Happy Easter Sunday!

There was a time I thought publishing a peer-reviewed paper would feel like releasing an idea into the world. Something solid, carefully shaped, and meaningful. The kind of contribution that would echo outward, spark further thought, and quietly take root in a field. But more recently, after hitting “submit” on a manuscript or receiving the long-awaited “Congratulations, your article has been accepted for publication!” email, I’ve felt… nothing. No spark. No shift. Just a vague sense of disconnect, and the creeping question: Is it really worth it anymore?

This question isn’t about abandoning academic writing altogether. It’s about recognising how much the landscape has shifted and asking whether the peer-reviewed article still carries the weight it once did.

What Academic Writing Used to Be

There was a time when writing was the core task of academic life. Scholars were paid and expected to think, write, and publish. They weren’t managing heavy teaching loads, applying for grants, sitting on endless committees, or tracking research impact in logbooks. Their writing was slow, deep, and expansive. And crucially, it mattered. If you wanted access to the newest thinking in philosophy, science, or society, you looked to the university. You waited for the journals.

The peer-reviewed article was once a symbol of intellectual contribution. Now, it sometimes feels like paperwork with citations.

Back then, publishing meant entering a conversation. Today, it can feel like dropping a polished thought into a digital void.

What it’s become

Now, writing is often performed under pressure to meet KPIs, earn funding points, or climb the institutional ladder. It’s no longer just about thinking well; it’s about counting well.

The peer-reviewed system hasn’t changed much, but the world around it has. Ideas move faster, spread wider, and surface from everywhere, not just universities. A brilliant blog post, a viral LinkedIn thread, or a Youtube reel can now generate more conversation than a traditional article. In a world where knowledge spreads in seconds, academic publishing still runs on months or years.

That’s not a knock on publishing rigour. It’s a call to recalibrate. We can’t keep pretending that writing within the system is the only way to contribute meaningfully.

And why it still matters

And yet, peer-reviewed writing does have value. At its best, it slows us down, makes us sharpen our thinking, and puts our ideas under pressure. There’s value in being challenged. In making ideas hold up to scrutiny. In building a clear, traceable body of work.

Especially in emerging fields like Generative AI in Design, having articles on record helps legitimise what we’re doing. It creates a scholarly foundation for new practices. It gives us a way to say, this is real, and we’re serious about it. Some papers go on to influence years of thought. Some become anchor points in teaching. And for researchers navigating a tenure track or funding application, publications still carry weight — even if that weight feels increasingly symbolic.

Academic publishing is still a form of currency. But the exchange rate has changed and still is changing.

But why it’s no longer enough

At the same time, the cracks are hard to ignore. The audience for academic articles is shrinking. Many papers are locked behind paywalls, read by a handful of peers, and then forgotten. For some of us, our most impactful work happens elsewhere. In classrooms, workshops, speculative prototypes, AI visualisations, or public talks. Some of my most meaningful research never appeared in a journal. It showed up in a student’s sketchbook, a co-designed tool, or a blog post that sparked conversation far beyond my academic circle.

We’re spending months on papers that are read by a small handful, whereas ideas we share casually reach thousands. And beyond reach, there’s joy. Writing, when it becomes a bureaucratic task of resubmitting to journals for consideration, rewriting endlessly to satisfy reviewers, and reformatting to appease editors… It loses its soul. What was once a practice of thinking becomes a performance of productivity.

So how I’m reframing writing

I haven’t stopped writing articles, but I write fewer. And I choose the journals carefully. I write when the idea is deep, when the audience matters, and when the process helps me think. But I don’t pretend that this is the only, or always the best, way to share ideas. More often now, I’m translating my insights into other formats: essays, toolkits, speculative visuals, teaching slides, workshops, AI prompts. I’m finding new homes for ideas that don’t fit a journal’s frame (such as my website!).

The value of an idea shouldn’t depend on the container it’s published in.

Writing is still where I do some of my best thinking. But I’ve stopped waiting for a DOI to know it matters.

And… is it still worth it?

Sometimes, yes. If the purpose is right. If the process is generative. If the field needs that kind of record. But not always.

Maybe the better question isn’t whether peer-reviewed writing is worth it. But what we lose when it becomes the only kind of writing we value. Because I still believe in slow, thoughtful scholarship. I still love the precision of a well-argued paper. But I also believe in writing that moves fast, that invites more people in, and that doesn’t take a year to say something important. So here’s where I land:

Sharing ideas through academic writing is worth it, but it doesn’t have to be peer-reviewed to be powerful.

What forms of writing feel most alive to you right now?