While travelling in Southeast Asia, I was in awe of the open-air kitchens of street restaurants. Just by wheeling out a few carefully stocked trolleys and some prepared ingredients, one person was able to run a bustling street-side restaurant serving a score of customers delicious, fresh-cooked food each night. It's a remarkable feat of ingenuity and efficiency.

Some of the attributes I noticed about the best ones:

Menus with prices visible from a distance

We made some of the decision about whether a place looked good as we approached a stand. A clear menu with large prices you can see as you walk up is a simple way to slow down the right customers before they've walked past.

Seeing the fresh ingredients at the front of the stall builds trust in what you're about to eat and whets the appetite.

Pre-chopped ingredients and giant rice cooker

Having boxes of pre-chopped ingredients to throw in makes cooking super speedy, and as so many dishes were served with rice, a single giant rice cooker enabled preparing meals in moments.

Trolleys on wheels and everything within reach

Having everything on wheels allows quick and easy deployment and packing up, and a chef can adjust each unit to have everything in easy reach.

A single high-powered gas stove with a large wok cooks nearly all the dishes

Trolleys stacked with plates, bowls, cups and utensils

A waste bin handles scraps and excess liquids

A multi-use towel wipes surfaces and hands

We had a delicious meal from an old lady in Vietnam who'd just carried her entire restaurant on a bamboo pole over her shoulder, with two large baskets at either end. The pole held everything necessary to cook, including several small stools to sit and eat on.

It helps to have the right kind of weather. A warm and generally dry climate means you don't need to rent indoor space, heat it or cover it. This enables so much creativity with food, reducing prices and barriers to entry and increasing selection. Alas, I'm in the UK for this one.

It also suits food that is quick and simple to cook, often using pre-prepared, flavourful sauces and fresh ingredients that cook quickly, as opposed to dishes that require long preparation, ovens, or simmering times. Thai and Vietnamese food, in general, lend themselves well to this.

It's remarkable how these simple yet effective setups can spin up a restaurant at the side of the street, turning a few trolleys, some carefully chosen gear and a talented chef into a culinary treat.

Arrange kitchen storage to minimise excess travel

And all sorts of other food and drink sketches

The open-air kitchen

"Pillars of Hope" is a tongue-in-cheek name for steel starter bars, also known as starter rods or rebar extensions, that protrude from the roofs of houses after construction. Leaving starter bars sticking out is a pragmatic approach, saving time and money when adding the next floor, as the structure is already partially prepared for the expansion. The "hope" in the name reflects the anticipation and optimism of adding to their homes in the future when the family grows or their financial situation improves.

Growing up in the UK, I never encountered the practice of leaving exposed starter bars on houses. However, while travelling through Central America and Asia, I was surprised to see these exposed rods in many towns and cities. At first, I couldn't understand why so many buildings seemed unfinished, making the skyline somewhat messy. Only when someone explained their purpose to me did it make complete sense.

Steel bars in concrete combine the tensile strength of steel with the compressive strength of concrete, creating a remarkably effective and widely used building method. The starter bars embedded in and protruding from the existing structure provide a strong and stable connection between a new addition and the existing building. The bars transfer loads and anchor the two together.

Pillars of Hope are a conspicuous example of futureproofing. Other examples in buildings are electrics or plumbing, where you might leave capped-off pipes or electrical connection points in anticipation of future work. Laptops and desktop computers with empty expansion slots also use this approach, as does a first edition of software that includes an update manager.

In software and agile development, I like the sentiment from the book Rework: "A kick-ass half is better than a half-assed whole." Have no parts of your product not yet working or "under construction" that are visible to users. Don't leave any visible "starter bars" sticking out of your product. And try not to solve problems that you don't yet have. While it might seem worth adding something now to make a future feature easier to build, it's a tricky balance. So often, you choose to do something else in the future instead and are left with some software pillars of hope sprinkled throughout your code—technical debt you may have to pay off later.

While my first reaction to steel rods sticking out of houses seemingly willy-nilly was that it was chaotic and messy, when I think about them as Pillars of Hope I now find it kind of beautiful—looking out over a skyline and seeing the aspirations and future development of families, homes and a city sketched out on the rooftops.

Edit: Several people told me that leaving starter bars sticking out of a roof makes the building 'unfinished' and not liable to tax on the work. While this is repeated in many places, I'm not 100% sure of the truth. If you have experience with it, please get in touch!

Pillars of hope

An affordance is what someone can do with an object. When you see a well-designed everyday product, the perceived affordances should indicate how to use it.

You shouldn't have to struggle to figure out how to use your shower to take a shower, and you shouldn't have to use trial and error—perhaps drenching yourself in cold water in the process. The design of an everyday thing should make it evident. An object should communicate a good part of how to use it through its affordances.

A recessed button affords pressing it. A sticking-out dial affords twiddling it. A toggle switch affords toggling. An apple affords tossing and catching it; an anvil doesn't. A high stool affords sitting, leaning against or standing on it.

Don Norman, who popularised the term in his classic book The Design of Everyday Things, talked a fair bit about doors. We can push or pull a door or slide it to the side. Sometimes, doors open upwards (though rarely downwards). In something as fundamental to our everyday living as a door, you might think that we had nailed their design sufficiently not to misuse them. However, I'm willing to bet that, like me, you have pulled a door when you needed to push it. A common culprit is adding a bar handle to a door on the side you need to push. While a flat plate attached to the door affords only pushing, a bar handle begs you to pull it. Often, a door designed this way gets a sign saying "Push." As Don Norman says, if your design needs a label, consider another design. 

Once, I nearly walked away from a library with my two small boys because of door confusion. After going through an outer set of glass doors that slid open automatically as we approached them, the next set of glass doors stood resolutely shut. Concluding that the library must be closed, we were just walking out when someone walked up to the second set of glass doors and simply pushed them open. The first set of automatic doors had so cued me that the second set would also be automatic, and the glass doors held no clue that they would operate differently from the outer set that I almost failed to get into an open building.

Don Norman became so well known for pointing out the flaws of everyday objects that poorly designed products became known as "Norman doors."

Don Norman's frustrations are mostly for everyday things. If you are an air traffic controller or an astronaut flying a space shuttle, it's reasonable to expect that some training may be wise to use all the advanced functionality. Yet in specialised environments like healthcare, good design—like avoiding storing drugs in alphabetical order—is critical to reduce the potential for failure.

Digital products struggle to provide affordances. Apple's touchscreen interactions and trackpads have little discoverability of what you can do with them: swipe down from the top-right, swipe up from the bottom, double-tap the side button, long-press on an icon, two-finger swipe right, triple-finger tap—all effectively invisible. Interactions like these reward repeated use and require learning to be effective. However, I think it's reasonable to expect a warm shower in a hotel on your first try without requiring training.

Affordance

While historic buildings in an ancient city centre make tourist attractions, most people would prefer the giant distribution warehouses that power online commerce and our world of delivery-everything to remain out of sight.

Several recently constructed distribution warehouses have started using enormous blocks of colour at scale to gently lead the eye and help buildings of exceptional size blend better into their surroundings.—greens to blend into countryside or "a beautiful sky blue" (video) to blend better with the sky.

Having passed both buildings with the patterns in this sketch, I can attest that the effect, in the right angles and light, is compelling—even though I noticed them more than ever as I spent time thinking about how well it works.

Read more about buildings designed to disappear into the landscape in Rowan Moore's Guardian article ​"A shed the size of a town:​ what Britain's giant distribution centres​ tell​ us about modern life"

This effect also reminded me of dazzle camouflage.

Blending buildings

A camel is a horse designed by a committee, so the saying goes.

It's not fair on camels, which are remarkable animals, but the idea that meeting everyone's requirements leads to a weaker product without a strong vision has a lot of truth to it.

Like a remote control with 50 buttons or a policy so watered-down by different requirements that it has no effect, design by committee can be the death of an initiative. Part of strong product leadership and creating designs that wow is having an opinion, saying no, and not trying to please everybody. Much easier said than done.

To bring it home, the movie Pentagon Wars has an entertaining satirical scene about the evolution of the Bradley Fighting Vehicle (11 mins). The clip shows how the plan for an infantry transport vehicle became "a troop transport that can't carry troops, a reconnaissance vehicle that's too conspicuous to do reconnaissance. And a quasi-tank that has less armor than a snow-blower but has enough ammo to take out half of D.C." Perhaps most informative is the effect on the motivation and morale of the designers—"Can you make it amphibious?"

Also see: groupthink, the tyranny of small decisions, the Abilene paradox, the bandwagon effect.

Or Jeff Bezos' guidance: Be stubborn on vision. Be flexible on details.

Design by committee

The siphon, or syphon, is a simple device that uses only a tube to seemingly pump water from a higher spot to a lower one. It's ingenious because once you start the siphon by filling the pipe to below the height of the upper reservoir level, it will continue draining the water, pulling it over the hump and towards the collection below without further help.

Most of us use siphons several times daily, as there are often two at work in the standard toilet. Sometimes there's one in the flush mechanism—one push of the handle to start the siphon drains the water from the reservoir until it runs out. And you can flush a toilet using the second siphon by pouring enough water directly into the bowl to push the water over the bend in the pipe to start it— think how the water drains by itself almost completely before filling up to the level of the bend once again. It's a clever way to power a toilet flush with just the press of a button or turn of a handle. They also minimise leaks and control the flow by running the water uphill.

We set up a greywater siphon to drain water from the bath and showers to a water butt in the garden. To get it started, we connected the end of the hose in the garden to a tap and ran water back up the hose until it shot out the top. Then, dipping it in the water, turning off the tap, and putting the end in the water butt, like magic, the siphon pulls water out of the bath until it's empty.

Surprisingly, a few effects are at work in a siphon, and its mechanism is debated. They can be made to work in a vacuum and even spray liquid upwards with the right setup.

I read that it is from the ancient Greek siphōn meaning a tube or pipe, often for drawing wine from a cask—that would be a decent situation to start the siphon by sucking on the end.

Siphon

Cake Wrecks is the blog and book of when professional cakes go hilariously wrong, by Jen Yates. But a cake wreck is also a useful metaphor for how easy it can be to misinterpret instructions—often by simply taking something literally when it was expected to be interpreted. Examples from Jen's collection include a smart-looking cake with "Nothing" written across the front, a graduation cake with "I want sprinkles" next to a graduation cap, or a cake sporting a full "Happy birthday on a gluten-free cake." If you haven't seen them, you could do much worse than look some up now. It's easy to laugh at these examples, but it's also easy to find real examples in day-to-day work.

I learned about cake wrecks from Jeff Patton's excellent book User Story Mapping. He gives cake wrecks as an all too common example of communication in software development. For example, a user story or specification for a feature is written and passed on to developers who, in the absence of other communication and with perhaps cultural or status barriers, may carefully build exactly what is written rather than what the writer intended. Cake wrecks are funny and silly—except if it was for your special occasion—but mistakes in projects are expensive in time, money and relationships and are worth avoiding.

The recipe for avoiding a cake wreck is, in principle, simple:

Don't assume that what you see is what someone else will see

Use stories and specifications as tools for talking about what's needed and not as equivalents of it

Create a safe space for everyone to question what they don't understand or don't agree with

Give everyone the 'why' behind a project and autonomy and flexibility to suggest other ways to meet the goal

Check in during a project and adjust as needed

Cake wreck

Feedback is how we get better. It's how we find out what we couldn't see ourselves. But there are many reasons why it's more challenging to gather than we might hope.

You might have a design prototype, a book or article draft, a new practice you want your team to adopt, or a project you've been working on. Feedback will make it better, but it's easy to feel anxious.

You might want to avoid having to talk to people. Maybe you're worried about what others think—perhaps they won't like it. Maybe you'll have to start over. Maybe you'll hear what you know deep down. Maybe you might see that others could do it better than you, that it shouldn't be you that's doing it. Maybe you'll find out that you're a failure.

If we care about achieving the best outcome, we can dispel most of these fears with a few moments of reflection—of course, I'm not a failure for trying!—but it doesn't mean they feel any less real at the time. As is often the case, action can be the solution, and gathering feedback is, in my experience, usually energising and confidence-building—now you can see what will make your project fly.

Jane Austen was known to read her novels aloud to her family for both evening entertainment (pre-Netflix) and to help revise and hone her writing.

Remember, the first draft is always perfect.

Don't take things personally or yourself too seriously.

Don't get attached to one option—attach yourself instead to a great outcome.

To avoid sunk costs clouding your judgment, seek feedback before you're too invested.

Share multiple options when you can. It makes it easier for others to give comparative feedback and reduces the chances of taking it personally.

Remember how valuable good feedback has been in the past.

Consider who to gather feedback from. Sometimes complete strangers can help (who cares if they don't like it?), and other times a friendly face can ease you into it.

Remember the spectrum policy to focus on the good in an idea.

Feedback fear

With well-insulated houses and central heating as standard, I always grew up with heating the space as how you stay warm in the winter. A colleague once shared with me that where he'd lived, they thought of it as heating people, not spaces when looking to stay warm.

The heating people approach means rather than heating the air in the room, you focus on heating the person: warm clothes, hot drinks, baths, cosy furniture with high backs and sides that traps heat in, or furniture that is itself heated like the kotatsu or aga, and generally local heating where a small room or even part of a room may be warm while the rest may be cool — dividing screens are sometimes used.

This approach was common until relatively recently and also still is in countries where it was difficult to stay cool in the summer and houses weren't typically built to keep heat in.

Thanks to Peter Wyatt-Brandenburg for sharing with me many years ago.

Heating people, heating spaces

I've always been fascinated by how a tiny spider can create a web spanning a gap where climbing and dragging a thread across the floor would be impossible, maybe between trees, from a building to a lamppost, or over a stream. How do they do that? Here's a common technique by many orb weaver spiders — known for building orb-shaped, or circular wheel-shaped webs — for bridging the gap and creating the web.

The spider stands on the edge and lets out a long thread. It waits for the breeze to blow the thread away from them. If the thread catches onto something it can form a bridge thread.

Once it catches, the spider may reinforce the thread and then put down other anchors. These then form the frame of the web into which it will add radial threads from the centre.

The spider may then put down an auxiliary thread that provides a non-sticky frame, together with the radial threads, for it to walk on while it lays down the final sticky capture spiral. It's then set to lie in wait.

Some spiders will eat their webs at the end of the night but leave a bridge thread in place — perhaps for you to walk into in the morning — ready to rebuild the next night.

There is a vast diversity of spiders and webs. This is a fairly common example, but even within orb spider webs, there are a ton of different strategies for capturing prey. But perhaps, the next time you spot a bridge thread spanning a seemingly impossible gap this will give you a thought as to how it might have been done.

Here's a common orb spider web as a static sketch

You can watch darwin's bark spider on the BBC creating a web spanning a remarkable 25 metres

A common orb spider web

The magic of a first draft is that the first draft is always perfect. It doesn't matter if it's rubbish, if it's messy, if it doesn't flow, if it lacks personality, or if it won't work. The job of a first draft is to be a draft and get the process started. So however it turns out, the first draft has done its job perfectly.

In the illustrated art collection by Dr Seuss you can see some of the first drafts and iterations of text and images that go to refine the seemingly effortless rhythm, rhyme and combination of text and images from his wacky illustrations.

Donald Schön, in his classic The Reflective Practitioner, goes further by sharing his analysis of design as a reflective conversation – observing each mark sketched on paper informs the next you make. You don't know how it will turn out until you put pen to paper. Seeing what comes out allows you to adapt and modify as you go in a back-and-forth of discovery and evaluation.

Don't worry about your first draft — it'll be perfect.

I read this for the first time in an article by Casey Fowler that's no longer live. Most likely, it originates from the novelist Jane Smiley:

"Every first draft is perfect because all the first draft has to do is exist. It's perfect in its existence. The only way it could be imperfect would be to NOT exist."

The first draft is always perfect

We're all different sizes, and there is no one-size-fits-all, but when it comes to the chosen size it turns out that that size mostly fits men better.

Caroline Criado Perez in her book Invisible Women shares how so much of the designed world fits men better than women — examples include piano keyboards that make playing more technically difficult and more prone to injury for smaller hands, stab vests that didn't take account of breasts, crash test dummies for car seats tested only with males, toilets that always lead to queues, phones that don't fit female hands or pockets, and voice recognition that picks out male voices more easily.

It's a stark reminder of how we need to do more to design with more of the world in mind rather than the default reference male. 

Read more: The deadly truth about a world built for men – from stab vests to car crashes.

See also brilliance bias and the curb-cut effect.

One-size-fits-men

An ode to the importance of little things.

This classic poem memorably paints a picture of how small details can matter, and how small changes can make a difference. Taking that extra bit of care, adding that extra bit of polish, helping that person when you had nothing to gain, showing up with generosity — all small actions that through their effect on others can, ultimately, have a large impact.

This same idea also applies to how we choose to spend our money and our time through contagious commerce — from Seth Godin:

While one person choosing not to eat meat will have a small impact on our climate, it will have a much bigger impact on the restaurants, groceries and food suppliers who notice what you’re doing.

They’ll change what they offer, and that will lead to a multiplier effect of other people changing their habits.

Buying an electric car or installing solar before they’re the obvious economic choice has the same impact. Because once marketers and investors discover that there’s a significant group that likes to go first, they’re far more likely to invest the time and energy to improve what’s already there...

...Very few people have the leverage to change the world. But all of us have the chance to change the people around us, and those actions change what gets built, funded and launched.

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for want of a nail.

For want of a nail

The curb-cut effect illustrates how when we design to benefit disadvantaged or vulnerable groups we end up helping society as a whole.

Angela Glover Blackwell explains how campaigning by students with disabilities in Berkeley in the early 1970s led to adding curb cuts to the Berkeley sidewalks to make access easier for those in wheelchairs. Yet it wasn't just people in wheelchairs that it helped. Curb cuts also made life easier for people pushing children in strollers, people using trolleys for deliveries, people pulling a suitcase, those wheeling bikes or on skateboards, and it also helps save lives by guiding people to cross at safe locations.

Another example is adding closed captioning to TV that helps anyone watch in a noisy bar, a waiting room, or watching an airline safety video. Or a classic example of universal design in the OXO Good Grips range originally made to be comfortable for holding a peeler even if you have arthritis.

It's also a useful analogy for "how laws and programs designed to benefit vulnerable groups, such as the disabled or people of color, often end up benefiting all," (PolicyLink) whether that be increasing broadband access, improving public transport or taking cuts out of curbs.

Here's a short, fun video of Gary Karp explaining the curb-cut effect.

Thanks to my patron Quintin Balsdon for sharing it with me.

The curb-cut effect

Forcing functions are a super way to help make things foolproof, or better, errorproof — as all of us make mistakes with designed things without being fools. You may have used your own forcing function when, in an attempt to make sure you remember your passport or tickets before a flight, you put them directly in front of the door so you couldn’t open it without noticing them. That little dialogue that asks you if you want to save your changes before closing your work, that’s a forcing function too.

My first memory of understanding a forcing function was when working with a giant machine capable of cutting through 100 pieces of paper at a time. The two buttons to operate it were on opposite sides of the machine. I couldn’t start the machine without spreading my arms out wide. There was then no way to also accidentally have your fingers in with the paper and near the blades when it started. Smart.

I learned this sense of forcing function from Don Norman’s classic The Design of Everyday Things. Also from Don, see Mapping.

The other sense of forcing functions for productivity is also really useful: helping kick ourselves into action.

Forcing function — design

When I look back at the LEGO sets of my youth compared to the LEGO sets of today, a few things are striking. Today’s is much cooler: the colours are better, the pieces are more interesting, and the sets are more clever (they also have a lot more weapons*). And the sets have their own characters: they’re not just nameless people in characterless towns—every set is full of people with names, expressions, backstories, personalities and goals. My observation, ahem, through our children, is that this makes it way more interesting to play with. It’s the characters and the story that make them so good now. A good part of that I think is also the shift in quality of expressions on the faces.

I am kind of in awe of LEGO faces. The number and variety and subtlety of expressions it’s possible to make with just a few small changes to a few small lines on a face I find truly astounding. This sketchplanation shows just a tiny bit of the variety from the LEGO Movies. Respect to the artists.

*5% of Lego boxes sold in 2001 contained Lego weapons. In 2014 that was 30% according to Bartneck C, Min Ser Q, Moltchanova E, Smithies J, Harrington E (2016) Have LEGO Products Become More Violent? PLoS ONE 11(5): e0155401.

LEGO faces

Chindogu are inventions that are not really useful yet are not completely without use. They make sense, but you’d never use them. They are also, as a result, often really funny.

This chindogu article gives some great examples while also sharing the 10 tenets of what makes chindogu, chindogu. Things like: there must be the spirit of anarchy —  they represent freedom of thought and action. And they must exist — just the idea isn’t enough; they must be made.

Apparently, the selfie stick was invented as chindogu but failed as people evidently actually found it useful — though you can still see why it might have started as chindogu.

Also see: affordance, forcing function, and more genius from the Japanese: Tsundoku

Chindogu

The default table crowds out your data with non-data-ink and locks your data into cells. When data is locked into cells their relationships with other data is harder to see and the reader has to work harder to learn from your table.

When making a table of data consider if, by adjusting spacing and alignment, you can make the columns or rows clear enough as they are without the prison bars. And look for opportunities to remove the visual noise to let your data and the relationships between them shine out.

The data prison is a concept from Edward Tufte. Check out the beautiful Envisioning Information, for more.

The data prison

This simple model for the progression of ideas is sometimes called a dialectic. It has many philosophical roots, but regardless it’s a nice way to think of how ideas, and perhaps society can progress. Something is created or put forward. It has some benefits but gives rise to negative effects and somehow we figure out a resolution as progress. That new solution then becomes the basis for the next step.

In engineering I learned that we progress by the resolution of contradictions. As a very simple example, it’s nice to have a walking stick. But a full-length walking stick is difficult to transport. You want it to be long when you’re walking, and short when you’re traveling with it. So we invent retractable ones. But retractable ones break more easily, so we invent…to be determined.

You also see a similar idea in stories, for example, the story spine.

It’s sometimes erroneously called Hegel’s dialectic, perhaps partly because Hegel’s work was sometimes so difficult to grasp and this is nicely simple.

Thesis, antithesis, synthesis

I love this concept of the study of social distance, or how humans use space. Distinct from ergonomics, which is more about how people fit into their environment, proxemics focuses on the social aspect of space. For example: At what distance are you intimate? Where does your personal space end? How far away should you be for a good conversation? Why are the big circular wedding and conference tables so bad? How close should desks be in an office to encourage collaboration without feeling jammed together?

Dev Patnaik at Jump Associates used to give the fine example of how you will whisper politely and with awe in the vaulted ceilings of a cathedral, while the confessional box — for people to share their deepest secrets — is low and close. An olde English pub that you stoop to enter under the low ceiling immediately feels friendly and intimate, whereas you’ll struggle to have a deep conversation on entering a warehouse.

Proxemics was coined by the cultural anthropologist Edward Hall. His book The Hidden Dimension has the details.

Proxemics

Two-factor authentication is a neat technique for adding extra security by requiring two different types of verification. So, rather than asking you to provide two passwords—both things you could remember or find written down—if you are asked to provide a password and a code you could only have if you had a particular device, security is greatly enhanced.

The usual factors involved include asking for two from:

Hence the convenience of photo ID where you have to provide the ID and also look like the photo. Or provide a ticket and a code, or a chip and pin…

Also see: choose passwords that make you happy, and 8 character passwords

2 factor authentication

Conway was mostly observing software development, but I would think it has some application to any large project: cruise ship design, car design, space shuttle design, heck maybe even governments and law.

Law is kind of a strong word for an observation, but in any case, here are some other ‘laws’: Fitt’s law, Metcalfe’s law, Goodhart’s Law, Muphry’s law, Moore’s law, Koomey’s law, the law of diminishing brownies, the law of lockers and, my favourite, Hofstadter’s Law.

PS: As you read this I may be cycling mid-lake and trying not to sink to raise money for charity: www.cycleorsink.com

Conway’s Law

This is the triangle between the most key parts of a kitchen — the sink, the hob and the fridge. The idea is that, when planning the layout of a kitchen, you should consider that you’ll be moving between these three regularly. Ideally, if you can get them just a step or a turn away from each other then your kitchen will be efficient and feel a pleasure to use.

Another handy thought is to allow trips to and from the fridge while someone may be preparing food without getting in their way — so having the fridge not deep at the back of the kitchen can be handy.

Plus, there’s a useful secondary triangle to consider between the sink, the dishwasher and your storage. Think rinse, dishwash and put away without having to trek back and forth across the kitchen all the time.

A more recent concept is to think of zones instead, such as the preparing zone, the cooking zone, the washing zone or the backing zone and make sure each of these has everything you need in them for the activity.

And make sure when the dishwasher is open there’s room to walk around it without it getting totally in the way. Also see: how to load a dishwasher well.

The kitchen working triangle

I love this concept of the third teacher that applies just as well in a primary school as in an office. A well-designed environment can help us learn, encourage good habits, and improve our wellbeing.

I remember a previous mentor of mine saying he could tell how a project was doing just by taking in the project room.

Too often these days the environment is hidden away in software. A well-designed environment can really be a third teacher. Consider how you can make the most of yours.

Here's the third teacher illustration without the animation

The third teacher

This is military strategist John Boyd’s framework for combat operations that also turns out to apply quite well to businesses and learning in general. It’s really not that far from the ol’ test-learn cycle or a good design process.

There’s lots of nuance to his framework, but some of the application of it that I like includes:

The faster you can do this loop — at your startup or in a fight — the more stuff you will get to try and the faster you will learn

If you’re in competition with another entity then completing your OODA loop fast, and acting to change the environment for them, disrupts their loop and forces them back to observe before they can act. It slows them down and creates confusion

I learned about it from Reid Hoffman’s excellent Masters of Scale podcast.

OODA Loop

Simon Sinek’s simple idea to start with why. To get a better feel, watch his 18min TED talk: How great leaders inspire action. I found his concrete example of “It was the ‘I have a dream’ speech, not the ‘I have a plan’ speech,” helps keep in mind the power of starting with why and painting a vision in order to inspire and lead. Now, if you have a vision, a strategy and a plan, well, then you’re in business.

People don’t buy what you do, they buy why you do it.
— Simon Sinek

Simon’s has parallels with another I like:

Products aren’t just things that you buy, they’re things that you buy into.

The golden circle

The 60-30-10 color rule is a handy and memorable technique for a great start in simple branding. 

Think of a suit where about 60% of the colour you see is the suit, 30% the shirt and 10% accent or highlight with the tie. Classic.

Also see: The basic colour wheel other drawing sketchplanations

60-30-10 Colour rule

I’ve found this model useful in my thinking so many times. Also known as the Buying Hierarchy, it’s a model that illustrates a common evolution — though not perfect nor universal — in products and markets where an original innovation provides a performance or functionality benefit over what others can provide. As a result they can charge more as no one else does it.

When others come to deliver that too, then the focus for the customer can move to which delivers the most reliable quality. When the reliability is the same from different providers then we’ll choose the one that is more convenient.

Only once all else is equal does the lowest price option become the winning one. At this stage you’re selling a commodity where people could choose to get the same thing, just as easily, for the same quality in several places.

There’s a business to be made at each stage, but it’s sensible to know where you’re competing.

The original model is from Windermere Associates and widely shared by Clayton Christensen in The Innovator’s Dilemma.

The customer value chain

A way of helping decide what to do next based on Must do, Should do, Could do and Would do.

Strangely, so many of the things you’d really like to do when put in this organisation end up in the Would bucket.

MOSCOW Prioritisation.

The proportions of the golden ratio pop up in all sorts of places. They are a handy shortcut to make something we seem to innately find pleasingly proportioned. In Nature, the golden spiral abounds across the shell of the nautilus, the spiral of strawberry seeds, the spikes of cacti, and hurricanes. It’s found in the Pyramids and the Parthenon, the Mona Lisa, violins, photography and, very deliberately, in corporate logos. No wonder it’s sometimes called the golden ratio of beauty. There’s a pleasing simplicity to the equation too, where the ratio of the long over the short dimension is the same as both added together over the long dimension.

Check out some golden ratio examples. Even Trump.

The golden ratio

A remarkably common pattern for the evolution of many things. You see it all the time in the evolution of technical things, but also many systems in general.

When you start to reach the top of the limits of what one system can do you’ll start to see a focus on efficiency, cost reduction and small improvements and optimisation. This is great because it forces a new creative solution to arise in order to make any real progress. An image search gives a few examples.

Also, see some related sketchplanations: The long nose of innovation, designing for adoption, understanding the chasm.

The S-curve.

I learned about 2.5D, or two and a half dimensions, from my engineering days. Turns out it’s really quite common to make 2.5D things because, for example, it’s easy to drill or mill down into something, and a pain to turn something on it’s side and drill from the other side. Or, as with vacuum forming it’s easy to suck plastic onto a mould, but a pain to get it off if you’ve got any overhangs as you can’t lift it straight up again. Hence the plastic sandpit in our garden is a 2.5D object rather than true 3D. Civilisation in general looks rather 2.5D from the air as we tend to build up, but don’t find overhangs that easy or practical eg the pyramids.

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Sketchplanations tagged with design