Context

Interactions are fundamentally simple—the sideways glance, the slip of the tongue, a twinkle in the eye... a series of cues that provide overt, or subconscious context to the way we connect.

How we interact, and connect, is central to how we experience the world—and how we are perceived. The experiences and environments we create for others, whether in our company or not, have the potential to leave a lasting impression. Intrinsically, as a race, we place value in preserving memories—through artefacts and imagery—time stamps that mark our place, and leave clues to our time on this earth.

I’ve always had an interest in collecting things—physical objects tied to moments and interactions in my life. Recently, I found an old school camp diary where I’d stuck a serviette from the The Ettamogah Pub beside drawings, photos, a postcard collection and notes from the trip—an early example of the way I document my world.

Card

Something I’ve often thought about is the power of the business card as a catalyst for connection, and how this simple object can move into abstraction as to speak to the function of a business.

Traditionally, for graphic designers, business cards were (and perhaps still are?) a staple in a suite of brand collateral. Rudimentary at their core, they have the potential to sway between pristine business tools and playful marketing ideas.

Flick through any design annual from the last 50 or so years and you’ll see the sea between both ends of the spectrum: beautiful design execution, all types of embellishments, colour, and clever ideas—each crafted to say something specific about a business. These kinds of high-calibre cards, Rick Milovanovic—my partner at TRiC—would refer to as weapons: heavyweight objects designed to pack a punch.

Business cards often draw a line in the sand—a new job, a new business. They’re the quintessential low-cost marketing tool, lending legitimacy to both the business and the businessperson. A ritual, in a way—the exchange of cards is a gesture of mutual respect, and a handy recall tool.

Cards

When I started my studio, Never Now, in the mid-2000s, like most ‘business’ people, the first thing I did was print some cards. It was an act of legitimacy—the first step in taking myself out into the world. Over the following years, I printed card after card, handing them out where necessary, but inevitably ending up with discarded white boxes full of outdated details: old addresses, phone numbers, job titles, and so on.

My favourite card—and also my last, in this instance—was a riff on Richard Prince’s joke paintings. It featured a found illustration of a cartoon businessman on the phone at his desk, underpinned by the line: “Look, let me get back to you while I find out how important you are.”

Much like Prince’s work, the card played with authorship, humour, and appropriation—lifting a familiar visual trope and reframing it to provoke a reaction. It was a poke at the traditional business card format, and function, and begged the question of who was on what end of the phone call—and therefore the joke—something I’m still not sure of. When my daughter was small, I gave her a box of surplus cards to colour in.

Print

As a designer working through the decline of print and traditional stationery, it’s nice to find opportunities to create tangible brand expressions—objects you could hold—and, in some cases, objects you could shift into obscurity.

P. Johnson, an early client and tailor-by-appointment, required traditional cards. Their primary interactions relied on the exchange of functional details—a name, a number, an email address—and a conventional card that would fit neatly into a wallet, or a Rolodex, for when you next needed a suit. Simple.

Pan After, a homeware store, needed a card to give to customers. Abandoning traditional sizing, we made a large card in four colours that integrated into the curated mix of objects throughout the store. The card allows customers to make a choice—an action that mirrors the way they engage with the store.

The Lagoon Dining brand draws on the visual language of Susan Kare’s early pixel graphics for Apple, contrasting sharp illustration against the warmth of the name "Lagoon". The card, printed on canary yellow stock, exaggerated the scale of these typically small graphics, with a die cut following the form of the illustration, resulting in an awkward, unconventional shape. Delivered with the customer’s bill, it creates an unexpected moment in a fine-dining setting.

Chupa Chups

One weekend, Rick and I, along with our families, visited a winery in Red Hill on the Mornington Peninsula for pizza. The manager—an older gentleman—gave each of our children Chupa Chups, and shared the story of his family’s confectionery business.

Allegedly, he was responsible for travelling the world in search of new treats. He’d gone to Spain, where “Chupa Chups” roughly translates to “suck suck”, and discovered these revolutionary candy balls on a stick—ingeniously designed to avoid sticky fingers.

He introduced Chupa Chups to Australia at a time when the country was actively discouraging smoking—looking for substitutes for the hand-to-mouth habit. He claimed to have worked with Channel 10, who placed the candy in advertising and popular shows in exchange for a profit share.

He also claimed to be involved in the branding—returning to Spain to meet with Salvador Dalí, who designed the Chupa Chups logo as we know it, in 1969. If true, it’s nothing short of a brilliant story. But the point he made was this: the Chupa Chup was the best business card he could have, always carrying a few in his pocket to hand to people—including our children that day.

A charming pastime and a story well told, I often think about a product, or an idea as a tool for connection.

Technology

Email and websites became standard forms of communication in the ’90s—and naturally, standard additions to business cards—bridging the physical with the digital. E-signatures followed, as did vCards and VCFs (Virtual Contact Files). Wind the clock back further and you’d have seen similar shifts with the arrival of the telegraph (1830s), telephone (1870s), and the modern fax machine (1960s). I’ll spare you the watered-down history lesson, but you get the idea.

Over time, business cards—and these tools of connection—have evolved, becoming less prominent and more disposable in a world that favours the digital over the physical. Platforms like LinkedIn, Instagram, and Linktree have stepped in, in the name of progress, to take their place.

TRiC

First and foremost, the name TRiC is a combination of mine and Rick’s—and more formally, Tristan & Rick in Company Pty. Ltd. Secondly, we embrace the idea that design is tricky, and tricks are fun. They can enrich experiences in subtle and surprising ways, and while fundamental unnecessary—like most things in a post-consumer world—they offer moments of respite and aspiration.

At the end of the day, good chocolate is still good chocolate without the packaging—but great packaging can draw you in, and become a business card ; ).

Wand

When we started TRiC, the last thing on our minds was a business card. We knew who we were—we had an Instagram, a website, and an existing client base. We weren’t a traditional business, so why would we need a traditional business tool?

This said, Rick and I have always seen value in how we interface, how we leave an impression—and in the physical interactions we share with others.

Our first business card came in the form of a stamp, which we used to mark the backs of cards we’d designed for clients—cards we kept small stacks of in our archive. The idea up-cycled, and reduced our archive, while celebrating and sharing our work (and our clients), doubling down on the value of each new interaction.

Our second—and current —'business' card completely abandons tradition. More of an object, it’s a small token we give to friends and clients visiting the studio, to help guide them on their way.

The object—a long, flat, flaccid piece of card, with a gilded edge—a wand—awkward in length, spirited in ambition—is offered as a gesture of encouragement to the beholder—and provides a clue as to who we are.

When we hand over our wands, un-prefaced, the response is always the same: curiosity. People sniff them, turn them over, bend and wobble them—until the penny drops. It’s a wand, and a gentle reminder: you can do magic.

Wanderings

Early last year at TRiC, we started thinking about how to share more of what drives our work—our process, our stories, our thinking. In a world of fake news, Pinterest algorithms, and fading business cards, how could we—as thoughtful designers—connect with the world… which bring us here.

WANDERiNGS by TRiC is a hyper-extended business card: a space to connect, and share ideas—a small gesture of from us to you.

If you are enjoying this journey, and would like to connect, or come in for a wand, please reach out, or leave a comment below.

1. School Camp Diary with serviette from The Ettamogah Pub, c. 1992

2. “Say Cheese!” business card designed by David Lancashire, c. 1980s
   source: Re:collection, via The View from Australia

3. Christian Bale in American Psycho, dir. by Mary Harron, 2000

4. Wile E. Coyote, business card, created by Chuck Jones & Michael Maltese, 1949

5. Never Now, business card, 2014, coloured in by Valentina Ceddia

6. Richard Prince, Drink Canada Dry, 1991, source: Christies

7. Patrick Johnson, business card, 2010

8. Pan After, business cards, 2019

9. Lagoon Dining, business card, 2019

10. Chupa Chup, logo, Salvador Dali, 1969

11. Salvador Dali, photographed by Man Ray, 1929, source: MoMA

12. Linkedin smart replies

13. Hunted+Gathered, packaging, 2015

14. Olaver, Hector’s Deli, Fred Ganim, Hillwood Whisky, Maker Coffee

    Lagoon Dining + TRiC, business card, 2020/2021

15. TRiC, business card/magic wand, 2024

16. Magician Danny Cohen wielding the TRiC magic wand, 2024

17. WANDERiNGS by TRiC, icon, 2025