Some people close their eyes and see sunsets, dragons, or their ex’s angry face yelling about dishes.
I see black. Nothing. Just void.
I recently learned there’s a name for that: aphantasia. It’s a weirdly elegant word for “no mind’s eye.” You say “picture an apple,” and I say “what apple?” I know what an apple is. I can describe it. But imagine it? Not happening.
You’d think that’d make me terrible at web design.
You wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
I know the tools. I know the rules. But I don’t see the page.
As a full-stack developer, I can slice Figma files into pixel-perfect Tailwind components with one hand tied behind my back.
But ask me to design a landing page from scratch? Uh. Sure. Just give me… three hours, twenty divs, and a dozen false starts.
I don’t design like normal designers do. I can’t visualize a layout before I build it.
My brain doesn’t “see” anything until I physically stack the components on a screen.
It’s like trying to sculpt blindfolded—you keep poking until the shape feels right.
This isn’t modesty. This is workflow.
Think you might be like me? Here’s a dead-simple test:
Close your eyes.
Picture a red apple.
Make it shiny. Add a little sunlight. Maybe a leaf.
Now open your eyes.
Did you see an apple in your head? Like a real image?
- If yes, congrats, you’re probably normal.
- If no, welcome to the void, friend.
“Make it look good” is a terrifying request.
When a client says, “Just make it look clean and modern,” I go full existential.
Because what does “clean” look like? What does “modern” feel like?
Designers with mental imagery probably scroll through an internal Pinterest board.
I scroll through Tailwind UI docs and vibe it out.
My process looks like:
- Make a navbar.
- Hate it.
- Change the font.
- Move the button.
- Accidentally nail the spacing.
- Freeze and deploy before I ruin it.
The upside of having no mental images? Zero distraction.
I don’t waste time picturing cool animations that won’t work.
I don’t fall in love with fantasy layouts. I just build.
My brain skips the daydreaming and goes straight to trial and error.
It’s not sexy, but it’s efficient. And weirdly, it works.
I’ve shipped dozens of production apps this way. Some look pretty damn good.
Not because I imagined them that way—but because I debugged them into existence.
Do I wish I could see things in my head? Sometimes.
I wish I could sketch with my mind. I wish I could preview an idea before I build it.
But I’ve also accepted this is just how I work.
I don’t visualize — I prototype.
I don’t plan — I iterate.
I don’t see the end — I walk toward it, one section at a time.
And honestly, that’s fine.
Because at the end of the day, no one cares what you saw in your head.
They care what you built.