I’ve spent Many years working with colour systems, typography, visual hierarchies and user behaviour. I know how fast a visual decision can be made. I also know that what we show, or choose not to show, has consequences.
That realisation deepened when I started writing The Siren’s Code, a speculative novel set in a future where technology has reshaped not just how people live, but how they feel, act, and trust. Though I wrote the book in stolen hours, it ended up informing how I see my own work more than I expected. Because whether you’re crafting a government dashboard, an e-commerce platform or a fictional world, you’re telling a story about who holds the power.
And that story is visual.
Visual Design Isn’t Neutral
We like to think of design as solving problems. And it does. But it also communicates values, often before a single word is read. From colour palettes to button placement, design speaks. It whispers or it shouts. It nudges or it blocks. It reveals who belongs—and who doesn’t.
So when we talk about control in digital systems, we can’t ignore how it’s expressed visually. Because control doesn’t just come from code. It comes from contrast. From scale. From what glows and what fades.
Colour as Emotional Code
Colour does a lot of heavy lifting in interface design. It guides action, conveys urgency, and signals emotion. But in systems that manage behaviour, like fitness trackers, finance apps, or AI tools, colour can also reinforce control.
Red: error, stop, danger. Often reserved for punishment or failure.
Green: success, safety, go. Used to reinforce compliance or reward.
Blue: authority, trust, logic. The go-to colour for institutions, insurance, policing.
Grey: passive, inactive, excluded. Often used to visually silence options.
These associations don’t come from nowhere. They’re culturally reinforced. But they can be challenged.
When designing systems that impact real people, particularly those that collect data, enforce policy, or monitor behaviour, we need to be intentional. Are we calming people into agreement? Are we flashing warnings to heighten stress? Are we using colour to signal control without making it explicit? These are not neutral choices.
Power in the Hierarchy
Visual hierarchy is another tool that often hides its impact. The most powerful elements on a screen are usually the biggest, boldest, most brightly coloured. That seems obvious. But where it gets interesting is in what’s downplayed.
Think of the difference between a “Continue” button and a “No thanks” link. One is usually large and inviting. The other, smaller, lighter, barely clickable. It’s the same in cookie banners, upgrade flows, or opt-outs from data collection. Design makes one choice easier than the other, not through force, but through visual bias. This is control by omission. Control by contrast.
In fiction, this is subtext. The thing unsaid that drives the tension. In design, it’s the thing unseen, or harder to see, that shapes behaviour.
Designing Power Into Systems
A lot of what I work on in UX is about helping users move through systems with confidence. But it’s also about understanding the structure behind the interface. Who benefits when a button is blue instead of red? When a warning is buried in light grey text? When a selection defaults to YES?These are choices. And they can reinforce, or resist, power dynamics.
Writing a neuro-tech focused novel forced me to consider how systems manipulate quietly. A neural implant isn’t that different from a mobile app if it nudges someone into a decision they didn’t fully realise they were making. And the same principles apply to visual design. A screen can coerce without raising its voice.
It’s all about the signals. A subtle glow that says “this is the path we’ve chosen for you.” A shadow that says “you’re allowed here, but only just.” As designers, we’re not just building tools. We’re building messages. And sometimes those messages reinforce existing power structures more than we’d like to admit.
Subverting the Palette
It’s easy to rely on defaults. Blue means trust. Green means success. But sometimes the most interesting work happens when we break those rules.
In one of my projects, I worked with Firefish Healthcare, a firm delivering digital health research, where user trust and clarity were absolutely vital. The original design leaned into conventional health-tech colours—sterile blues and clinical greys. It read as safe, but also emotionally detached and institutional, especially when users needed reassurance or encouragement.
To counter that tone, I refreshed the palette: adding warmer, softer blues and vibrant pink accents. The result subtly shifted the emotional resonance without breaking any industry norms. It said “approachable and trustworthy,” not “cold and corporate.” That visual recalibration wasn’t about aesthetics, it was about emotional accuracy. By tuning the colour choices, we helped users feel supported and seen, not just guided through another healthcare interface. That’s the kind of visual language I want to see more of.
Transparency Through Design
Good design doesn’t just guide. It reveals. It shows people where they are, what’s happening, and what’s at stake.
One of the easiest ways to signal control is to hide it. To make it hard to find the setting, the explanation, the opt-out. That’s not a glitch—it’s often a strategy.
So what does it look like to design for transparency?
Use colour contrast to highlight rather than obscure.
Make secondary actions visible, even if they’re not primary.
Give visual space to information that affects autonomy.
It might sound simple, but in a world of dark patterns and persuasive interfaces, clarity is a radical act.
Visual Language as Ethics
When we talk about ethical tech, we often focus on data. Privacy, consent, algorithmic bias. All important. But the ethics live in the interface too. In the layout, the colour and the copy. Visual design is a language, and like any language, it can be used to empower or suppress.
That’s why I believe in designing slowly, questioning defaults and watching for what feels coercive. And asking not just what works, but who it works for. Because every visual choice is a narrative. And every narrative has a power dynamic. As a designer, I want to tell stories that include, reveal and support… not just persuade. And as a writer, I want the worlds I create to do the same.
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Curious?
Explore more experimental UI projects and future-facing concepts at byabi.co.uk
Or reach out. I'm always up for conversations at the edge of design and fiction.