Design Contests are a scam

I still remember my first design contest. It was one of those crowd‑sourcing sites that promise quick fame and a £2 000 prize for the “best” logo. Fresh out of university, fuelled by coffee and big dreams, I spent far too many late nights perfecting every curve and colour. When the results came in, my work did not even make the “honourable mentions.” The winning logo looked fine, but no better than mine. The real shock was realising that hundreds of us had worked for free so one person, and the contest company, could cash in.

Picture asking a hundred builders to each put up a house, promising to buy only the one you like. Everyone else covers the cost of bricks and labour. Design contests make that set‑up seem normal by wrapping it in words like “community” and “opportunity.” A big brand walks away with a stack of ideas for nothing, pays a small fee for one, and buries the rest in the fine print. The rest of us are left with empty pockets and designs we are not allowed to reuse.

That free‑labour part really annoys me. Good design looks effortless, yet it takes long nights staring at a blank screen, nudging curves one pixel at a time. Contests turn all that unseen work into a lottery ticket. Yes, someone wins, but the odds make Las Vegas look generous. Because most entrants are new or broke, the whole thing feeds on hope. The marketing copy knows exactly which buttons to press: “build your portfolio,” “get exposure,” “join thousands of talented creatives.” They never mention that most of those creatives end up with nothing, or that “exposure” will not pay rent or the ever‑rising Adobe fee.

There is a mental cost too. Losing a contest hurts, but it also makes you feel replaceable. When your work is one file in a pile of five hundred, it is easy to see yourself the same way: disposable. That feeling seeps into job interviews and price talks. You start apologising for charging real money, because some part of your brain whispers that, on average, you are worth zero. Clients sense that doubt, and your rates drop even more.

Step back and the damage to the whole industry is clear. Contests teach clients to treat design like fast fashion: order twenty options, keep one, bin the rest. Studios that charge fair prices look expensive, so they cut fees, shorten timelines, or throw in unpaid “extras” just to stay in the game. Quality falls, people burn out, and the cycle continues. What is sold as “democratic” becomes a race to the bottom.

So what can we do? First, do not play. Every hour spent on a contest could go toward finding a real client, building a personal project, or simply catching up on sleep. Second, talk about it. When a friend shows you the latest “global logo challenge,” share the numbers: how many entries, how little pay, how rights vanish. Most people back off once they see the maths. Last, push for clear rates and fair contracts. Celebrate the gigs that treat you well, and make noise about the ones that do not. The more we praise proper pay and process, the less shine these contests have.

I know the system will not disappear overnight, but if even one reader skips the next flashy “design battle,” that is a small win. Small wins add up. Maybe one day crowdsourcing serious design work for next to nothing will look as dodgy to everyone else as it did to me, staring at a “Sorry, not selected” email and wondering why I thought that deal was ever okay.