“We need to drive a 50% uplift in donut sales across our core target demographics,” the head of marketing declares to the head of design. “We need it before the Q3 earnings call... or heads will roll.”

As an aspiring designer and technologist, I envisioned my future self leading a formidable creative team. We’d tackle significant, meaningful challenges with our creative brilliance. In my mind’s eye, we’d be the vanguards of industry, architects of a better world. Together, we’d usher in an era of conscious capitalism, where rising tides would elevate our collective society.

Reality struck when I finally ascended to the esteemed position of leading an 80-person design team and later held the title of Vice President of Design. The impact was profound. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards my former design leaders—their invisible hands had cleared the path, allowing me to be creative and impactful. I quickly learned that being a design leader demands constant humility and sacrifice. And like the role of a CEO, it can be isolating at the top.

Recently, I’ve been contemplating the seismic shifts in the tech industry, particularly concerning creative roles. The industry “correction” seems to have disproportionately affected creatives and people-related roles. While I’ve previously hypothesized about rapid technological changes disrupting industry forecasting and AI potentially replacing roles, I’m now recognizing a more pervasive force at play: hyper-capitalism.

In my recent leadership roles, I’ve observed a trend. The perceived value of design has shifted from customer advocacy (how can we delight our customers?) to product optimization (how can we extract maximum value?). This well-discussed shift is advancing towards a more insidious state—one where technology is completely self-serving. From a business and operational standpoint, creativity is increasingly viewed as an impediment to rapid value generation.

An executive I once worked with boldly claimed, “The only thing our employees care about is money.” I vehemently disagreed, but realized this belief reflected their own singular focus. The tech industry has entered a new phase of extreme capitalism, where maximizing investment returns and shareholder value at breakneck speed is the prime directive. Consequently, tech’s creative class must adapt, or get out of the way—their very nature seen as an obstacle by hyper-capitalists.

I deeply believe the creative class forms the heart and soul of our companies, communities, and society. Creativity and empathy are inextricably linked, tied together in neural harmony. Research demonstrates that creative and divergent thinking unlocks empathy and fosters an interest in social benefit. An industry without a heart is a game without players. Long-term perspectives are crucial for our species’ future, yet we seem fixated on an end-game with very few winners, if any.

In one of my favorite adult-ish children’s books, “Who Needs Donuts?”, a man-child obsessed with hoarding donuts, who, after meeting his true love, imparts a crucial lesson to a young donut enthusiast: “Who needs donuts when you’ve got love?”