Maybe you shouldn’t focus on making things that are different, new, novel, disruptive, and with broad appeal. Maybe, instead, your company should try to be appropriate, simple, quiet, useful, and focused.

It’s a difference in aspiration. Often, I aspire for both, and when I do, I’m in conflict. I want my school to be wildly successful, and to have a massive impact, and to be well known, and to change the world. And at the same time, I don’t want it to do any of those things: I want it to have a profound impact on the students I teach, and generate enough money for me to live. They don’t seem in conflict, but they are, because a focus on scale changes all of your decisions. A focus on scale needs to be explicit, and it’s a question I think every startup needs to ask and answer not once, but over and over again: Do we need scale to be successful?

For me, this question begs these:

Should we offer online courses?

Should we increase tuition?

Should we sell or license our curriculum?

I know the answers to these questions; these answers are much more obvious and apparent to me. And so when I see news that pinterest is valued at 1.5 billion, forcing the almost automatic introspection of my own values, beliefs, and goals, I let the internal audit happen, and I check my feelings of innovation and disruption to see if they’ve changed. For some, scale is a good goal. For others, it’s a distraction. It’s easy to say “ignore the noise” or “check out of the echo chamber”, but it’s impossible to do. Let the noise help reinforce your values.

And now, they need to build a product.

There are lots of different processes for identifying what to build. I’ve outlined one way before. And there are lots of processes in place that describe how to build it. But knowing what to build, and building it, doesn’t get you all of the way to a product or company, because you won’t have answered a critical question:

How does the product or company feel?

That’s a vague and fuzzy question, and so it may not ever get asked, much less answered. Those with an extremely analytical mind rarely consider this type of question, and if they do, they may discount it as being irrelevant. Even if it is considered, it’s hard to know how to answer it, because the concept is subjective and the embodiment of the answer is vague.

A way to arrive at the answer to that question is to ask a different question, one of value. What value will your product or company provide, and to whom?

It’s tempting to answer this question from a standpoint of utility, describing the practical things it helps someone do. For example, you might explain that Google “helps people find information.”  That makes sense, considering their stated mission: “Google’s mission is to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful.” And, examine their value-line (I bet you didn’t even know they had one!): Search, Ads, and Apps. These are statements about getting things done and increasing efficiency. They are clear, and straight-forward, and can easily be tracked and measured. A statement of value can be used as vetting criteria for new features and functions, or even for the organization of the company. When someone has a great idea for a new product, you could ask, “How will this new idea support our value-line of search, ads, and apps? How will it help people find information? How will it help organize the world’s information?” These are all indications of commodity, which – as aspirational goals – are strange;  I would expect a company to aspire to a more differentiated and rich value proposition.

Of course, you can go in the other direction, too. For the last few years, AT&T’s value-line has been “Rethink Possible.” The absurd grammar choices of big companies aside (HP did it with “Let’s Do Amazing”, and Apple obviously enjoyed success with “Think Different”), the statement is thin because it’s overly broad. Taken as a sentence, it implies that “Our products will help you rethink what is possible.” Rethink what’s possible with what, my dishwasher? My relationship? Everything?

(As an aside to the aside, I feel like Let’s Do Amazing is terrible, but it’s nowhere near as bad as Yum! Brand’s “striving each and every day to put a Yum! on our customers’ faces around the world“. Excuse me, Ma’am, but you have some Yum on your face.)

A larger criticism would be the frequency with which AT&T changed their perception of the value they provide. Consider that at least five lines have been used since 2000:

• Fits you best
• Raising the bar
• Your World. Delivered
• Rethink Possible
• Rethink Possible: It’s what you do with what we do.

Has the value AT&T provides actually changed that much – five massive changes – in 12 years? The justification for the last change is the most compelling, as it signals an attempt to humanize:

“We did a lot of insight research about how people live with technology,” said Esther Lee, senior vice president for brand marketing, advertising and sponsorship at AT&T in Dallas, which included “ethnographies, shop-alongs and spending time in people’s living rooms.”

When the “Rethink possible” campaign was developed, most consumers “felt overwhelmed with technology,” Ms. Lee said…

Unfortunately, it seems that they fell short of truly empathizing with their customers, as Lee goes on to explain:

“… but only a short time later many have “found ways to integrate it in their lives” — and some even “talk about it with love. The real innovation that’s happening is what people are doing, and how people are dealing, with technology,” she added, and “the unique ways they use it to make their lives better.” [Source]

The five statements AT&T has tried indicate a sense of value that is so broad as to be aimless or meaningless. I think large companies have a hard time describing their value to the world because their literal size has diluted a sense of purpose. I don’t necessarily believe the story of the NASA janitor who claimed he was “putting a man on the moon”, because NASA’s engineering culture was so strong, and the organization was so big, it’s unlikely there was a shared vision of anything.

I don’t like utility-driven value statements, like Google’s, because they seem destined towards commodity. And I don’t like the high-level value statements of AT&T because they are meaningless – they are fluff, noise. Instead, I recommend a more human approach to the question of value, which you can arrive at through a round-about manner. Ask, and answer, these two questions: If your product was a person, what kind of person would it be? What stance does your product take when it is confronted? Your product isn’t a person, but it will be used by one, and so these questions force you to consider the time-based interactions and dialogue that will occur when a real live person engages with your creations. You’ll describe the aspirational attitudes that your work conveys, and because your work is a proxy for yourself, you’ll be describing your aspirational stance, too.

Files
All of my files have a name that’s extremely specific, and follows a pattern like this:

[client_project_artifact_version_initials.type]

So, I end up with files called AC4D_IDSE101_understandingFileNaming_03_jk.docx – this is a word document for Austin Center for Design, course IDSE101, about Understanding File Naming. It’s the third version of the file, and since I touched it last, I add my initials.

Over time, you’ll see how the files have changed:

AC4D_IDSE101_understandingFileNaming_DRAFT_01_jk.docx
AC4D_IDSE101_understandingFileNaming_DRAFT _02_mf.docx
AC4D_IDSE101_understandingFileNaming_03_ls.docx
AC4D_IDSE101_understandingFileNaming_04_mf.docx

This shows how multiple team members have worked on the same document, kicking it back and forth. The naming convention serves a few key purposes. First, when a file is emailed to someone else, they can instantly understand what it is. This removes the likelihood of an incorrect file being shared inadvertently. Additionally, it makes it clear which version is the most current, and who was responsible for the last set of changes. Finally, for the purposes of Getting Lots Of Things Done, the file name itself acts as a trigger for recall. A file that has a version number of 65 or 98 indicates that the project is well underway, and has been for some time; it signals “get in the mindset of details, and be prepared for discussions about minutia.” A file with an early version number says “these are new ideas. People may not be on the same page as you.” A file with initials from a junior designer says “You should probably look at this before you present it.” A file with a name that contains DRAFT or EARLY EDIT says “Don’t show this to a client.” And so on.

If you work on a single project for a single client, and have a single role, this level of detail may not seem necessary, because you can remember the state of materials from day to day. But chances are, even if you work on a single file all day long, someone else in your organization doesn’t, and will need this level of detail to make sense of whatever you are collaborating on. Do them a favor and start being more diligent in your file naming.

Folders
I have a projects folder, which is also a Dropbox folder: everything that is in it gets automatically backed up. Inside of that folder, I have a folder for each client, and inside of the client folder, a folder for each project. Anything on the desktop is transient working material. So, I end up with a structure that looks like this:

—AC4D
——-Classes
————-IDSE101
————-IDSE102
——-Students
——-Faculty
—Conferences
—Writing

The importance of the structure is that it maps to the actual organization of events in the day. I can roll into class to teach, and the process of (I am at AC4D) => (going to teach  class) => (called IDSE102) allows me to quickly locate the material relevant for the activity. There’s no hunting around for the right content; it’s where it should be. This becomes extraordinarily important if you are working across multiple clients or multiple projects for a single client.

Inside of Files
Many types of files have a structural component inside of them. For example, a Word document has styles, that indicate Header levels [1, 2, 3], Paragraphs, and so on. You don’t have to use them, and most people don’t. But these aren’t just conveniences: they predict the usage of the file for later, and help create a seamless workflow for the use of your material in other contexts. I think some designers aren’t aware that their work is actually used in other contexts, and that it feeds a larger flow of work, but consider that after something’s written in a Word document, it might be used in a layout program like InDesign, it might be pushed into an Excel document, cut and pasted into email, or act as the basis for HTML. Did you know that if you set up styles in Word properly, InDesign inherits them? Think about how much time that saves during layout. The larger point is that people will use your content after you are done with it, and so they should be able to open your files and navigate the material without requiring your in-person assistance.

The equivalent for most visual designers is the layer palette in Photoshop. When a designer is aware of how their work fuels a larger process, they go out of their way to name things in a coherent fashion. This mimics the file/folder structure of an operating system – it requires naming each layer, and each layer folder, appropriately. It acknowledges that other people will use your files. It’s a courtesy, but it’s also larger than that: it creates an opportunity to Get A Lot Of Things Done.

Team Expectations
Presuming you wanted to implement some of these simple ideas in your own teams, it will require a form of collaboration that isn’t automatic and doesn’t come naturally. You will need to tell your teammates how you expect them to work; if you don’t tell them, they probably won’t do it. This means that you set expectations at a kickoff meeting (literally writing on the whiteboard, for example, how you expect people to name their files, organize their materials, etc), and then reinforce this over and over. Want people to put their work on the server before they leave for the evening? You need to tell them. Expect your designers to label all button layers in Photoshop with a prefix “btn_”? You need to tell them. And more importantly, you need to show them by leading by example. When you start sending out materials, reinforce the expectation by practicing what you preach.

These things – files, folders, internal file organization, and setting team expectations – seem silly and trivial. They aren’t. As long as files are the structural element of your work, these small details are part of the “measure twice, cut once” or “always clean off your workspace” of craftsmanship. They make you more productive, they indicate your respect for the medium and your co-workers, and they make life easier for everyone.

When we’re ideating at Austin Center for Design, we typically push ideas to the point of absurdity (and often, well beyond that point). For example, when we were talking through and planning the conference we just announced, we were discussing ways to differentiate the content, the activities, and the various designed parts of the event. Someone suggested using color, and for a while, we rolled with the idea of having literally everything at the space a certain color. What if the seats, speakers, food, brochures, microphone stands, and signage were all pink? What about the floor, ceilings, and walls? What if we made it a requirement to enter – you had to be dressed all in pink? When you start pushing an idea to the edge of appropriateness, you end up in some funny places. I can picture an all-pink conference; I don’t know why we would want to do that, but part of a playful stance is that it’s OK to consider ideas without really knowing where they’ll go. The discussion of pink led, somehow, to a conversation around decor and actors, and for a few minutes, we told stories of what the event would be like if there were lots and lots of mimes situated around the space. Why? I’m not sure. And I think that’s the point – play is about not being sure.

A technique I like to use, both with students and professionals, is insight combination: a form of provocation that forces unique combinations of ideas. For example, consider how you might take these three ideas, and smush them together into a new idea:

Idea one: A design conference
Idea two: People enjoy things that are visually unexpected
Idea three: The lifecycle of plants

What if, during the conference, there was an opportunity to see the facial expressions of the audience from the previous talk on fast-forward?

What if, during a cocktail party, there was a viral form of “germination” of ideas, that spread through the use of brightly-color, pollen-like pods?

What if, during a presenter’s talk, something rippled through the crowd in a way that a bee, a ladybug, or a butterfly might fly?

What if hundreds of butterflies were unleashed in the auditorium during the conference?

We could continue to push “What if” statements for as long as we have time and imagination: there are an infinite number of ways to push these ideas together into new ideas. Each prompt, such as “lifecycle of plants”, brings to mind interactions, movements, relationships, and so on. A plant blossoms. Flowers have vivid colors. Seeds grow. They push the dirt aside when they come out of the ground. Sunshine hits green leaves. Ladybugs fly around. Any of these ideas can be artificially embedded in an existing context to produce new and exciting ideas.

Of course, “new and exciting” is really different than “cost-effective”, “appropriate”, or “lucrative”: there’s a huge chasm between something new, and something that will sell. To be playful means avoiding, at least temporarily, a focus on the external goal of revenue (or, really, any external goal at all). It’s about setting up artificial constraints around an idea space, and then, within that space, seeing what happens.

I’ve found that corporate cultures that embrace meetings and consensus, that have a constant and driving emphasis on quarterly profits, that have compensation related to optimization and streamlining, and that relentlessly question the purpose of every action are not playful. Employees have a constant sense of an external goal, and so all activities are (sometimes explicitly, but always implicitly) judged against their relevant to that external goal. In many publically traded companies, employees will have a ticker of the stock price of their own company on the screen of their computer at all time. This serves as a constant reminder: are your activities, right now, contributing to the bottom line?

I can’t tell you the value of dreaming about colors at a conference, or mimes, or flowers, and what’s more, I won’t be able to tell you the value of those ideas after the conference is over. We aren’t going all-pink; does that mean that the twenty minutes we spent talking about pink colored cocktails was not a good use of time? Was it “wasted time”? I don’t think so. I think ideas like this are bridge ideas: the push the design boundaries and constraints further, expanding the realm of potential and giving a designer a broader palette of pieces and parts to work with.

We’re please to announce a new design event in Austin, Texas: A Mingle-Mangle Razzle-Dazzle Ragtag Design Extravaganza! Join us October 5th and 6th, 2012 in Austin, Texas, for 2 days of thought-provoking and inspirational conversations about the role of design, technology, and “user experience” in shaping the fabric of society. This design event is a conference not to be missed. Confirmed speakers include:

• Allan Chochinov, Chair, Products of Design, School of Visual Arts
• Bryony Gomez-Palacio, Co-Founder, UnderConsideration
• Anya Kamenetz, Senior Writer at Fast Company
• Alan Cooper, Founder & Chief Executive Officer, Cooper
• Heather Fleming, Chief Executive Officer, Catapult Design
• Ralph Caplan, Author, By Design and Cracking The Whip

Our attendees at this design event include designers, marketers, entrepreneurs, and agency directors; at this conference, you’ll experience some great networking with some of the top talent in Texas.

Six more speakers will be announced in the coming weeks; for now, we encourage you to register early, as this is an event you don’t want to miss! Learn more here – we hope to see you at the Design Extravaganza!

We’re working through eight or nine methods that can be applied in the context of research, synthesis, and prototyping. All of the ideas fall back on the core themes of Framing, Empathy, Play, Insights, Constraints and Synthesis. To me, these are the ingredients of design – the structures upon which a thoughtful approach to design lies.

Framing describes the perspective taken when approaching a new and novel design task. Framing is a theory in cognitive psychology, by which a person interprets their experiences through a particular lens. This happens naturally, and all of the time – it’s a way by which we make sense of the world around us. The trouble is that, while any particular frame reveals new and interesting content, it also serves to conceal different information. In a way, a frame shapes our understanding of the world around us by creating a level of dynamism to fact. We can become more aware of our frame by considering the assumptions we are making about a given event, experience, action or activity. Once we are aware of the frames we use to make sense of situations, we can – if we want to, and if we try really hard – reframe a situation, to view it from another perspective. Are you at the airport, annoyed with the TSA and bemoaning their lack of regard for your human rights and dignity? Try, for a second, and it will be hard, to reframe the entire situation from their point of view. That means that you try to consider their perspective on life; the reason they have their job; the motivation that drives them to work every morning; what they think of you; what they think of the policies that they have to follow; and so-on.

I’ve written a great deal about Empathy. Simplistically, it’s the idea of feeling what someone else feels, which is, of course, impossible. But the aspiration for empathy is not impossible, and, as Ralph Caplan describes, “focuses on the user as a person, not just a consumer.” Considering a “user” as a “person” means as a whole person – with complicated emotions, challenging beliefs, and peculiar ways of behaving. This demands a design approach that treats them as a whole person – as a person who can think and feel.

Play is the stuff Michael Schrage describes as “the most rational behavior for innovators.” It’s the ability to try things with a light heart, understanding that the intent of a playful stance is not productivity or efficiency, but instead, exploration and joy. Being playful typically requires looking at things in new ways – forcing things that don’t connect to connect, and seeing what happens – or making obvious things that are usually unspoken or taboo.  A result of a playful perspective that attempts to reframe a situation is usually a controversial take on a situation, and so it will be desired by some and rejected by others. This is a simplistic illustration of the risks associated with the process of innovation

Insights are clear, deep, meaningful perceptions into human behavior. They are intentionally provocative, and – like a reliance on a playful stance – they result in statements that are controversial and potentially risky. Insights are derived as assumptions, built on top of interpretations, built on top of observations, built on top of raw data: they are multiple-times removed from the realities of the world, and in this way, they act as launching points for identification of constraints.

Constraints describe the boundary conditions of a problem. They offer the designer a series of subject elements upon which to build a solution. Constraints, according to Eames, are “one of the few effective keys to the design problem,” and I tend to agree. Constraints can be (and often are) completely arbitrary: how much time and money do you have? What is the existing brand language? For interaction design solutions, constraints are largely social, cultural, and emotional, and these are subjective qualities. Interpretation is necessary to understand them, and a point of view is necessary for interpretation.

Synthesis is the process of making meaning through inference-based sensemaking. It ties together the above – Framing, Empathy, Play, Insights, and Constraints – into a process that attempts to “create objects having necessary characteristics… requirements for knowledge for synthesis are not universality and minimality but rather individuality and diversity.” [pdf link] What that means is that, as a result of synthesis, we’ll identify extremely specific design ideas that are objectively relevant within the subjective constraints that have been established. Synthesis is an active process, one that forms new knowledge, and as applied in design, it’s a form of inference-based knowledge production: ideas that might be wrong. It’s about dreaming.

Here’s a presentation I sometimes use to describe these six ideas. [pdf link]

Because the professors come from all over the world, students are exposed to a variety of viewpoints, and to experts in various aspects of their studies. For example, I’m here with Patrick Jordan, former CEO of the Contemporary Trends Institute, David McGaw from Doblin, and Alex van Putten of Wharton. I’m not sure of another school that can offer such a strange assortment of people in one place. In this diversity of viewpoints comes a texture to a course of study. In the Business Innovation program that I’m teaching in, the course covers topics of Branding, Customer Relevance, Funding, Models, and Leadership; it’s sort of a mashup of a traditional MBA and the more intellectual parts of a design program.

On the other hand, because I’ve never met these other professors before, I have no real understanding of what they are teaching, how what I’m teaching fits in (or doesn’t), and how students will build upon what they’ve learned in my class, in later classes. This is probably quite similar to how most schools work that rely on adjunct faculty. Mitigating this issue would require a very exacting top-down vision – a director that has a strong view of what they want, and students that are willing to follow that vision even if they don’t truly understand where it leads.

This type of program also raises questions about the role of partnership and collaboration in education. Students in the program work on individual capstone projects. I wonder how this would work if they were to collaborate? How would they communicate outside of class – would they be proactive enough to schedule conference calls, meetings, and video chats on a regular basis? Would it be treated like a client engagement? Or would it be strictly email and a project management tool, with little facetime and actual person to person creativity?

Ultimately, I appreciate the unique quality of the program, and when I asked the students what attracted them to CEDIM in the first place, almost all mentioned the unique relationship between the school and the faculty. It would appear that, for these students, a multiplicity of viewpoints about education are appreciated and worthwhile.

• Advanced technology, in the form of planes, people movers, back-scatter x-ray machines, giant advertising displays, QR codes everywhere, and even police on Segways
• Legacy technology that’s firmly embedded, including green-screens from the 80s, client-server booking systems, and dot-matrix printers
• Coordination and logistics, which mostly involves moving people and things to the right place at the right time (people to planes, planes to gates, baggage to planes, food to planes, waste from planes, wheelchairs to gates, information to gates, and so on)
• Information, both static (this is always gate 15) and dynamic (your departure has just moved from gate 15 to gate 20)
• Overlapping needs and incentive structures, like the need to move planes as quickly as possible, the need to provide friendly service, the need for constant cleanliness, the need for safety, the need for perception of safety,  and so on.
• Third-party vendors, operating in a sort of surreal orbit around the traveling public
• Policies, set by various levels of authority, many of which are absurd and arbitrary
• Lots and lots of people.

These make up the constituents of flying, and each of these constituents have touchpoints with the traveling public. An optimistic way of looking at a touchpoint is that it is the place where a person interacts with a system or service, creating an opportunity for delight or an exchange of values. It’s a chance for dialogue, both literal and figurative, and it should act as a conduit for human to human interactions. But a more realistic view of the touchpoints involved in air travel is that these are places where the seams of broken systems are exposed, where priorities become obvious. Every touchpoint with, say, the TSA is a chance for a person to glimpse the policy decisions that have been made at the expense of delight, value exchange, or human to human interactions. The TSA is, in the United States, considered to be the most obvious part of the problem. I’m reluctant to provide them any compliments, but I will offer that they are only one part of the much larger, systematic problem facing the air-travel industry: a lack of humanism. Because at each touchpoint, there’s evidence of a regression to assembly-line tactics, driven by a desire for increase speed, increased efficiency, and a want to squeeze pennies out of an already tired revenue stream. This, in total, is why flying has become such a miserable experience.

Advanced technologies – from the screens in the back of the seats, to the use of touch-screen terminals for check in – are used to offer new revenue streams for the airline or to streamline efficiency for the employees of the various organizations. The use of digital signs (which, as I wrote this in the Austin airport, were not working – because, as the gate agent told me, the “system was down”) act as an elimination of a human to human interaction. The flight crew is incented to herd the travelers to their seats as quickly as possible, in order to claim an on-time departure (which is defined, computationally, by the moment the captain turns off the brake, once the main cabin door is closed). Even the third-party vendors in the airport are adopting systems set on reducing human interactions, such as touch-screen ordering kiosks for fast-food. (One employee at the airport Schlotzsky’s told me that she likes this automated ordering system better than the old way, because she doesn’t have to interact with customers as much:

As an aside, I found it rather bizarre that Schlotzsky’s manufactures their own potato chips, which is likely yet another way to “creatively maximize revenue”.)

I don’t believe that technology is neutral. Technology is a piece of a larger design rhetoric, one that forwards ideals and values. “User-centered design” has emerged as a way to champion for the users of systems, giving them a voice in the face of unusable, over-engineered tools. But we don’t seem to have a way to champion for users in the face of a systemic drive towards efficiency and optimization.

It is argued that more efficient systems drive down costs; I don’t disagree. The cost of a plane ticket is low, relative to pretty much any metric you care to select, and that low cost is a direct result of the number of bodies that can be jammed on the plane, the price that can be negotiated for fuel, and the use of automated systems and reduced staffing across the system. The argument is commonly extended: this streamlining is, in fact, good business practice. But at each point in the system described above – at each of the touchpoints – the push for more efficient systems, which has resulted in lower costs, has led to commoditization. Interactions within the system are characterized by the same tenor as those with our electric provider or gas company. These are anonymous interactions, interactions that occur mindlessly and with no real feeling. These are interactions where business choices are made without regard for the person that is going to be using the business, and purchasing prices are made exclusively based on price.

Humanism evolved as a celebration of people, rather than a divinity. Broadly, I view humanism as a celebration of people, rather than anything else: including technology. The pursuit of low costs, attributed to technological advancements and delivered in the context of business, seems to cause a lack of humanism.

I’m worried that what we see playing out in air travel is playing out in other industries, too, and will soon color the way we experience grocery shopping, working, playing, and learning. Technological infrastructure makes life easier for some people. I’m increasingly convinced that it isn’t for the users of the systems we are building. We’re making it easier for us – the designers of the systems – to maintain our systems, upgrade them, service them, repair them, and make money off of them. We’re increasing our efficiency and effectiveness, and driving scale more cheaply. And in the process, we’re decreasing the quality of life for everyone else.

When American Airlines arrives at the gate, they offer the pithy “We know you have a choice in air travel, and we thank you for choosing American Airlines.” They might instead try, “We know that, if you don’t have frequent flyer status, you pick the cheapest airline possible. That’s because we’ve participated in a race to the bottom, and so have you. The reason you just spent a few hours in the most uncomfortable seats on the planet is because we were then able to add another row of seats, dropping the cost of your ticket by fifty cents. Have a pleasant day.”

I have three long-term, lofty goals for the school.

The first is to have a group of influential alumni in the world who champion the role of design in mitigating wicked problems. I feel confident that the biggest changes we see in the world come from individuals who are passionate and empowered, and I’ve watched my previous alumni drive massive changes to companies and cultures.

The next goal is to have companies around the world change their focus from driving consumptive behavior to driving positive social change. There’s no questioning the power of a massive organization like Procter and Gamble or Nike. The conversation of sustainability in design provides evidence that these organizations are not resistant to change, assuming the change has obvious financial implications.

The third goal is to have the general public understand the role of design in tackling large-scale problems of a social nature. The more people understand what we do, the better our chances are of achieving success. The onus is on us to inform them.

In a theory of change, these goals are called Long-Term Outcomes: the long-term social results that will have occurred if the school is successful. While I would like to believe that I control these outcomes, I’m not naïve enough to think that I can single-handedly cause any of these things to happen. Instead, a theory of change positions these as the visionary end-game of success, and utilizes Short-Term Outcomes as a more attainable set of goals.

These are our Short-Term Outcomes:

Students are able successfully leverage our three pillars of fundamentals – prototyping, empathy, and inference-based reasoning – to tackle social problems effectively. While there are other, more pragmatic skills that a designer needs to be successful, these pillars form a cohesive frame for examining the world through a designerly-lens.

Alumni are able to generate positive social impact and revenue through the formation of new companies. While I don’t mind if my alumni go on to work for other companies, I feel that control is important in driving a double-bottom line approach to business, and this control is most obviously attained in a new venture.

The public begins to explore and embrace more divergent approaches to social problems. As I’ve previously discussed, I hope to see a larger and more nuanced conversation occur when people try things like the homeless hotspot project.

These Short-Term Outcomes are driven by the Outputs of our work at Austin Center for Design: the direct results of the things we do at the school.

These Outputs include:

Competency-building in the methods, processes, techniques, and theories of design and social entrepreneurship. We can judge the quality of this output by assessing our students’ progress during and after their studies.

Scaling support for student-driven companies to reach a level of self-sufficiency. This may take the form of money, physical resources, professional contacts, or guidance.

Knowledge-based artifacts (like books, conferences, presentations, films, etc) that drive awareness of the role of design and social entrepreneurship in the context of large-scale social problems.

Finally, to get to these Outputs, we have Activities: the actions I can explicitly take, that I have control over, to produce the above Outputs.

Our Activities include:

Holding classes of various lengths intended to teach theory, methods, and processes of design and social entrepreneurship. We’re experimenting with different length courses, including our one-year program, 10 day programs, and a one-day immersive bootcamp.

Providing mentorship and collaboration to alumni who are in the process of incubating new ventures.

Offering public access to new content related to our pedagogy and theory.

I’ve found this to be a powerful tool for driving action, because it acts as a vetting criteria for any new idea, program, class, or project we take on. Will the new project lead to Outputs, that drive Short and Long-Term Outcomes, that align with our vision?

You might try to create a simple Theory of change of whatever you are working on. I predict that you’ll have no trouble identifying the Long-Term Outcomes you are hoping to achieve, and you’ll similarly have no trouble identifying potential Activities you could take. But connecting these actions to the strategic goals is difficult, and – at least for us – is a constant work in progress. Simply producing the diagrams will act as a powerful form of self-reflection.