goodspace

Something old is something new

Loads of friends have recommended Glee to me. This is probably because they remember that I used to be a (proud) cheerleader in high school. I watched Glee. Glee is good. But it wasn't the cheerleading that lured me in: it was the 80's music. I know it's not geniune, tinny, hysterical 80's music. But it's how I'd like to remember and recall 80's music in the context of life today. 

We're caught in a really interesting moment of nostalgia: longing for the past, in idealized form. And it's all mash-ed up. Bits and pieces of "fake" coming together to create something that feels real-ish and good. It's a very of-the-moment aesthetic. In a recent round of emails at IDEO, Clark dubbed it "consensual artifice." I've also been calling it "fabricated authenticity." It sounds innately paradoxical and at-odds, and it is.

Small design studios like Commune (designers of Ace Hotels, Heath L.A. studio, etc.) and Pompeii A.D. (designers behind Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters) are genius at it. Descriptions of their projects are often hilarious: "For the Ace Hotel, we looked to a mix of Bedouin architecture, tents, camping, national parks, Easy Rider, nomadic tribes, Navajo—all Native American, really—Texas, definitely Marfa, a lot of South American concrete structures, concrete-block walls, and just indoor/outdoor California living. Plus, we looked at Joshua Tree more than Palm Springs." You can read more here.

Why are we here? Is this a reaction to minimalism? Is this a natural next step in a postmodern arc? And how do design companies tap into this trendy aesthetic while substantiating their design ethos for the long haul? It's a tough question. To start, I think a design company needs to claim more than the ability to channel the aesthetic collective consciousness. At IDEO, we often like to separate "looks like" from "acts like" and ultimately, "feels like." It helps us not get bogged down in subjective, aesthetic arguments when at the heart of the design, we're trying to enable a certain kind of human experience or interaction. Distinguishing the "feels like" part of the equation prevents a conceptual metaphor from an actual, literal interpretation (for example, just because a workplace should "feel like workshop" doesn't mean that you need design in custom workbenches and a wall covered in tools). It's not rocket science, but it's a good first step in making sure that aesthetics (look like), behaviors (acts like) and emotional experiences (feels like) are considered discretely and in concert. It gives designers license to explore aesthetics all they want, since it doesn't muddy the design strategy for the whole experience.

And what's next? Are we doomed to appropriate and mash-up history forever? "Don't Stop Believing." Get inspired.

Small enough to succeed

Designing for community is hard. But it feels like a challenge that is unavoidable for any organization looking to create meaningful experiences for their customer - often, it serves as the beginning of the design brief for big retail flagships and hotel lobbies. Connect with the community! Create a warm community! And often what you wind up with is a big open space that's empty. Where did everybody go?

Well, a lot of them are here. At Maggie's Centre. Forgive the pretentious British spelling, but honestly, it's just how it's spelled.

Maggie's Centres are non-profit, community gathering places for people with problems large or small, related to cancer. The spaces are carefully designed. There are multiple locations, mostly in Scotland, and many are designed pro bono by big name architects, including Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid. And this first center, the original one which was a renovation, is tiny. People bump into each other. They jostle each other to get to the coffee machine. They squeeze in to booths with support groups. And because of this, a patient finds herself going through life as usual, a normal person trying to maneouver through a crowded world - rather than an isolated cancer patient in an examination room all by herself. 

A place designed for community that actually works. I know it's not a city or a large urban plaza, but it felt "right" enough to inspire learnings that might scale up:

1. Design for Community benefits from the unscripted. The agenda for your first-time visit is as follows:"You won’t have to fill out a form or book an appointment to come in. You can stay as long as you want.  Wander from room to room. Read some of the literature. Talk to others who recognise how you’re feeing. Sit at the kitchen table and read your paper or write your shopping list. There are no rules or regulations as to what you have to do." 

2. Design for Community builds on powerful, familiar rituals (rather than trying to start from scratch). We all have a collective set of shared experiences: walking in to someone's home and shaking their hand to say hello, leaning on the kitchen counter as you wait for your coffee. The center builds on these archetypal human experiences.

3. Design for Community creates opportunities to be on the outside looking in. What struck me about the Center was the multiple opportunities to be by yourself (not alone, but by yourself) and take it all in. Reflecting and spectating helps you fully appreciate participation.

 

4. Design for Community starts small and acts big. Fresh back from VeloCity, hosted by CEO for Cities, the importance of place and community is sitting heavy in my mind. What does it mean to effect change for something as big and complex as a city? I think we can learn from the small, nimble experimentation that is the Maggie Centre, maybe even more so than any best-in-class masterplan or urban policy. Human-scale consideration, design and participation is a powerful thing. And as we consider the future of our cities and communities, I sincerely hope it's the next big thing.

Service innovation disguised as a cow

When I think of innovative companies, I think about Apple, Target, HBO and Pixar. Oh, PIXAR. I can go on for ages about Pixar.

What doesn't come to mind right away is Chick-fil-A. Maybe because it's impossible to spell? Whatever the reason, let me attempt to put that to right.

Warren Buffet has reportedly offered to buy the company outright several times over the last 10 years. He's no dummy: 41 consecutive years of positive sales growth. Chick-fil-A is a privately held chain of fast-food restaurants that has grown in 40 years to 1,400 restaurants in 37 states. Sales doubled from $1billion in 2000 to $2billion by 2006. What are they doing right? Hint: the president and COO, Dan Cathy, introduces himself as "I'm Dan. I work in customer service."

Customer service. Of course. Many companies profess to have built their entire companies, brick by brick (or byte by byte) on the premise of customer service. But the companies who walk the talk pay equal attention to the customer as well as the service associates who deliver the goods – through innovative hiring practices, incentives and internal communications that align front-line associates with an inspiring ethos or set of values. Chick-fil-A does this. Here's how:

1. Be choosy: Chick-fil-A is notoriously picky about the franchisees it works with. It only awards franchises to 5% of all of its applicants and the selection process can take a year. Chick-fil-A knows that restaurant franchise owners set the tone for the entire service experience - it's a piece of the puzzle they only have 1 chance of getting right, for every restaurant they open. 

2. Go deep: Chick-fil-A is a mission-driven organization. The Cathy family founded the company and comprises much of the (socially conservative) management team. Its corporate mission statement: "to have a positive influence on all who come in contact with Chick-fil-A." This goes beyond turning a profit or being a successful company. As the Gen Y workforce looks for deeper reasons to work beyond personal wealth or stability, missions such as these resonate. 

3. Put customers to work: Chick-fil-A has a healthy understanding of what they can do and what their customers can do better. After investing in a Chick-fil-A run Facebook page, it discovered a fan-created Facebook page that attracted just as many users. So it joined the 2 pages, dropped all corporate Facebook efforts and asked the original Facebook page administrator to take over and ask for help when needed. 

Lots of unique conditions here enable some great stuff: its family-owned heritage makes a heartfelt mission and transparency of values appropriate. How might a different kind of company (a larger or global company, for example) learn from Chick-fil-A's successes?

*thanks to Hailey, Holly, Beth and team for inspiring this unlikely post.

Brands that import, export, then do it again.

I grew up with a Paris Baguette cafe on every corner of my neighborhood.

I grew up in Seoul, Korea.

"Paris Baguette first began in 1988 at a single location and has grown to become the No. 1 franchise bakery in Korea." They first introduced "french-style" baked goods to Korea and now, it's as Korean as kimchee. They've exported the Paris Baguette brand and stores to the US. But only to Koreatowns.

So, to recap: A Korean company creates a French brand and locates it in Korea. Then, it exports the French brand to the U.S., but only to Koreatowns in the U.S. because now, the brand is truly more about being Korean than it is about being French.

The world is indeed flat. All I know is, when I saw a Paris Baguette cafe in the Incheon Airport last week, I felt like I had truly come home.

A Tale of Two Services

IKEA and CB2 on a Saturday morning: not my ideal weekend scenario, or anything close to it. But I hear asking your out-of-town guests to sleep on the floor is widely frowned upon outside of Korea.

The IKEA service philosophy as I experienced it recently: Let's help ourselves together. It's a side-by-side, research activity where the associate has access to a layer of "behind the scenes" information that you peruse through together. A very patient IKEA sales associate walked me through dozens of foam mattress, spring mattress, mattress frame, mattress base and bed base scenarios. The expectation was never set that she knew more than me, only that she knew how to get to information that was different than what I could get my hands on. Therefore, without the promise of expert service, I wasn't ever really set up for disappointment.

CB2 was different. At the cash wrap, after walking us through several shipping options, the associate asked us if he could show us something. He flipped his screen around and showed us a nicely designed couch and told us that he had bought it at a CB2 sample sale for a steep discount. He was so happy with himself, it was hard not to feel some of it rub off on me. We agreed it was a steal and signed up for sample sale email alerts. Then, when the transaction was over, he shook our hands and said "Congratulations!" Congratulations indeed. Simple words that took us from guilty consumers to proud owners.

Service experiences are tricky. Too much, and it feels disingenuous (and often, a little gross). Too little, and you're wondering, where did everybody go? Too consistent and you feel like you're talking to a robot or someone who must really hate their Groundhog Day-type job. And when we as consumers know so much (or at the very least, know where to look for answers) what is the value of service, truly?

I believe service design is a largely unexplored opportunity space, often designed after most of the broad strokes of an experience or strategy are already set. That's too bad, since it's often the most memorable part of an experience, in both good ways and bad. There's so much design to be had: the environment and tools that influence and shape the tone of the service, as well as hiring process, incentives, knowledge-sharing and the foundational service model, all of which can be as or more impactful than the style of architecture or the marketing and communications within the store. 

Service can be overly designed and prescribed. It can also be left to "just happen" on its own. The inspriational design challenge I see is designing just enough for service to feel like "it just happened." Can you think of a service that felt like that?

Tell Me a Good Story

What's the value of a good story today?

It must be a lot, based on how many companies build their businesses on creating stories. I loved this article in Business Week online about Jeff Gomez, master storyteller and comic-book nerd who's the genius behind narratives for Disney, Coke and Microsoft. Creative agencies depend on crafting the ultimate story and consultancies like Eat Big Fish have built their entire business on helping companies reenact the classic story of David and Goliath - their theory being that everyone loves a good story (and loves to watch fights between big guys and little guys).

Some stories make me laugh. Like the brand launch story for Gilly Hicks, the newest brand on the block for Abercrombie and Fitch. Gilly is a beautiful Australian girl who loves lying on the sand, horses and her undies. Unfortunately, it's not supposed to be funny.

Some stories make me cry. *thanks, Jeff Cunningham, for that beautiful link

But when it comes to actually creating stories myself, the best word to describe the feeling is, well, confused. Am I in the business of storytelling? What does authenticity mean? Is a beautiful story worth anything if it's not true? Yet fantasy plays a huge role in design, doesn't it? You see: it gets confusing.

This past weekend, Levi's stores nationwide told a story. A good one. They adopted the "white knots" symbol of solidarity for the same-sex marriage movement. There were no signs or explicit messages about the gesture. But the sales staff were briefed on the campaign and readied to have conversations with customers who wanted to talk about it. It bubbled up from within the company and was approved by Levi's because it felt true to the "pioneering spirit of today."

A client once told Paul Bennett once told me, "Agencies create a myth and sell it. IDEO finds the truth and tells it." Everyone has their personal filter for good and bad stories. For me,the filters are getting a little clearer:

1. Is it true?

2. Does it reflect the storyteller's values?

3. Is it artfully told?

But if I'm consuming the story (rather than creating it), it's a whole different story. I have all the time in the world for fantasy. Below, a 501 commercial from '94. Awesome. * thanks, Webster

The Long and Winding Road Home: for some and for Starbucks

I heard a story on NPR about a couple, Caitlin and Daniel, who were forced to pack up their car with their dog, infant son and life's belongings to live with Caitlin's mother in Maine. It's a story about the recession and how it's forcing people to go back to their roots, even if it's with heads hanging.

It seems the recession is bringing a lot of folks home. Recently, Starbucks opened a new store, aptly named "Heritage," just across the street from its historic, first, Pike Place store. The idea is to connect back to their coffee heritage.

photos from Tim Girvin's blog http://blog.girvin.com

How are they doing this? Well, as far as I can tell, they're going through some of the standard, "green" motions: the bar is encased in scrap leather from shoe and automobile factories, there's a reused community table, the bathrooms have energy efficient hand dryers and lighting, and there's recycling for hot and cold cups. And their walls are covered in coffee burlap sacks. So the question is: are these pit stops on the journey home to the heart of the Starbucks brand or the final destination?

Back to Caitlin and Daniel. Their story is touching because you understand how hard it must be. "I’m almost thirty-five years old and I’ve just moved in with my mother. I have a child, a husband and a dog." But you also see a fundamental transformation in what they consider important: they traded the big dreams and boundless ambitions of their L.A. lives for a deeper, richly satisfying sense of family in Maine.

Heritage for Starbucks tells a nice enough story, from what I can see. But stories are hardly enough to turn around a failing brand in a new economy that demands that everyone rethink how we live. Beyond a new look and catch-up greening, what are the deeper changes here at Starbucks Heritage? The menu is the same, except for the fact that no prices are displayed (a tip-of-the-hat to the regular). The same maddening language. A return home should demand much more than a new outfit. Transformative business practices, perhaps in the form of a new service model, need to go with the distressed leather and stained concrete. Those are the types of changes that can turn a brand around - ones that run deep beneath the surface, a bit harder to spot than the Dyson hand dryers.

For Us, By Us

Paju Bookcity is an extreme exercise in focus. Single-minded urbanism. (Thanks, Beau, for inspiring this post)

"The City to Recover the Lost Humanity": The idea of Paju Bookcity started germinating in 1988. A group of publishers bemoaning the state of publishing and distribution in Korea. Fast-forward to now - the region is almost complete with several sub-communities, including Heyri (a community of artists where live-work lofts are coupled with galleries and cafes). The architecture is stunning - a combination of the best Korea has to offer as well as recognizable, international names.

An inspiring demonstration of what optimistic design thinking can accomplish, at the scale of the city. The only downside of the story here, truly, is the manifestation of the English Village. Whereas the rest of Paju walks a fine line between theme park and authentic, artfully executed whimsy with ease, the English Village falls off the tight rope and flat on its face. Right onto an oversized Stonehenge. 

So what happened here? Here's a hypothesis – the rest of Paju was designed, mostly, by its founders and inhabitants. Paju was planned, designed and built for Korean creatives who share a foundation of david-vs-goliath, optimistic, slightly Marxist values (semantics about individual sacrifice and common good abound). Design for us by us. The English Village, however, was designed for THEM, by us. And it shows. Rather than capturing the spirit behind "a semester abroad" (this village hopes to capture the experience of korean students studying abroad, immersed in the English language, for those who can't afford the luxury), it tries to duplicate an English Village. Down to the last stone. Henge.

How might the English Village be reimagined if it followed the logic of the rest of this ambitious development? What does design "for us by us" mean as an approach to urban planning?

The New Authenticity (revisited)

This past weekend, I was in Los Angeles meeting up with a few friends. Without looking up at the restaurant's sign, we walked into a nice-enough spot. Worn, communal table, bare brick walls, unfinished wood floors. It looked like it had been there for many, many years. I also had a sudden wave of deja-vu.

The authentic, neighborhood cafe I walked into was Le Pain Quotidien, and of course, it was very much like the one I had been to in Claremont a month ago. And in New York a few years ago.

There are more than 80 stores in 12 countries. I was surprised to find out that the one I recently walked into was completely new. There's artifice here (these tables have been here so long they have dents in them!) but it's forgivable. The communal table, the hand-written menus on chalkboard, the stale bread used as menu holders - they're cues for authenticity that many companies have used and overused. Then why does it all feel okay and why does everyone look like they're having the time of their lives? How does each restaurant (all EIGHTY of them) manage to feel local and authentic? And what's the importance of authenticity when fake is done so well?

It seems the new authenticity is less about the stuff and the architecture, and more about the sincerity of interactions that are afforded inside: the nuanced way the waitstaff suggests that ordering off the menu isn't a privilege but a right, the way the ends of the tables are rounded (which is formally, a little ugly) so that every friend around the table feels like they're sharing in the same conversation. The experience is a construct of the way the space acts, less about the way it looks.

When brand meets architecture, it doesn't always look this good.

Brand & Architecture having a nice playdate

Uniqlo's website is the marriage of all things beautiful - a powerful brand, hypnotic performance art, clever motion graphics and stunning architecture. Try watching this when it's daytime in Tokyo, otherwise, you'll just be staring at women with great haircuts sleeping. The Uniqlock has a great 24/7 twist to it.

Directed by one of Japan's top creative directors, Kashiwa Sato, the repositioning efforts, which began over a year ago, have tried to capture pride in Japanese design: all that is "logical, clean and high quality." Another word used to describe the brand is ultra-rational, a theme that carries through with mind-blowing rigor across the multitude of touchpoints that influence how consumers consider Uniqlo's brand.

Sometimes I think that brands are so over. With companies acknowledging that top-down, highly crafted brands are becoming obsolete and irrelevant in light of brands/experiences created for the people by the people. Just take a look at the Gilly Hicks brand (a new prototype from Abercrombie and Fitch, based on the life of a fictional Australian girl character. Really?). 

Then something like this makes me question everything. There's still a space for skillfully executed experience design. Especially when all the elements of experience, including interaction design, product design, branding and architecture, play so nicely together and you're not sure where one stops and the other begins.

Can you name that building, by the way?