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September 8, 2025·5 min read

Taste is a skill

The gap between knowing something is off and knowing why. On calibrating your eye the way you calibrate any other instrument.

Early in my career I believed taste was issued at birth, like eye color — some people simply saw what looked right and the rest of us compensated with grids. Then I watched a designer I admire spend forty minutes nudging a line-height by single pixels, narrating the whole time, and realized I was not watching talent. I was watching training.

Taste is pattern recognition, and pattern recognition is built the same way everywhere: exposure, comparison, feedback, repeat. Ira Glass called the starting condition the gap — your judgment is ahead of your output, so everything you make disappoints you. The gap is not the problem. The gap is the curriculum.

Practicing on purpose

What closed the distance for me was never inspiration; it was reps with narration:

  • Collect ruthlessly. Keep a folder of interfaces that feel right, and revisit it until you can say what they share.
  • Copy to learn. Rebuild a screen you admire, pixel for pixel. Your hands will find decisions your eyes skated past — the asymmetric padding, the second-smallest font size doing all the work.
  • Name what you see. "Off" is a feeling; "the label is closer to the field below than the one it owns" is a skill. Forcing the sentence forces the seeing.
  • Study the misses too. When something feels cheap, stay with it long enough to find the reason. Diagnosis is taste running in reverse.

Why this matters for engineers

Engineers are told, mostly by omission, that this is not their department. But taste in interfaces is like taste in code — nobody questions that a senior engineer can smell a bad abstraction, and that smell was trained by ten thousand readings. The visual sense trains identically, and an engineer who has both stops needing a designer to notice that something is wrong. They only need one for the hard part: what to do about it.

The eye is an instrument. Instruments drift, and instruments calibrate.

Ten years in, things still look wrong to me daily. The difference is that wrongness now arrives with a sentence attached, and a sentence is something you can act on. That is all taste ever was — noticing, with vocabulary.