The reaction to Liquid Glass is based on something far more pragmatic rather than nostalgia or reluctance to change, and it looks awful. People demand clarity, quickness, and calm guidance when they pick up their phones, yet the new interface frequently acts like a foggy glass, reflecting light beautifully while blocking out what’s ahead.
According to Apple, Liquid Glass is dynamic and translucent, intended to give controls energy and emphasis. That sounds especially novel on paper. However, the effect sometimes detracts from the very content it is intended to enhance on a handheld device. Icons blend into the background, text floats on moving images, and attention is dispersed rather than fixed.
The readability issue is the most pressing one. While transparency may seem sophisticated in demonstrations, it drastically lessens contrast in everyday situations. Layering messages on top of pictures makes the eye work harder since it seems like ink rubbed against frosted glass. This is a little annoying for those who have flawless vision. It becomes a hurdle for people with dyslexia, limited vision, or exhaustion.
Apple interfaces used to be very useful because of their restriction. Instantaneous information surface was made possible by a clear hierarchy, solid backdrops, and predictable placement. This reasoning is reversed by Liquid Glass, which makes the interface an active player vying for users’ attention. There is a noticeable decrease in the clarity that characterized previous designs.
| Detail | Information |
|---|---|
| Name | Alan Dye |
| Role | Vice President of Human Interface Design |
| Company | Apple Inc. |
| Background | Industrial and interface design |
| Known For | Overseeing iOS, macOS, watchOS visual language |
| Design Era | Flat design, glassmorphism revival |
| Influence | Software aesthetics across Apple platforms |
| Public Stance | Focus on emotion and visual depth |
| Industry Reputation | Highly influential design executive |
| Reference Website | https://www.apple.com/leadership/alan-dye/ |
Frustration is exacerbated by inconsistency. Moving between apps seems jarring since some totally embrace the glass look while others stay relatively flat. Every stride requires modification, much like when you’re walking on uneven pavement. It is very successful at undermining user confidence due to this lack of consistency.
Even though animations are meant to be entertaining, they frequently become distracting. With a zeal that soon wears thin, controls bounce, buttons shimmer, and bars change. When utilized judiciously, motion can guide, but in this case, it continuously announces itself, much like a coworker who keeps interrupting to demonstrate their presence. That behavior wears you out over time.
Additionally, touch targets have become more precise. Mis-taps are more frequent when navigation symbols are crowded together. Even when performing easy chores, the interface feels crowded, slowing down formerly instinctive interactions. The system seems significantly better in appearance, but it is less effective in operation—an imbalance that seems preventable.
Experts in accessibility have been frank in their criticism. Although it has long been criticized as bad practice, Liquid Glass passionately embraces the technique of overlaying text over images. The choice seems remarkably similar to other errors made by the business that put visual drama ahead of readability. This lesson has already been given once in design history.
The direction can be explained in part by Alan Dye’s influence. Years of software aesthetics have been molded by his focus on material metaphors and emotional response as Apple’s principal interface designer. These concepts can feel extremely adaptable on immersive hardware or huge monitors. On phones, the metaphor frequently breaks down since speed and clarity are crucial.
There’s also a reminder of previous mistakes. A time when transparency was a novelty rather than a necessity is recalled by the glassy style. As usability studies developed, their designs became less prevalent. Going back to them now feels more like repeating a concept that never really took off than it does like progress.
The public’s response has been remarkably direct. Liquid Glass looks awful is a term that is frequently used in online debates. Not confusing, not just different—awful. Parents lament that they are unable to read texts. Longtime users look for ways to make it less noticeable, but they find that the solutions are few and mostly cosmetic.
Only a minor alleviation is provided by attempts to soften the experience through accessibility settings. The interface is calmed by reducing motion, but contrast is not restored. Although changing the text’s size can assist, transparency still shows through. Instead of replacing the broken glass, these solutions are like covering a window with drapes.
Because Apple’s design language is rarely limited, the industry at large keeps a close eye on the company. Its rivals frequently employ visual cues as a shortcut for modernity. Millions of people depend on screens for daily chores, and if Liquid Glass spreads without improvement, clarity may be compromised across platforms.
In this argument, accessibility activists and designers have emerged as surprising partners. While customers share personal accounts of eye strain and dissatisfaction, experts who previously commended Apple’s discipline now doubt its priorities. Because they depict lived experience rather than a subjective preference, their narratives are credible.
Though subtle, the social influence is real. Smartphones are tools for learning, finance, healthcare, mediating communication, and involvement. Access becomes limited when interfaces become more difficult to read. Older users and people with visual impairments are disproportionately affected by this silent constriction.
Optimism is still possible. Glass impacts only require moderation; they are not intrinsically bad. They may enhance depth without hiding content if they were used sparingly, with minimum motion and strict contrast constraints. Such a recalibration would be really creative, demonstrating that usability and aesthetics don’t have to clash.
Some analysts speculate that the design foreshadows hardware of the future, where layered interfaces would seem more logical. It seems premature to apply that idea to modern phones in its entirety. People use these gadgets in crowded commutes, in direct sunlight, and in a hurry. These requirements, not idealized ones, must be met by design.
Because Liquid Glass disregards a basic principle—that effective interfaces vanish—it has a horrible appearance. They lead in silence, letting content take the lead. Design ceases to serve and begins to perform when it demands attention. Liquid Glass is now operating continuously.
