There Is No Design Process
Somewhere, around 20,000 to 30,000 years ago, our Paleolithic ancestors invented the atlatl, or spear-thrower, igniting a paradigm-shifting revolution in hunting just in time for the emergence of Ice Age megafauna. Simply put, the atlatl roughly doubles the launch velocity of one’s spear, and per the beloved KE=1/2(m*v2) we all remember from high school, the kinetic energy unleashed on the unfortunate prey is quadrupled. Dramatic increases in both the range and effectiveness of the weapon were likely much prized when facing off against a six-ton mammoth; the technology must have spread rapidly. Alas, our Paleolithic ancestors, clever as they were, didn’t go to high school. So, lacking even basic knowledge of Newtonian physics, how did they conceive and perfect a deceptively elegant and spectacularly successful device whose popularity spread across the globe in the Paleolithic version of going viral?
Our inventive hunter friends were clearly gifted designers, in an age well before the rise of Design Thinking, Agile Sprints, Post-It’s, Gantt Charts, Phase Gates and User Journeys. Don’t even start with the 3D Printing. The simple truth is the human imperative to design has been with us from the start. All the other things that pass for process today are those we’ve constructed around our ancient, innate abilities in our very modern quest for efficiency, expediency and competitive advantage.
Not that that’s a bad thing – I’m in the business of providing such services, after all. We do need to recognize, though, the tools and methodologies we loosely refer to as The Design Process are not the process; instead, they comprise a framework within which we can have efficient conversations, relationships and transactions about the business of design, where expediency and competitive advantage matter a great deal. Design itself is rooted far deeper in the collective psyche of our species, in our relationship with language itself.
If we concede the development of the atlatl likely occurred over numerous generations and involved many individuals sharing innovations and improvements, we need to recognize this shared effort required a rich spoken language, with recursive distinctions built on layers of more fundamental meanings and verb tenses for talking about future possibilities, the “what-ifs.” What is Design if not an endless series of what-ifs?
Likewise, a dramatic expansion of our imagination was symbiotic, or at least concurrent, with the increased sophistication of language. At least 5,000 to 10,000 years before advancements like the atlatl, sapiens were carving elaborate imaginary creatures like the famed Hohlenstein Lion Man. With his human body and lion head, the ivory statuette is an artifact difficult to ponder without some complex cultural context to animate it, without storytelling. By the time of the ascension of the atlatl, we were already illustrating complex narratives in stunning cave paintings, like those at Lascaux for example. Not so coincidentally, narratives about imagined future possibilities are at the core of Design. Maybe Lascaux was something like a paleolithic whiteboard, enabling our ancestors to ideate on a better hunting experience and germinating the aha moment leading to the atlatl.
Twentieth century philosophers introduced the notion that we “live in language,” that our reality is only experienced through language. It’s a slippery but powerful point of view for thinking about Design, and what the process really is. This linguistic framework for our human experience implies way more than simply using storytelling to better “explain” ideas; instead, it demands we accept that we are never not in a narrative. By extension, we think about our futures in the form of narratives as well. We tend to see a logical path from one situation to the next unfolding far into the future. In our mind’s eyes, our imagined futures can look quite real to us because we’re wired to accept the narrative as reality.
Designers understand that stories can be rewritten. When we recognize a particular future situation is not aligned with our expectations for how life should go, we see opportunity to bring forth a better experience, an updated story. We use language to speak into existence those imagined future narratives, to share promise of a better experience; the artifacts follow to fulfill the promise of the story.
Our contemporary tools for collaboration, having long ago replaced painting on cave walls, nonetheless still comprise a platform or framework for Design, helping ensure alignment and efficiency across teams producing technological advancements in months instead of generations. Sophisticated as they may be, our tools today are only the current mode of harnessing our imperative to design, to have some control over our futures.
So call all that scaffolding The Process if you must for expediecy’s sake. But remember Design itself was not invented. Design is constituitive of our human experience. Design is storytelling.
Arne Lang-Ree is co-founder and CDO of Spanner.
An innovator, thinker and deconstructor, Arne challenges himself and Spanner’s clients to bring sustainable and responsible products to life. Born in Norway, Arne was inspired early by his engineer father to look at things twice. At an early age, he was imagining inventions that ultimately inspired him to earn both his BSME in Mechanical Engineering and MSE in Product Design from Stanford University. Arne has since racked up more than 30 years of product development and mechanical design experience in a wide range of product markets and with globally recognized brands. Arne is rarely without his trusted canine sidekick, Penny, and the duo can be found at the Spanner office creating together or walking the Silicon Valley for inspiration.
Interested in learning more about what it’s like to collaborate with Spanner?