So, what can designers, innovators, and creators learn from Marvel’s efforts to reignite a universe that has already exploded?
Let’s break down the post-Endgame hangover and the design lessons hiding inside it.
Marvel’s early Phase 4 projects relied heavily on backward glances. Multiverse versions of fan favorites. Cameos. The return of Andrew Garfield’s charmingly exhausted Spider-Man.
And while nostalgia moves units (Top Gun: Maverick anyone?), it eventually stalls momentum. You can’t build a future on yesterday’s wow.
Design equivalent? Think of Nokia’s 3310 reboot. For a minute, we all chuckled at the retro chic. But no one ditched their smartphones for it. Nostalgia warms the room; it doesn’t light the fire.
The takeaway: Use nostalgia to onboard users. Not to trap them.
In Phase 1, Marvel did something radical: it invested in characters before CGI. Tony Stark was more than Iron Man. He was addiction, ego, brilliance, and regret in a human exosuit. Steve Rogers wasn’t just a super soldier; he was a quiet man out of time.
This is a trap many products fall into. As they scale, they lose the very intimacy that made them compelling. Think of Evernote. Beloved by early adopters. But over time, complexity replaced clarity. The emotional glue evaporated.
Designers must ask: Who is this really for? Why would they miss it if it disappeared?
Marvel’s Multiverse Saga, on paper, is rich with possibility. Infinite versions. Infinite drama. Infinite timelines.
In execution? Often exhausting. Watching Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness felt like chasing a narrative across a lava flow.
The problem? Complexity does not equal sophistication. In design, we often see the same issue, especially in enterprise software, fintech apps, or anything blockchain-flavored. Teams pile on features thinking they’re building depth. They’re only building layers.
Compare that to Figma. Its learning curve is shallow. Its utility is vast. That’s good design magic. You go deep without drowning.
Marvel’s release tempo after Endgame felt like content inflation. Film, series, spinoff, holiday special. It was binge culture weaponized. And the audience, once ravenous, blinked and said: enough.
Designers take note: just because you can ship weekly, doesn’t mean you should. Pacing isn’t about frequency. It’s about rhythm. People don’t need more—they need meaning.
Marvel tried some weird stuff. WandaVision was genre breaking. Loki was deliciously off-kilter. Even Ms. Marvel had a youthful visual wit.
But not all risks landed. Eternals struggled under its own weight. Secret Invasion felt like a footnote.
That’s the price of reinvention: some swings miss.
In design, we often tiptoe around this. We A/B test ourselves into creative anemia. But look at Dyson’s hair tools, or Tesla’s decision to make an SUV look like a spaceship. Wild moves. Market-making moves.
To revitalize a mature product, you must be willing to do what doesn’t feel safe. Not random. Not reckless. But bold.
Marvel might benefit from a little silence. So might your product.
When Basecamp pared back features and doubled down on clarity, it annoyed some users but clarified its voice. When Instagram tried to become TikTok too fast, it heard from the entire internet.
Sometimes, the most strategic thing you can do is take a beat, listen, recalibrate, and remember who you were before the hype machine took over.
If you’re a designer or product owner staring at a chart that peaked last year and wondering, “what now?” Take a cue from Marvel’s post-Endgame journey.
The goal isn’t to keep getting louder. It’s to keep being listened to.
You’ve had your Endgame. That’s not the end.
It’s your next opening scene.
And if you need a creative team who knows how to design the sequel; not just repeat the pilot, Bang Design is here.
We don’t stop at building experiences. We craft the entire comeback arc.
