How to Unleash YOUR Creative: W/ James Victore
Chris Do and artist James Victore discuss how to build a career by rejecting conformity and finding your authentic creative voice.
Chris Do
Founder, The Futur™ · June 11, 2023
The Rebel with a Heart
There is a perception of James Victore. You see the work: big, bold, expressive phrases scrawled with an unapologetic hand. Words like Feck Perfucktion. You see the social and political posters that have landed in the Museum of Modern Art, work with real teeth. The immediate conclusion is simple: this is the work of an angry man. A rebel. An anti-establishment force.
But then you meet him. The man Chris Do introduces is warm, charismatic, and deeply human. He is, as Victore admits, a dreamer and a lover of things. The perceived anger is not anger at all. It is passion.
“You misconstrue passion for anger,” Victore explains. “I wasn’t angry. I was passionate. I give a [__] and I still give a [__].”
This passion now extends beyond his own art. After a long and lauded career, his focus has shifted. His website is no longer about him. It has been renamed. “My website is no longer jamesvictore.com, me me me me me,” he tells Do. “My website is yourworkisagift.com. We want to be about other people.”
This is the central tension and the ultimate truth of James Victore. He is a man who built a career on a fiercely individual, iconoclastic style, only to arrive at a place of profound service. He wants to help others have better careers. He wants to facilitate their path.
He sees his career not as a series of reinventions, but as one long, continuous arc. From a 19-year-old who moved to New York knowing exactly what he wanted, to the design school dropout who started working immediately, to the teacher, author, and artist he is today.
“My work has always been about what it says, not what it looks like,” Victore states. That ethos has simply been refined, whittled down to its purest form. The visuals are just the vehicle for the idea.
This is the foundation for a career built not on pleasing clients, but on expressing a point of view. It is a model many creatives admire but few have the courage to pursue. They see the result, James Victore, and assume it’s a status he earned. They have it backward.
As Do’s friend and fellow designer Carlos Segura once said, “You can do this because you’re Carlos Segura.” His reply was sharp: “No. Because I do this, I am Carlos Segura.”
Victore echoes the sentiment. “That’s okay for you, you’re James Victore,” people say. His response is blunt. “No, no, no, no. I have always, always since I was 22 or 23, I’ve always pushed to be James Victore. And that means there are some times when you fail. You need to accept that.”
The Gospel of Illegibility
A debate erupted among designers online. The new Kia logo, a stylized, continuous line form, was deemed “illegible.” People were apparently searching for “KN car.” The design community, in large part, was up in arms. It was a failure of communication.
Victore’s take is different. He saw it and thought, “Oh, that’s pretty funky. I dig that.”
The controversy, for him, misses the point entirely. He compares the situation to the outrage when UPS changed its classic Paul Rand logo. People were upset, but now, nobody cares. We get used to things. The real test is not the logo. It is the product.
“I would complain to the ends of the Earth if your service was bad or if your car sucked,” Victore argues. “But if your logo was illegible for me for five minutes? I don’t know.”
Do agrees, pointing out the hypocrisy of the internet design police. One moment, they decry the “blanding” of luxury brands like Burberry into simple, sans-serif typefaces, demanding more personality and heritage. The next, they attack a brand like Kia for moving away from a boring, legible wordmark toward a unique, ownable icon.
“Anybody with half a brain can figure this out,” Do says, explaining that we recognize shapes, not individual letters. Great brands know this. A Mercedes is a three-pointed star; a Lamborghini is a bull. Over time, a unique symbol becomes associated with the feeling and quality of the product. Moving toward iconography is a smart, bold move.
This philosophy is the bedrock of Victore's own work. He prioritizes immediacy and opinion over perfect legibility. His style feels immediate, not because it is clear, but because it is human.
He tells young designers: “Do yourself a favor and don’t become a designer.”
Designers, he warns, tend to think like designers. They read the same books, dress the same way, and convince themselves the answer is somewhere “out there.” This is wrong.
The answer comes from your own opinion and voice. When clients claimed they “couldn’t read” his work, his response was often a challenge. “You can read it, it just took a little bit of time.” He is fine with that. He gives his audience the benefit of the doubt, assuming they are intelligent and willing to make an effort.
He recalls doing subway and bus shelter posters in New York City.
- He never wanted them to be immediately clear.
- He knew his audience would walk by the same poster multiple times a week.
- By the third, fifth, or seventh viewing, the message would click.
- This delayed revelation creates a more powerful, guttural reaction. “Oh, [__]! I get it. That’s awesome.”
It’s a different goal. The job is not just to inform. It is to create curiosity. It is to make someone stop, look closer, and feel something. That is a lesson explored in how to build content people actually react to, where the focus shifts from clarity to impact.
Forging a Voice From Scraps and Masters
Victore’s voice was not born in a vacuum. It was forged in the reference department of a university library, where his mother worked. As a ten-year-old boy, he would wait for her after school, and she would give him paper, a pen, and stacks of European design annuals.
“She gave me picture books to look at, and the picture books that she gave me were Graphis and Print… from the 50s and the 60s and the 70s,” he recalls. “So I unconsciously was getting this education of the history of graphic design.”
His father, a military pilot, would bring back treasures from his travels: bullfighting posters from Spain, manga from Japan, early comic books from Thailand. Much of it was in languages Victore couldn’t read, forcing him to engage with the words as pure shape and form.
This early, accidental education was supplemented by an interest in fine art. He was drawn to the abstract expressionists. “I want to make work like Franz Kline, but I want it to be words,” he says. He sought the emotional power of a broad, gestural brushstroke, like those of Kline or Robert Motherwell, and aimed to infuse it into typography.
Yet, this signature style didn't emerge overnight. When he first started as a book jacket designer at 21, fresh from dropping out of art school, he followed the rules. He looked at what was in the bookstore and mimicked it.
“I was making book jackets look like book jackets,” he says wryly. “I was making the obvious more obviouser.”
The work was safe, it paid the bills, but it contained none of him. “I had no opinion whatsoever.” Then, a realization hit. “I’m a funny guy. I’m charming. I have my own sense of humor, my own sense of timing, my own sense of color, my own sense of style and proportion.”
Around the same time, Chip Kidd was rising to prominence, doing exciting, expressive work. Victore felt emboldened. He started to use his own handwriting on a cover. It didn’t get rejected. So he pushed it further. And further.
That push became his entire career philosophy. As he puts it, “I just want to get paid to be James Victore.” This isn’t a statement of arrogance. It is a declaration of intent. It is the core of a strong personal brand: to be so uniquely yourself that you become irreplaceable.
He wants that for everyone. He wants you to get paid to be you.
The Four Stages of a Creative Career
There is a life cycle to a creative’s career, and if you are lucky, it unfolds in four acts. Victore lays them out with brutal honesty.
“My pal back in New York… he says, ‘You know, they say most people get like three acts… you’re on like number seven,’” Victore laughs. But within that long arc, he identifies a familiar pattern for successful artists.
The stages are as follows:
- Stage 1: Who is James Victore? This is the beginning. You are toiling in anonymity. You are trying to do good work, but nobody knows who you are.
- Stage 2: Get me James Victore. Your work has broken through. You are in demand. Your name is on the tip of everyone’s tongue. You are the solution.
- Stage 3: Get me someone like James Victore. A subtle but dangerous shift. You have become an archetype. Clients now want a cheaper, younger version of you. They think you are too expensive, too busy, or perhaps, as Victore notes, some even think he might be dead.
- Stage 4: Who is James Victore? This is the fade into irrelevance. The new hotness has arrived, and you are part of the old guard. The phone stops ringing.
Victore found himself at a crossroads when his commercial work began to wane. He recognized he was entering the third stage. To avoid the fourth, he knew he had to make a change. He needed to find a way to stay vital.
The answer was not to chase trends or lower his prices. It was to pivot. He shifted from being a service provider to being his own client.
He realized that what older, experienced professionals get paid for is not their hands, but their minds. “What older people get paid for is their wisdom and their knowledge, and to share that,” he says. This is a critical pivot in any creative's career strategy.
This led him to invest more heavily in writing books like Feck Perfucktion, speaking, and sharing his ideas through social media. He transformed his business from making things *for* people to teaching people *how* to make things for themselves. He was no longer just selling design; he was selling his philosophy. He was selling his wisdom.
This is the path to escaping the fourth stage. You do not quietly slip into the night. You make a racket. You share what you have learned. You stop being just the artist and become the mentor, the guide, the teacher. You ensure your legacy is not just a portfolio of work, but a generation of creatives you have inspired.
The Bricklayer and the Buried Dream
The most profound story Victore shares is not his own. It is the story of a young protégé, a cautionary tale that silenced the room when he told it on stage.
The young man wanted to be a screenwriter. His father, a bricklayer, encouraged him to follow in his footsteps. “It was his lot in life, his father said,” Victore recounts. “The Arts don’t make money. Bricklaying is a decent wage, and the world needs bricklayers. You’ll be one, like me.”
For ten years, the young man obeyed. He laid bricks and swallowed his dreams. He chose the practical, responsible path his father laid out for him.
Then, one day, his father’s best friend died. At the funeral, his father stood up to read a eulogy he had written. The son was moved to tears.
“Not by the eloquence of the goodbye,” Victore clarifies, reading from his book, “but by the realization that his father was a writer.”
It is a devastating moment of clarity. The son sees his own suppressed dream mirrored in his father. He realizes the advice to be a bricklayer came not from a place of wisdom, but from a place of fear and regret. His father, a closeted poet, had pushed his son away from the very thing that might have brought him joy, because he had been too afraid to pursue it himself.
“We deny ourselves our dreams so hard,” Victore says. He remembers hanging out in a pub in his early days, listening to cops and sanitation workers who were hilarious, politically astute, and sharp as a tack. “Any one of them could have turned into Seinfeld,” he says. “But they would go, ‘Nah, I could never do that.’”
This is the lie we tell ourselves, often inherited from those who told the same lie to themselves. It is the voice of the uncle who tells his nephew not to pursue poetry, without ever admitting he failed because he never truly tried. It is the voice of Victore’s own father, a man he describes as “wildly creative,” who built the family house and was an amateur chef and photographer, but would never, ever admit to being creative.
When asked if he was creative, his father would deny it. But if asked if he could figure anything out, the answer was a confident, “Oh yeah, I can figure anything out.”
That, Victore argues, is the essence of creativity. It's the ability to figure things out. To solve a problem. To take a blank canvas and make something from nothing.
The story of the bricklayer serves as a powerful warning. The regret of a life not lived is a heavier burden than the struggle of pursuing a dream. The young man, upon his realization, eventually became the screenwriter he always wanted to be. He broke the cycle.
The Permission to Be “Bad”
The biggest obstacle for many is not a lack of talent or opportunity. It is the paralyzing fear that their work is not good enough. Victore has a simple, and perhaps jarring, piece of advice: keep going anyway.
He describes seeing the work of an artist who paints flowers. His initial, internal reaction was not one of awe. “Oh, damn,” he thought. “What do I tell this woman?”
His advice was not a detailed critique. It was simply: “Awesome. Keep going.”
This is not an empty platitude. It is a core tenet of his philosophy. We are terrible judges of our own work. The quality of your work today is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that you keep doing it.
“Even if you think your work is bad, keep going,” he insists. “Because eventually, it’s gonna get good.”
When students at the School of Visual Arts, where he taught for over 20 years, would bring in uninspired work, his response was not to crush them. It was to guide them. “Talk to other people. Get direction.” He might ask, “Hey, have you looked at so-and-so’s work?” or “Have you ever thought of putting it together in this form?”
The problem is rarely the ink on the paper. The problem is what happens after. Most people know how to make something, but they do not know what to do next. How do you commercialize it? How do you get it out the door? These are questions that require bravery, consistency, and a willingness to talk to people, as discussed in this personal branding masterclass.
Victore practices what he preaches. He still actively seeks feedback and connection. When a new person of interest comes up, like a chef making the world’s best pizza or producer Rick Rubin, he packages up his book and sends it to them with a personal letter. He is always seeking mentors, asking questions, and talking to people.
“If you work in a closet and you just keep stacking paintings up,” he warns, “you’re expecting dealers and buyers to come to your house, ding dong.”
Success is not a passive process. It is an active pursuit. The most important metrics are not an outsider’s opinion of your portfolio. They are:
- How does your work make you feel?
- How consistent are you in your practice?
- How good are you at getting it out the door?
Stop waiting for permission. Stop waiting to be “good enough.” Your job is to do the work, put it out into the world, and then do it again tomorrow. The quality will follow the action.
Your authentic voice, however imperfect, is your greatest asset. Do not hide 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.
“I want everybody to get paid to be themselves.”
— Chris Do
Key Takeaways
Subscribe
Details
- Length
- 1h 18m
- Views
- 18,439
- Topic
- CREATIVITY