Thinking isn't our fault. How we think, is.
I’m here as a fellow designer to explain that we are all designers, sometimes without knowing it.
If we are honest with ourselves then we are all arrogant enough to notice when either are faked (I’ll consider myself deliberately perfect), it’s an autonomic feeling, a judgement call when the little lightbulbs of our minds flicker to an obvious ON state and exclaim, “That’s a little ridiculous!” The problem with this reaction, sometimes, is this system-of-thought can be quite wrong sometimes and without our knowledge. Though, not wrong as often as you’d like — we all love judging the world outside. (When you can, read Daniel Kahneman’s, Thinking Fast and Slow. Discover the glorious ways our brains actually behave) And if you or I were to be brave enough performing an experiment, we would walk up to the deliberately tousled or deliberately perfect-person and let them know how ridiculous their plaid shirt and thick rimmed glasses are, how faked their intention really is. Yet, if they don’t punch us in the face first, the involuntary participant could easily justify their deliberate decisions of tousled man bun or deliberately shined yet rough motorcycle boots, unlaced and oil treated.
It’s a problem with Irony being used as a first resort opposed to the last. You see, irony is a way for our attention starved and distraction rich culture to keep the outside world at a distance. There isn’t much we need to explain, thoughtfully, when we can say things like, “ this object reminds me of a simpler time.” Oh yeah? What time is that? A nostalgic greeting to a time and place we romanticize, but have never experienced? Let’s imagine China 1000 years ago when medical science didn’t exist, but herbs did. Or maybe a time when engineering could build some thing, but you had an axe, a forest, and muscles, instead? One immediately talks of the retreat into nostalgia and the new Alanis Morisette definition of irony used today as methods for coping with the confusion of attention starved and distraction rich timeline. But believe it or not, I’m interested in the design aspect of this phenomenon. Here’s my premise….see if you agree….
So, now we have something to recon with…ok maybe only I have something to recon with, but I’m curious if any of you feel similar. One, is our sometimes misfired judgement call and then our (my) issue with unaware tousledness or perfection. *read as sagging pants, strange smells, less bathing, or torn up consumable objects like jeans, backpacks or even a vehicle like an old school bus, VW van, or fixed-wheeled bikes.*
I am sure, throughout some amount of history I can’t recoloect — I only go back to 1981, but I’m going to assume there has always been a trend of humans curating themselves to seem a certain way to others. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone authentic enough or unaware enough to not care what others thought of them, even with the reliance of loved ones. We are too social not to care, it’s survival of the fittest (sometimes) and if we could flip that switch to an OFF state, we wouldn’t have things thoughtfully created, tastefully worn, deliberately cared for, or be visually attracted to. We wouldn’t have been able to call a rounder object more feminine or a sharp-cornered object more masculine if we didn’t create automatic associations. Those associations turned into tastes, those tastes became things others concerned themselves with, and opinions were formed and disseminated across time and geography. Commodities were created and cultures went to war over opinions of what’s more grand and who could attain the most — Chinese silk, Indian spices, or Italian sculpture. Our inherent need to be better begets wars of mediocrity over grandeur. In a way, this needs to happen — perhaps it could be the timeline of progress.
Now, why, do we judge things of my (our) history? In the latest Kinfolk magazine a long form article discusses the idea of the commoditization of the home with two lovely scientists — one from Austin and the other, Berkley. And during their amicable agreements and disagreements, they address the change in who gets to see what, of our lives. They use the idea of home, this place that you “[invite] people through the front door” and thus into your life. The home has spaces only some may see — those of quiet intimacy and others more public and social. And then, here’s the big shift we may not realize that has changed our idea of personal space and privacy that in turn, has made us adjust our judgements of and our actions to be deliberately tousled or deliberately perfect. Ready? You’ll think me cliche — but I’ll blame Kinfolk this time for being smarter than me. It’s social media.
Do you remember that intimate place you allowed only a certain someone? Now, you may have snapped a selfie under the covers showing your bed head. Perhaps, you got new curtains and needed your friends to care? What about that knew outfit in a mirror that shows me your entire space? You chased your dog or cat around not even realizing I received a map of your home through a feed of your pictures or videos.
We now must chase the differentiation of me versus everyone and this in turn flips another switch. Now, we wrestle with the idea of deciding to sag our pants or not give two shits what hipsters think and show them our underwear anyway because now, if I want to be that deliberate about why I’m dressed the way I am, carry the tote with a Kinfolk magazine, Space-Gray Macbook, and some high thinking book on behavior psychology, I can’t just be interested in things myself, I have to justify your judgements and you must judge me so the war of silk and spices can continue. You may come up to me and ask why I have these things looking all smart and put-together, and I may give you any old excuse without being genuine and more likely the wrong kind of ironic. While I sit at this corner table, watch all the others worrying “how am I to others?” or confidently feel “how little I care of others” and laugh silently and cruelly that they are trying so much harder than me — so I’m the fool.
But we are both ironically wrapped up in the hipster war with the designer’s affections with the businessmen’s acumen with the rebel’s savor faire — all to describe our ability and need to be more deliberately unaffected by the other’s deliberate comparisons.
I love when others might see the bag I hold. It’s an incredibly well made leather product, built by an old man that just wants to “make great things”. I instantly made my purchase when he described why he felt compelled to craft it and I did so well before I worried how others might see it. I wanted this object to hold my things, to hang on my side, and cherish for as long as I’m alive so my children may have it — because I’d like them to recognize and appreciate works of quality, the thoughtfulness of good design, so they may integrate those traits into their lives more readily than I ever have. Does that sound deliberately perfect? Yep. It’s an uber romantic ideal. But it’s not faked and yet no matter what, you might see me at the corner table, sitting here pretentious and thoughtless, laugh, then walk to work.
We can’t stop our judgements as easily as we’d like (they are quite automatic), but you are able to stop reacting to make your deliberate decisions while you care what others think. I believe the strong fight back is against the “when” and “how” we share our reasoning and photos and text updates of our lives, all when privacy will do. The wars of simple things — of personal things — go away when one is able to care and articulate their reasons of being deliberately tousled or perfect. The wars go away little by little when we actually enjoy our own curated personal brand — the homes we keep, the spaces we make, the objects we attach ourselves. In fact, it’s the only way we can design anything.
Be deliberate. Just do so without the war.