90’s DNA
There was something about the 90s that felt a little unpredictable. Design, photography, music, television—everything seemed slightly unpolished in a way that made it feel alive. Nothing looked overly perfect, and that imperfection gave it character.
When I look back now, I realize how much of that era quietly shaped the way I see visual communication today.
Designers like David Carson were pushing things in strange directions. Layouts didn’t always behave the way people expected. Text overlapped images, letters broke apart, and sometimes the message felt emotional before it felt organized. At the time it didn’t feel like someone breaking rules—it felt like someone speaking a new visual language.
Photography had a similar spirit. Images weren’t always technically flawless. They were grainy, shadowy, sometimes messy. But that messiness felt honest. The imperfections made the work feel human.
Television had its own version of that energy. For years the MTV Video Music Awards felt less like a formal awards ceremony and more like a cultural experiment. The graphics were strange, the stage design changed constantly, and the visuals often looked like they were pulled from music videos, street art, and collage all at once. It felt chaotic in the best possible way. Seeing MTV sign off for the last time recently made me realize how much of that visual attitude came from that era.
Even brands carried that same personality. Nike apparel from the 90s had bold shapes, oversized lettering, and color combinations that felt fearless. It wasn’t subtle. It was confident and expressive, the kind of design that didn’t worry about being perfectly polished.
But the moment that really stuck with me came through music.
When I was a teenager I spent a lot of time staring at the artwork for Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins. Something about it fascinated me. I recognized the style immediately—the imagery felt like it belonged to old Renaissance paintings I had seen in books—but I couldn’t understand how the pieces had been fused together to create something completely new. It felt both ancient and modern at the same time.
That was the moment I realized visuals could do more than decorate something. They could create a mood, a world, even a mystery.
Looking around today, the world communicates very differently. Images are cleaner, faster, more refined. Everything is optimized for screens and scrolling. But sometimes I wonder if traces of that older visual spirit still exist.
You can still see hints of it in fashion that borrows 90s typography, in photography that embraces grain and shadows, or in album art that feels handmade instead of engineered. The attitude never fully disappeared—it just went quiet for a while.
Maybe every era leaves behind a kind of visual DNA. Even when styles change, the influence stays buried underneath, waiting for someone to rediscover it.
And sometimes all it takes is one old album cover, one strange TV broadcast, or one imperfect photograph to remind you where it started.