine Adrian, the museum education coordinator, being able to describe the “12th-century artifact timeline, minimalist design, earthy tones” and have it instantly generated, perfectly aligned, visually compelling. It removes that competence tax, allowing him to focus on what he does best: educating. The mental load of trying to make something look professional when your expertise lies elsewhere is immense. It’s a constant, low-level hum of anxiety. Tools that bridge this gap are not just conveniences; they’re liberators of creative energy. It’s about reducing the 22 different steps it often takes to get a polished image.

The industry is slowly waking up to this. There’s a growing appreciation for specialized roles, but the legacy of “just make it look good” persists. I’ve heard colleagues, brilliant strategists and analysts, express genuine distress over a looming presentation deadline, not because of the content, which they’d painstakingly crafted, but because of the “polish” required. It leads to late nights, frantic online tutorials, and ultimately, a diluted output. Their real value isn’t in their ability to manipulate shapes in a software program, but in their insights, their analysis, their strategic thinking. That’s the core product, the real gold. The visual presentation is just the packaging. And if the packaging is difficult to create, it becomes a barrier, not an enhancement. We’ve collectively spent countless billions on software and training for core skills, but often leave “design” to ad-hoc, self-taught desperation.

The True Cost of Misallocation

I recall one project where we needed a quick infographic summarizing 2,022 different data points. I spent 2 hours trying to create something visually engaging myself. It ended up looking like a confusing mess of bars and pie charts. When I finally threw in the towel and paid a freelancer $272, they produced something stunning in 2 hours. The difference was stark. It wasn’t about my lack of effort; it was about my lack of specific, trained skill. The cost of that freelancer was a fraction of the time I’d wasted, time that could have been spent refining our strategy. My initial failure wasn’t a personal flaw; it was a systemic misallocation of responsibility. We expect generalists to be specialists in every auxiliary field. It’s an unsustainable model that leads to burnout and mediocrity.

Sometimes, the mold on the bread isn’t visible until you’ve already taken a bite. You thought it was fine, just a little off-color, maybe. Then the bitter taste, the realization. The “just make it look professional” request feels a lot like that. It seems innocuous on the surface, a minor ask. But the deeper you get, the more you realize the hidden, unpleasant costs:

• ● The erosion of confidence,

• ● The wasted time,

• ● The distraction from core tasks,

• ● And the silent devaluation of true expertise.

A Call for Real Solutions

We need to acknowledge that design isn’t a mere adornment; it’s a profession. And if we want professional design, we need to either hire designers or empower our teams with truly intuitive tools that bridge the skill gap, allowing them to focus on the substance, not just the sheen.

The next time that email lands, demanding instant visual perfection, remember Adrian, remember the 42 iterations, the 272 hours, the 2 minutes. Remember the feeling of that bitter bite. It’s not about you being incompetent. It’s about a broken system, and about the growing promise of tools that offer a path to genuine empowerment, not just a superficial fix. It’s about letting people build without being forced to be master architects of every single brick. It’s about focusing on the valuable core, not just the glossy exterior, especially when time is of the essence, and your expertise lies 2,022 miles away from a design studio.