Why AI Can't Teach Taste w/ Brooke Hopper
with Brooke Hopper
Chris Do and Brooke Hopper examine why AI can accelerate design without replacing human taste.
Chris Do
Founder, The Futur™ · September 9, 2026
The machine can train the designer
The danger is not simply that AI will imitate designers. It is that designers will start imitating AI. Brooke Hopper, a senior principal designer at Adobe whose work includes bringing Firefly into creative tools, sees that risk from inside the software being built to help them.
Her concern is not an argument against the technology. It is an argument against surrendering judgment to it. A system that produces recognizable patterns can become a powerful influence on what its user learns to recognize as good.
Speaking with Chris Do, Hopper puts the reversal plainly: “And if you are only following the patterns, it's training you as a human.” The tool supplies possibilities, but repeated acceptance can turn those possibilities into an unexamined standard.
That distinction gives the conversation its central tension. Do sees AI as a way to work faster, explore more ideas, and move from production toward art direction. Hopper sees those opportunities too, but refuses to treat increased capability as evidence of increased discernment.
Generating an option is not the same as judging it.
For Hopper, that judgment depends on fundamentals, curiosity, and lived experience. Two people sitting in the same room do not bring the same history to an image or tell the same story through it. Their differences are not inefficiencies for software to smooth away.
They are part of the work.
Her perspective also comes from proximity to people who have reasons to be uneasy. She says she has spent ten years at Adobe, seven of them building drawing apps, and describes close ties to the illustration community. The concerns she hears about craft and its future are legitimate, not resistance to be dismissed.
That matters because the easiest defense of creative AI is also the least demanding: call it a tool and move on. Hopper uses that description, but insists that building creative experiences requires holding competing needs together. Assistance must be useful without making the person using it incidental.
The question is therefore more specific than whether AI can produce attractive work. It is whether a designer remains capable of saying why one result serves the idea, why another fails, and why the most immediately pleasing option deserves rejection.
Hopper connects that capability to knowing the rules well enough to break them. Without that knowledge, a designer has fewer grounds for resisting the patterns the system offers. The output becomes not a proposition to examine, but an answer to accept.
This is also where storytelling enters the argument. Hopper locates creative difference in the stories people choose to tell through their own experience, a concern reflected in The Futur's Storytelling Is A Superpower. Her emphasis is not on a more elaborate prompt, but on a more deliberate point of view.
The promise of AI, on those terms, is not that every designer becomes equally capable of producing the same polished image. It is that more of the work surrounding an individual decision can become easier, while the decision itself remains consequential.
A faster process still needs someone who knows what deserves to survive it.
Close enough fails at the finish line
Hopper is wearing a shirt that says “control freak.” It is an unusually efficient description of the problem she is trying to solve. Creative software must accommodate a technology that generates variations while serving people who care about exact placement, exact appearance, and exact relationships.
Her account of Adobe's role centers on precision and control. The broad gesture is only part of designing. Tiny adjustments matter because they determine whether an image is merely convincing or actually the image the designer intended to make.
Do recognizes both sides of that experience. Sometimes Firefly produces a result exciting enough that he calls his wife, also a designer, to see it. At other times, the software fails to perform the change he believes he has requested clearly.
Hopper does not explain that frustration away as a prompting deficiency. She gets bad results too, including one during a presentation that day. The admission matters: disappointment with a generation is not automatically proof that the user lacks skill.
She describes generative AI as a technology that makes something new rather than guaranteeing the exact thing requested. That novelty can open a direction. It can also become the obstacle when the direction has already been chosen.
Exploration tolerates approximation. Delivery often does not.
Her industrial design example makes the boundary concrete. A student or designer can use generation to imagine a product in different settings or explore how an idea could look. A company commissioning finished advertising, however, wants its actual product, not a persuasive relative of it.
“Close enough is not good enough with a lot of those things,” Hopper says.
That is a useful corrective to the assumption that a successful concept image is almost a finished asset. In her example, the criterion changes between those stages. During exploration, variation is useful evidence; during delivery, unwanted variation can invalidate the result.
Hopper describes AI helping at opposite ends of her process, with precise creative work remaining important in between:
- Early exploration can benefit from unexpected options. Generated visuals can help a designer investigate concepts alongside sketches.
- Finishing requires deliberate control. Refinement still needs tools that support specific adjustments.
- Production can benefit from pattern recognition. Repetition and analysis are useful places to look for assistance.
These are not promises that every task inside those categories should be automated. They are distinctions between kinds of work. Hopper's argument depends on recognizing what the machine does well and what the designer contributes, rather than assigning the whole process to one or the other.
She describes an industrial designer friend who wants to draw one or two views of an object and use generation to produce additional angles. The ambition is modest compared with replacing product design altogether. It is also more closely connected to an actual annoyance in a working process.
That is where her standard for usefulness becomes sharpest. The valuable intervention is not necessarily a spectacular demonstration. It can be a small improvement at the point where a designer repeatedly loses time, provided the resulting work can still be controlled.
The task is not to make generation responsible for everything. It is to place generation where its behavior helps rather than compromises the job.
A classroom built around the wrong tool
Hopper's teaching exercise begins with a restriction that sounds like technological evangelism. Students must complete an entire assignment using generative AI. No other tools are allowed.
Many do not like it.
That reaction is part of the exercise's value. A student prevented from reaching for familiar software encounters not just what generation makes easy, but also what it makes needlessly difficult. The assignment exposes the boundary between a tool's impressive capabilities and its suitability for a particular decision.
Hopper does not present the restriction as a model for professional practice. Its purpose is diagnostic. By forcing exclusive use, she gives students a reason to notice where exclusivity breaks down.
This is a more demanding form of technological literacy than simply learning to obtain an appealing result. The student has to identify where the tool belongs in a workflow and where an established method remains better suited to the task.
The educational issue connects naturally with The State of Design Education. Here, however, the immediate problem is not which software a curriculum should include. It is how students learn to evaluate software without mistaking its availability for a reason to use it everywhere.
Do offers a complementary example from a conversation with a graduate program director at SVA. Product design students sketch first, then use AI to explore iterations and materials. The original act of defining the object is not erased by the speed of subsequent variation.
Hopper's assignment and the sketch-first example approach the same boundary from different directions. One deliberately removes alternatives so students can feel the limitations. The other gives AI a specific role within a process that already contains human decisions.
Do then pushes the educational question further. If a system has encountered so much visual material, can it explain its choices? Can it generate a conservative version, describe the composition, and suggest alternatives in a way that helps a less experienced designer improve?
Hopper's answer leaves room for assistance without equating assistance with authority. A system can check known requirements, especially when the criteria have been supplied. She describes this kind of help as “design spell check.”
Her examples distinguish several uses:
- Checking whether work follows a brand's stated guidelines.
- Offering guidance on basic design decisions.
- Helping a person notice something useful during the process.
None of those functions eliminates the need to learn the underlying principles. A check can identify whether a rule has been followed. It does not settle whether following that rule produces the most appropriate design.
Learning the standard is not the same as developing taste.
Hopper is skeptical that a machine should become the source from which a designer learns taste. That skepticism is narrower, and more useful, than claiming AI cannot teach anything. She explicitly allows that it can guide people and help them learn along the way.
The unresolved issue is dependency. A designer who accepts a recommendation without understanding it has received an answer, not necessarily an education. A designer who can evaluate the recommendation has gained assistance without handing over the responsibility for deciding.
Do's proposed tutor would explain the work. Hopper's condition is that the person still learn how to disagree.
The useful work of resistance
When Do asks what she would want Firefly to do if anything were possible, Hopper initially answers in terms of the creative experience. She wants people to enjoy making things. More content produced at an ever-increasing pace is not the aspiration that brought her into design.
Her examples are specific: time for an idea, a beautiful interface, or packaging she wants to make. The software earns its place by taking care of unwelcome work so attention can return to the part that feels worth doing.
Do presses for a more concrete answer. Hopper then introduces an apparent contradiction: some friction should disappear, but some friction has value. Limitations can contribute to play, and effort can help a person feel ownership of the result.
Remove busywork without removing creative participation.
That distinction is easy to miss when speed becomes the only measure of improvement. A repetitive operation and an unresolved creative choice both take time. Hopper does not treat them as equivalent problems simply because neither has happened instantly.
She has been thinking about intentional friction in AI experiences, but presents it as an open design question. She does not announce a policy of deliberately weakening software. When Do asks whether the tools should be handicapped, she returns to the harder problem of deciding where resistance belongs.
Her typography exercise offers a small example of why participation matters. A person interested in typography assembled a group and asked them to generate type jokes in three different conditions:
- First, the participants invented jokes themselves without searching online.
- Next, they asked AI to produce type jokes.
- Finally, they worked with AI to develop the jokes together.
Hopper says the third round produced the better results. This is an anecdote about an exercise, not a controlled study establishing a universal rule. Its relevance is in the distinction between receiving material and responding to it.
The participants brought their own ideas into contact with generated suggestions. A suggestion could prompt a revision or another direction rather than being treated as the final answer. The exchange gave human judgment something to push against.
That places the example near the concerns named in Learning, Collaboration, Critique & Feedback: creative work develops through response, not just initial production. Hopper's contribution is to describe how generated material can enter that process without becoming its governing intelligence.
She is nevertheless careful with the language of partnership. Calling AI a collaborator feels too strong to her in the present context of working with creative people. She recognizes the back-and-forth without wanting the label to obscure the person's role.
Her point is also not that every generated result demands extensive editing. She concedes that a person can sometimes be satisfied with the direct output. But she expects many creative practitioners to want to revise it, make it more specific, and put something of themselves into it.
Even a software bug can become material for invention, she observes. An unintended limitation can lead someone to an unexpected technique. That possibility complicates any simple promise that the best creative tool is the one with no obstacles.
The distinction is between friction that obstructs intention and friction through which intention becomes clearer. Better tools need to understand both.
A visual tool should speak visually
Hopper's more concrete wish for future tools begins with an ordinary gesture: selecting something and changing it. Not describing it at length and hoping the system infers the right relationship. Pointing to the thing itself.
She discusses mask tracking in After Effects and Premiere as a starting point. A selection can be followed through video. Her speculative next step is to make manipulating that selected object feel more like handling an object than issuing instructions to a separate production system.
What if an element could move from one video into another through a direct gesture? What if video editing began to resemble image compositing? Those are possibilities she raises, not a list of promised product releases.
The direction is more important than the imagined feature. Hopper wants creative interfaces to feel closer to the physical experience of moving, turning, and arranging things. Her reference point is a child picking up a crayon, not a user mastering a specialized vocabulary before being allowed to make a mark.
Her objection to prompting follows from that concern. She describes herself as poor at it and questions whether verbal instruction is a natural primary interface for visual people. The ability to express an idea in words is not identical to the ability to see what needs changing.
A designer can recognize the desired adjustment through direct interaction. Moving an object, testing an angle, or changing a relationship gives the person feedback inside the medium. Hopper wants technology that makes those actions more available, rather than forcing every intention through a text box.
Do translates the ambition into a filmmaker's problem. A shot would work better from another camera angle. An action needs changing. Reframing the image after capture would solve a practical production difficulty, provided the result does not introduce unwanted anatomy or other visual errors.
Hopper points toward the potential combination of 3D tools, generative technology, and traditional editing tools. She does not provide a release schedule or demonstrate a finished workflow in the conversation. The exchange is an exploration of direction, and treating it as a shipping announcement would miss that distinction.
That same care matters when the discussion turns to agentic AI. Hopper describes a helper that can carry out tasks, gather information, and, in some arrangements, delegate work to other agents. Her example is finding visual references during brainstorming.
Do connects that to building a mood board. Instead of manually finding every reference, the designer asks for material matching certain criteria. The system handles part of the retrieval, while the person evaluates what belongs.
Hopper immediately adds a condition: the result becomes more interesting when the designer brings personal material too. Retrieval is not a substitute for every source of reference. The designer's own contribution changes the collection rather than merely approving what came back.
This is another version of the type-joke exercise, applied to visual research. Independent human input prevents the process from beginning and ending inside the system's suggestions.
The best interface in this account is not simply one that asks less of the designer. It asks less unnecessary translation of the designer, while keeping the decisions that give the work direction close at hand.
The boundary belongs in the workflow
Hopper's position is neither blanket approval nor blanket refusal. She describes her responsibility as embracing technology with healthy skepticism. The phrase is less a compromise between opposing camps than a working requirement: new capabilities deserve investigation, and their limits deserve attention at the same time.
That stance becomes personal when the conversation turns to training material and compensation. Hopper says she values Adobe's approach to licensing and paying artists whose work contributes to its models. These are her stated reasons for feeling good about her contribution, not a detailed audit of training practices.
The distinction matters. The discussion does not establish the full composition of competing datasets or offer evidence that would support a comprehensive ranking of their ethics or capabilities. Its substantive point is that Hopper considers the treatment of contributing artists part of her own professional responsibility.
She also acknowledges using other generative tools in her work, including for editing rather than generating an entire piece. Her practice does not fit a simple division between those who use AI and those who reject it. The decisions are about application, boundaries, and what she can stand behind.
Do raises the possibility that Adobe's approach constrains what its system can learn compared with competitors. Hopper does not turn the exchange into a campaign against every alternative. She describes her stance as a matter of choice and preference.
That returns the conversation to the designer's agency. Choosing a tool involves more than assessing the attractiveness of its output. For Hopper, it also includes whether its role in the process and its relationship to creative contributors align with the work she wants to do.
There is no named, numbered methodology here. There are, however, clear working boundaries in the examples she gives. Together they form a practical test for whether assistance is helping the designer or quietly directing the designer.
- Use generated options to explore a concept, then assess them against the intended story.
- Keep exact product representation distinct from an exploratory approximation.
- Learn the fundamentals that make automated checks understandable and contestable.
- Bring original sketches, references, and ideas into the exchange rather than only accepting suggestions.
- Look for repetitive annoyances to remove without assuming every difficult creative decision is waste.
The test is not whether a task can be handed to AI. It is whether handing it over preserves what makes the task valuable. In Hopper's examples, generating another view, collecting references, and checking a guideline each serve a different purpose and demand a different standard.
For a designer moving toward art direction, that distinction becomes more important, not less. More options do not arrive with their own priorities. Someone still has to decide what expresses the concept, what satisfies the brief, and what should not proceed.
Hopper's skepticism is therefore not a defense of unnecessary labor. She wants less tedious work and more direct interaction. She also wants the designer to retain the understanding that makes a decision meaningful rather than merely available.
The practical challenge is to inspect the next impressive result before building a process around it. Identify what it solved, what it only approximated, and which decisions still require deliberate control.
Let the machine offer a direction. Do not confuse the offer with a reason to take it.
TRANSCRIPT
Enjoyed this? There’s more where it came from.
Get insights on creativity, business, and design from The Futur.
You can unsubscribe anytime. By submitting, you agree to receive communications and to our Privacy Policy.
“You're building a tool to do something versus just a wide open sandbox.”
— Chris Do
Key Takeaways
Subscribe
Details
- Topic
- CREATIVITY