Author: Vikas Verma

  • What a 15-second cartoon taught me about design systems

    What a 15-second cartoon taught me about design systems

    Writing · Design systems

    What a 15-second cartoon taught me about design systems.

    In October I directed a dark fantasy series with an AI video model as the only camera. Keeping a one-eyed hare consistent across ten episodes turned out to be a design-system problem.

    By Vikas Verma About 5 minutes All writing
    Five frames from Gods of Tomorrow: a crow god, a shark god, Kuro the hare ronin guarding the Seed, Kuro in a glowing burrow, and the leaf-winged spirit. Title: What a 15-second cartoon taught me about design systems.

    Gods of Tomorrow is a personal project. It is a dark fantasy series told in 15-second vertical episodes for YouTube Shorts, TikTok and Instagram Reels. There is no dialogue. A one-eyed hare ronin called Kuro protects the Seed, a child-god, from monstrous creature gods. I wrote it, directed it and launched it in October 2026, with AI tools as my only production partner.

    I did not set out to write about design systems. I set out to answer a narrower question: could a story be told in short, dialogue-free episodes using an AI video model, when the model forgets everything between takes? The answer turned out to rest on the same thing my design system work rested on. Consistency does not happen by itself. Someone has to build the system that produces it.

    The tool forgets. The prompt has to remember.

    An AI video model has no memory of the last clip. Ask for Kuro twice and you get two different hares. The scar moves from one eye to the other.

    So each episode became one structured prompt, written in a fixed order: a style line, the setting, the characters, framing rules, the shots timed second by second, then sound. The order mattered as much as the content. Once the structure was stable, I could change one part of an episode without disturbing the rest.

    That is what a design system does at work. It fixes the decisions that must not drift, so the people building on top of it can spend their attention on what should change.

    A token pins a colour. A character lock pins a scar to the right eye. The mechanism is the same. Only the medium is different.

    Rule first, reason second

    By the end of Season 1 I had a rulebook of five principles. Each one exists because an episode broke without it. I wrote them the way I write a pattern’s guidance: the rule first, then the reason, so nobody has to rebuild the argument to follow it.

    Show the grab. Every villain visibly reaches for the Seed, and Kuro blocks it inches away. Without that beat, viewers did not understand what the fight was about.

    Front-on fights. Nothing happens off screen. If the camera cannot see the blow, the viewer assumes it did not land.

    Lock the details. The scar is always on the right eye. The model swapped sides between episodes until the prompt pinned it, for the same reason a design system fixes a token.

    Never let the AI write. Any rendered text came out misspelt, so titles and cards are added in the edit.

    Design for the platform’s rules. No skeletons, no human body parts, stylised neon blood. A series that cannot be monetised cannot continue.

    Close-up of Kuro holding the sleeping Seed in one hand, blade raised, under a full moon
    Kuro with the Seed. His scar is one of the locked details.

    None of these were in the first prompt. All of them came from watching a clip fail. That is also how most of the guidance in a good design system gets written: not from first principles, but from the second time the same mistake turns up.

    A review loop, not a verdict

    Each clip cost about 60 credits, so I could not generate freely then pick the best. Every remake had a price. That constraint forced a loop. I generated a clip. AI tools pulled frames from the video and checked them against the script: did the villain reach for the Seed, is the scar on the right eye, can you see the fight. Then I rewrote the next prompt to fix what broke.

    It is the same loop I use in UX, run on a cartoon. Build, test against what you said you wanted, change the thing that failed, build again. The questions in the critique were the design principles turned into a checklist. That is not a coincidence. The principles came out of the critique in the first place.

    The budget also changed the scope. The season was planned at twelve episodes. It shipped at ten.

    The style was allowed to move. The characters were not.

    Over the season the look changed three times. Glossy 3D first. Then manga-style action effects for the fights. The intro trailer took a “AAA mobile game cinematic” style, which became the best-received piece. For Season 2 I am testing a photoreal style from a reference image.

    Gods of Tomorrow YouTube banner: five vertical panels showing a crow god, a shark god, Kuro facing a river creature, Kuro in a glowing tunnel, and a tree spirit
    The YouTube channel banner: five panels from Season 1. The style moved between them; Kuro did not.

    This is the part I would want another designer to notice. The system did not freeze everything. It separated what had to hold, Kuro’s scar, the grab, the front-on fight, from what was free to evolve. A design system that locks every decision stops a product from learning. One that locks nothing stops it from being recognisable. The work is deciding which is which.

    What the numbers said

    Launch week is not a verdict, but it gave me something to change. Episode 2 reached 1,855 views on Instagram, with a 10-second average watch time. 37% watched to the end. The steepest drop came in the first five seconds. On TikTok, viewers left around the three-second mark. On YouTube Shorts about half swiped away. The intro trailer had 589 Instagram views, with 65% of its viewers not yet following the account.

    Instagram retention graph for Episode 2 falling from 100% to 37% at 15 seconds, with the steepest drop in the first five seconds
    Instagram retention for Episode 2: from 100% to 37% over 15 seconds, with the steepest drop in the first five.

    So Season 2 was redesigned from the retention data. Every episode now opens with a one-second hook. End cards were dropped on TikTok and Instagram. The next test is whether the hook reduces the three-second drop-off on TikTok.

    Find the constraint, build a system, test it, measure, then change what the data says to change. I did not invent that method for a hare with a sword. I brought it from work. What the cartoon taught me is how little of it depends on the medium.

    Season 2, “Seeds of Night”, is scripted. The full case study, with a prompt excerpt and the launch-week results, is on the Gods of Tomorrow page. Episodes go out on Tuesdays and Fridays at 6pm UK, on YouTube (opens in a new tab), TikTok (opens in a new tab) and Instagram (opens in a new tab).

    Let’s talk

    Let’s make something work better.

    Available for senior UX and interaction design opportunities.

    Senior Interaction Designer creating accessible, evidence-led digital experiences.

  • Design and build in one small team: what four products taught me

    Writing · Working with Syntaxa

    Design and build in one small team: what four products taught me.

    Between August and October 2026, Ana and I took four products from idea to live site. Here is what changes when the designer and the developer are the same two people.

    By Vikas Verma About 5 minutes All writing

    For most of my career the slowest part of a project was not the design. The research was done, the designs were approved, the developers had the documentation and we had talked through every screen together. What they built matched what had been designed. The problem was time. When it could be built, and when it could go live, depended on so many variables outside the project: other priorities, release windows, who was available and when. Good work waited.

    When Ana and I set up Syntaxa Studio (opens in a new tab) this year, the premise was simple: remove the waiting. I lead the research, UX and UI; Ana leads the engineering. We sit in the same conversation from the first brief to the release, and the person who decided why a screen works a certain way is the same person who checks it in the build. Four products later, this is what I have learned.

    The gap between designing and building is mostly waiting

    Every in-house designer knows the pattern. A piece of work is finished, tested and signed off, and then it joins a queue. The build depends on a sprint that is already full, a release that is already planned, a developer who is already on something else. By the time it goes live the context has moved on, and the chance to learn from it quickly has gone with it.

    In a two-person studio there is no queue. The design and the build are planned by the same two people, so when a screen is ready it is built next, not when a slot opens. If Ana hits a constraint, I hear about it the same day and we decide together whether the design changes or the build does. Decisions stay attached to their reasons, and they stay attached to a date.

    How we actually work

    Each product starts with the same first week: I look hard at what already exists in the category, map the competitors and pull out the gaps and patterns worth borrowing or avoiding. I use AI tools to speed up the collection and synthesis of that research, which leaves more of the week for judgement about what it means.

    From there I build a small design system for the product, not a generic one. Each of the four products has its own type scale, colour system, spacing and components, so the product feels like itself rather than like a template. I design the interfaces at high fidelity and hand Ana working HTML and CSS, not static pictures. She builds the application behind it.

    Because I am writing the front-end markup myself, accessibility is not a review stage at the end.

    Heading order, focus states, contrast and keyboard behaviour are in the design files from the start, and they survive into the build because the build starts from those files.

    Four products, four different briefs

    ZenRoll is a booking platform for Jiu-Jitsu coaching, online and in person, with trainer search, scheduling and payments. The hard part was giving trainers and students different journeys through the same product without it feeling like two apps.

    NeonBoard is a collaborative kanban task manager for small teams. The design brief was speed and clarity: a board that loads instantly and makes priorities legible at a glance, with as little chrome as possible.

    Zura coordinates dental care: booking, insurance verification and treatment records shared between patients, clinics and dentists. Three audiences, one record, and a strong need for trust in how information is presented.

    RC Bench is a showcase and marketplace for custom radio-controlled car builds, with a guided build submission so that hobbyists can present their work well without design skills of their own.

    Four different categories, four different audiences, and the same two people across all of them. None of these would have been possible on that timeline with a designer and a developer who had never worked together.

    What this means if you are deciding how to build something

    A two-person design-and-build team is not the right answer for everything. It suits a founder or a small organisation with a clear idea and a real deadline, who wants a product that is considered rather than assembled, and who would rather talk to the people doing the work than to an account manager. It is not the shape for a large programme with many workstreams, where a bigger team and more process earn their keep.

    If you are in the first group, the question to ask any studio or freelancer is simple: who decides what happens when the design and the build disagree, and how quickly? In our case the answer is the two of us, usually the same afternoon.

    I still take on senior interaction design work in my own right, and the thinking in my Shelter case studies is the same thinking that goes into Syntaxa’s products. If you would like to talk about either, get in touch or have a look at what Syntaxa Studio (opens in a new tab) is building.

    Let’s talk

    Let’s make something work better.

    Available for senior UX and interaction design opportunities, and for design-and-build projects through Syntaxa.

    Senior Interaction Designer creating accessible, evidence-led digital experiences.