Meet Siyi Jin | Graphic & Interaction designer

We had the good fortune of connecting with Siyi Jin and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Siyi, can you tell us about an impactful book you’ve read and why you liked it or what impact it had on you?
I might be the first person to go off-topic right away because what has influenced me the most, even impacting my career choice and design philosophy, is not a publication but a radio program. This radio show was produced by a Beijing-based wise comic performer I greatly admire, Mr. Yu Qian. He shares his life experiences with listeners and how these experiences have shaped his approach to life.

I believe everyone views their hometown through a special lens, and I am no different. I am from Beijing, the capital of China. If we liken it to an elephant, then we are like blind people touching this elephant. I touched the elephant’s ear and would say it’s a thin and soft animal. Another blind person touched its leg and would say it’s an upright, hard animal. Beijing is just like this. Children who grew up in Beijing and adults who strive in Beijing will have different evaluations of this city. In my eyes, Beijing is a place both relaxed and tense. The relaxation comes from its historical depth, and the tension from the immense efforts behind its rapid development.

When I first heard this radio show, I was at a confused stage in my life. I was both the elephant and the blind person touching the elephant. I didn’t know how to balance my self-image with the image the world wanted me to have. So rather than being a concrete elephant, I was more like a lump of clay, trying to shape myself while also being shaped by society, gradually becoming an unrecognizable object.

Mr. Yu Qian’s radio show is called “Play.” At that time, I was busy balancing schoolwork with preparing my portfolio for graduate school applications. I had almost no time for entertainment, and I didn’t allow myself to have any fun, feeling like it would betray my efforts. Therefore, I urgently needed something that was entertaining but not too much so. Listening to the radio seemed more serious than watching movies or playing games, so I clicked on it. I fell in love with the show just by listening to the preface.

In the preface, Mr. Yu Qian, with his unique lazy Beijing accent, said: “One can’t just work without playing, and can’t just play without working. There needs to be a balance. You can’t be too tense, nor too relaxed. You have to leave some room for your mind to be at ease. But nowadays, life moves too fast, the pressure is too high, who dares to play? The key is that society can’t stand seeing others play. If you muster the courage to play once, people around you will say: ‘Oh, still playing?’ You immediately feel like you’ve made a huge mistake. This show, in fact, is dedicated to teaching you to play, taking you to play, and loosening that tense string in your heart.”

Is it really acceptable to play? Isn’t playing a betrayal of oneself? Does everyone think this way?

This radio show became the voice accompanying me in my headphones during my daily walks and breaks. I listened to Mr. Yu Qian talk about his first drunken experience in college, the childhood days when kids made snacks for spring outings, and the interesting history behind Jiangnan’s famous stinky mandarin fish. It felt like I was back in Beijing’s hutongs, holding a fan, eating a sugar-coated hawthorn, hearing the distant ringing of bicycles, and watching elderly people chat. That was my childhood, the most carefree time without any societal pressure. In this place half the globe away from my hometown, I finally regained the sense of stability that home gave me.

As the radio show neared its last episode, I suddenly found myself daring to play. When people asked me, “Still playing?” I could confidently respond, “Yes, I am playing.” I seemed to transform from a lump of clay back into an elephant. I no longer doubted what shape I should take, nor was I being pushed by external hands to change my shape. I was firm and had found a balance between work and play, becoming my true self.

Can you open up a bit about your work and career? We’re big fans and we’d love for our community to learn more about your work.
In my journey as a designer, I’ve always been guided by a cheerful mantra: to infuse joy and laughter into my work. However, bridging the gap between design as a form of solution and design as a source of delight has presented its own unique set of challenges, accompanied by moments of doubt and self-reflection.

Upon entering the new realm of game design, I quickly realized that my abilities to craft engaging game mechanics and provide seamless experiences for players were not as strong as I had hoped. This revelation led me to question my motives: Was my desire to inject playfulness into graphic designs a way of shying away from critical thinking? Was I using charm to compensate for a lack of depth in my ideas, much like a kitten seeking affection, pleasing my viewers instead of challenging them? Had I switched tracks because I doubted my abilities in graphic design, looking for an easier path?

These doubts were part of a significant pivot in my approach as I moved from an environment that valued conceptual depth and aesthetic innovation to one where technical skills and business strategies were more prominent. This shift was not just a change of scenery; it was a redefinition of my creative identity.

Adopting the term “player” instead of “audience” revolutionized my design perspective. In graphic design, playfulness had been a charming addition, a way to enhance a message or aesthetic. But in the universe of game design, playfulness became essential—a foundational element that was as critical as functionality itself.

This new world demanded a focus on seamless, engaging experiences above all else. The intellectual rigor and philosophical explorations that characterized my earlier work were still valued, but they now played a supporting role to the immediate, immersive experience of the player. This necessitated a creative recalibration, where the joy of interaction and user engagement became paramount.

Navigating this delicate balance between artistic integrity and the practical demands of game design has been my greatest challenge. It has been a journey filled with learning and adaptation, reminding me that effective design—whether it graces a poster or defines a game—must resonate deeply with those who encounter it, meeting them with experiences that are not only meaningful but delightfully engaging.

If you had a friend visiting you, what are some of the local spots you’d want to take them around to?
Los Angeles might be the city with the most diverse culinary scene in the United States, second only to New York. During a week in LA, I might take my friends to explore the Getty or the design district according to their interests, but I will definitely take them to dine at two specific restaurants.

On the first afternoon of their arrival, I will take them to Downtown LA to a Japanese restaurant called Azay for lunch. This restaurant offers Japanese set meals at noon, featuring a piece of delicious grilled fish, some refreshing side dishes, and a bowl of rice sprinkled with seasoned salt—enough to soothe the stomach after a long flight. For dinner, we’ll head to Yahir, located in the Santa Monica area. This restaurant is not widely recommended, but it serves the best tapas I’ve ever had, making it a monthly must-visit for me. Their venison tartare and chicken liver mousse are so delicious that I would return to LA just for these two dishes. The venison tartare is fresh with a hint of sweetness and none of the gaminess typical of lamb, while the chicken liver mousse is easier to eat than foie gras. Spread on crispy yet tender toasted bread, accompanied by apricot preserves and tangy pickled onion strips, it makes you unknowingly drink a couple more glasses of wine.

The rest of the itinerary involves driving along the coast to enjoy the sea breeze, visiting art galleries, shopping in the art and design districts, hitting up coffee shops in Downtown LA, or wading in the water at Santa Monica beach in the evening. The pace of life in LA is very slow, so there’s no need to over-schedule. Just drive westward with no specific destination, stopping for beautiful scenery and trying out a nearby restaurant found on the map. This is a unique LA journey.

Shoutout is all about shouting out others who you feel deserve additional recognition and exposure. Who would you like to shoutout?
I want to shout out to my undergrad Type instructor, Richard Lipton. During my junior year at the Rhode Island School of Design, I took Richard’s typography class. Due to COVID, I had returned to Beijing, attending classes at 3 a.m. The physical exhaustion combined with the new learning field was quite a challenging experience. That year, society slowed down, and everyone was forced to slow down too, but our hearts remained restless. Watching the daily rising numbers of infections and deaths, everyone worried if the next infected person would be themselves or their loved ones.

During our first class, Richard asked us to prepare paper and pen to practice broad-pen calligraphy. Just a single stroke had to be written dozens of times. I held up my finished paper to the webcam, but Richard was never quite satisfied; the angle was wrong, or the stroke was too rushed. I felt frustrated because I was quite pleased with it, considering it was my first attempt. For a beginner, I thought it was worth some encouragement. In our second class, we started learning font design software. When I proudly showed an “n” I had drawn, Richard still wasn’t satisfied; the proportions were too wide, the Bézier curve was unnatural. I wondered, was it necessary to be so nitpicky about a simple letter that, in a text, meant nothing more than the letter “n”?

At first, I didn’t understand Richard’s obsession with calligraphy and typography, nor did I have an eye for typographic aesthetics. Richard could always spot errors as small as 1pt, and I would continually correct them. Gradually, I began to develop a sense of typographic aesthetics myself. I didn’t mind making those 1pt adjustments in the stillness of the early morning, accompanied by the sound of crickets. Designing fonts became my way of adapting to the slow pace of the COVID era. As people physically slowed down, so did my mind.

As my junior year ended, international students returned to campus. The past year’s experience had made me gradually fall in love with typography, and I eventually designed a beautiful text font. Richard invited me to continue with his Individual Study Project, providing one-on-one guidance for a new project, and I gladly accepted. However, that year, busy with coursework and portfolio preparation, my heart became restless again. Besides listening to Yu Qian’s radio show, designing fonts became a form of entertainment for me. I enjoyed printing out fonts, comparing the balance and spacing of letters, and enlarging letters to fill the screen, tilting my head to admire and judge whether they needed further adjustment. Tuesday mornings with Richard became more like chats with a wise mentor as we discussed the progress of my fonts. Richard would tell me how he got into calligraphy and typography, how many commercial fonts in some way deprived handwritten fonts of warmth and humanity. He said he had been doing this for over forty years and still loved it. Richard would continue to point out those 1pt errors, and this time I no longer questioned it, but learning from him how to develop a keener sense for letter shapes. This craftsman spirit, consistent over decades, guided me through the rest of my undergraduate studies.

For graduate school, I applied for a game design program, largely influenced by Yu Qian’s radio show, which shaped my “Yes! I am playing” design philosophy and attitude towards life. But the new living environment and the pace of life on the West Coast were hard to adapt to. Without familiar friends around, I preferred to stay home all the time.

My heart lost its peace once again.

During the first Christmas break, I returned to where I had lived during undergrad to visit my friends and to see Richard again, hoping this visit would help me overcome my struggles. We met at a coffee shop near campus. This seventy-something but still youthful old friend greeted me with the unique and familiar enthusiasm of Rhode Island. I shared my struggles with him, about losing my sense of self in a new city and social circle. He calmly told me, “You are too young, too eager for success. Society pushes you forward too quickly, making younger people bear pressures and responsibilities not meant for your age. I designed my first font at 23, started my studio twenty years ago, and looking back, so much time has passed unknowingly. Some of my fonts were drafted ten years ago, and I recently pulled them out for revision. I’m over seventy now, just bought a new house next door, and my life has started again.”

Yes, I’m only 22. Why am I in such a hurry? I’ve only lived a quarter of my life; the beautiful future is still ahead, and it certainly wouldn’t want to see me anxious over minor changes. These small matters will be trivial in retrospect. Pain will pass, and we will always find inner peace.

As our coffee chat ended, Richard asked if I needed a ride home as he walked to his car. I waved and said my home was just across the street. We waved goodbye, and that was the last time I saw him in person. As I write this, it’s 8 a.m. in Rhode Island. What is Richard doing? This wise man, my typography mentor, who inadvertently helped me find inner peace again and again, is probably preparing to write some calligraphy or revise a font he has edited countless times. Even thousands of miles apart, I sincerely wish him all the best. Where will we meet next? I silently look forward to it.

Website: https://daisyjin.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/daiisyjin/?hl=en

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/siyi-jin-495b34306/