Creative Direction Is Not Personal Taste

The most dangerous phrase in a creative meeting isn’t “it doesn’t work”.

It’s “I like it”.

I’ve heard it used to approve products that had nothing to do with the brand and to reject sound ideas simply because they didn’t match the taste of the person with the most authority in the room. In both cases, the discussion ended too soon.

Taste matters. It would be absurd to deny it in a profession built around shapes, colours, materials and images. But personal taste answers a private question: “Would I choose this for myself?” Creative direction has to answer less comfortable ones.

Does this product belong to the brand? Is it speaking to the right customer? Can the team develop it without losing the original idea? Can the supplier deliver the required quality, cost and timing? Will the sales network know how to sell it? Will the communication show the product as it really is?

Sometimes the colour everyone likes most is the wrong one.

From the Drawing Board to the P&L

In 1994, I was working as a designer on total-look collections. My work stayed close to the product: research, design, materials, fittings and conversations with pattern makers and production teams. A single garment could demand my full attention for days.

Over the following years, as I moved through coordination and product management roles, my remit expanded. The individual garment didn’t disappear, but it began to coexist with assortments, categories, price bands, sales, licences, suppliers and delivery dates.

A strong idea might not withstand the demands of two collections a year. A detail that worked beautifully on a prototype could become unstable in production. A choice that looked perfect in a photograph could complicate the fit or push the product beyond its target price.

These aren’t exceptions. They’re the job.

When you oversee six collections and more than 150,000 garments developed and sold in a year, taste is no longer enough. Not because it becomes less important, but because it can’t be replicated as a method. A company can’t depend each time on someone’s mood, the latest saved image or whoever is best at defending a personal preference.

I’ve seen beautiful moodboards produce collections with no hierarchy. Everything worked on the wall: colours, photographs, textures and cultural references. Then the garments arrived, and there was no clear reason to choose one product over another.

The mood had survived. The collection, less so.

A Creative Director Doesn’t Always Have to Be Right

A creative director doesn’t coordinate designers alone. They bring together people who view the same product from different positions.

The designer protects the idea. The pattern maker sees construction and fit. The supplier understands the limitations of the material and production process. The sales team hears buyers’ objections. Marketing looks for an image capable of attracting attention. Finance reminds everyone that each decision has a cost, usually at the least poetic moment in the meeting.

None of them has the complete answer alone.

Coordination doesn’t mean looking for a solution everyone likes. That solution usually doesn’t exist. It means understanding which observation genuinely changes the decision and which comes from habit, fear or personal taste disguised as objective fact.

A typical discussion might begin with a special wash. The designer considers it essential. The supplier warns that the result changes from one production batch to another. Sales is concerned about the price. Communications wants it because it works in photographs.

Creative direction doesn’t choose the most creative voice. It decides what the product can’t afford to lose, which risks are acceptable and where to intervene so the original idea survives production.

Sometimes the wash stays and something else is simplified. Sometimes the supplier changes. Sometimes the idea is dropped. The final decision doesn’t always satisfy everyone. Keeping everyone happy, after all, isn’t included in the bill of materials.

The Seven Coherences Test

Over the years, I’ve reduced many collection reviews to seven questions. I call them the Seven Coherences Test. It isn’t a mathematical formula and it doesn’t produce an automatic answer. It helps identify the point where a creative decision starts to contradict the project.

1. Identity coherence:** if the logo were removed, would the product still be recognisable as belonging to the brand?

2. Customer coherence:** does it answer a genuine desire, or only reflect what the team likes?

3. Product coherence:** do the material, fit, construction and details make the same promise?

4. Operational coherence:** can suppliers and production teams replicate the result at the required volume and within the agreed timing?

5. Commercial coherence:** do the price, assortment and distribution give the product a realistic chance of being chosen?

6. Communication coherence:** do the images show the product, or do they have to compensate for what it lacks?

7. Economic coherence:** does the margin allow the company to sustain that decision after the excitement of the sample collection has passed?

One negative answer doesn’t necessarily mean the project should stop. It identifies the point where a decision is needed. When four or five answers are negative, we often aren’t protecting a creative idea. We’re protecting the time already spent on it.

This test comes from experience in different contexts with surprisingly similar problems. The customer, price and channel change. The distance between what we imagined and what we could deliver always returns.

Intuition Comes First. Method Remains Afterwards

I don’t believe creativity should be turned into a procedure. The best ideas rarely appear because someone filled in a spreadsheet correctly.

Intuition recognises a signal before it becomes obvious. It can spot the return of a proportion, sense that a colour is becoming tired or understand that customers want something they still don’t know how to name. People who have worked in the industry for many years develop this sensitivity, even when they can’t always explain where it comes from.

The problem begins when experience is used to end the discussion: “Trust me, I know.”

Experience should do the opposite. It should help us ask better questions and recognise the consequences of a decision sooner.

In licensing projects, for example, intuition has to coexist with an identity that doesn’t entirely belong to us. Creating a beautiful product isn’t enough. We need to understand how far the brand can be pushed without making it unrecognisable. Private label changes the situation again: the product often has to work without the protection of a powerful name and within commercial constraints defined in advance.

In both cases, method prevents intuition from becoming arbitrary.

Coherence Doesn’t Mean Repetition

Coherence is sometimes interpreted as an invitation to repeat whatever has already worked. The same colours, the same products, the same campaign with a different model and a chair moved half a metre.

That isn’t coherence. It’s caution, dressed well.

A strong identity can change its language without losing recognition. It can introduce a category, alter a proportion or surprise the customer. Creative direction has to understand which codes can move and which ones hold the brand together.

It isn’t always obvious.

Some collections follow every guideline and still feel foreign. Others push colours, volumes and styling while retaining a deeper precision. Coherence doesn’t live only in the repetition of visual elements. It lives in the kind of decisions the brand makes.

That’s why it carries responsibility. If the product, campaign and shop floor tell three different stories, the customer shouldn’t have to reconstruct the brand’s identity alone. Yet it happens.

I still remember meetings where the sample remained on the table while the discussion drifted elsewhere: the colour of the season, a competitor, an unexpected sale, a delayed supplier. They sounded like digressions. Sometimes one of those details changed the way we looked at the garment. On other occasions, we left the room without resolving anything.

That, too, is part of the job. Creative direction doesn’t always produce an elegant answer before the meeting ends.

Someone says, “I like it.”

Someone else replies, “I don’t.”

I’m still waiting for the third sentence, the one that brings the product back to the brand, the customer, the numbers and the people who will have to make it.

Can we still tell the difference between personal taste and creative direction?

Romina Tosi

www.linkedin.com/in/romina-tosi-tatastyle

Disclaimer

The views expressed above represent my personal interpretation of publicly available information and, like any interpretation, may be shared, debated, or challenged.

The information referenced comes from public sources available at the time of publication, including official documents, union communications, press articles, and materials accessible to anyone. I do not disclose confidential information or facts learned through privileged access. I do not reveal protected information, nor do I attribute unlawful conduct to individuals or companies.

Any reference to specific cases is intended solely to provide context and analyze dynamics affecting the broader industry. It is not intended to target individuals or particular businesses.

Observations regarding industrial strategies, financial decisions, and production models fall within the right to express opinions and commentary on matters of public interest. They remain personal assessments, not definitive judgments.

Not all companies operate in the same way. Alongside businesses that may deserve criticism, there are many others that work with seriousness, consistency, and long-term vision.

If you notice any errors or inaccuracies, please let me know. I will be happy to review and correct them where necessary.

The purpose of this reflection is to encourage discussion and debate, not to cause harm to individuals, companies, or organizations.