Ferdinand Alexander Porsche and the Porsche 911

Posted on 6 April 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

Ferdinand Alexander Porsche, a designer who shaped many beautiful products, passed away yesterday. He is pictured above astride one the truly iconic designs of the 20th century, the Porsche 911. His Porsche, his design.

As an aside, how cool would it be to pose for a photo on a product of your own imagination? Pretty cool, I think.

To my eyes, the Porsche 911 is an object I never tire of. Particularly in its early incarnations, there's a very clean and pure design aesthetic at work. I also love the later 911's, with their shapely hips and bulging flares and scoops and spoilers, but the original design offers something different: formal, modern minimalism very much in keeping with the work of Dieter Rams from the same period, yet still connected to the flowing, ur-Porsche shapes and surfaces penned by the great Erwin Kommenda in the 1930's. In many ways that link between the streamlining period of car design and the very rational approach of the 1960's drives my abiding love of the 911 aesthetic: it is emotional in the right places, technical in the rest, and the combination just feels the way a sports car should: emotive, efficient, compact, agile.

I often think about cars I would want to have parked in my living room as sculptural objects, and an early 911 is at the fore, along with a Citroen DS, a Fiat 500, or a Saab 92. They all have their genesis in a certain time period, which probably says more about me than it does about them. But what I do think we can learn from all of these, and from Ferdinand Porsche and the 911 in particular, is the paramount importance of having a crisp point of view. Product experiences that are remarkable to use, to behold, to feel, are always the result of talented people who not only know what they're shooting for, but know what good looks like. If you want to have a thriving business concern, focus on creating great offerings first by hiring the best talent you can find an letting them run.

As an engineer, I can't help but admire the 911 from a dynamic standpoint. Here is a classic example of an approach which works in practice but not in theory. Who would have thought that this rear-engined architecture would go on to win everywhere from Le Mans to Daytona to Pikes Peak? The inherent maneuverability and traction advantages of the 911, when put to good use, provide a textbook case of strategy being the art of making the most of what you have that other's don't. A 911 is not a normal car, does not drive like one, and therefore can win in ways different from the mainstream. For a more visceral perspective on that thought, please see my other blog.

Back to the man. For me, the lesson I take from his story is that we must all strive to design our own lives. He was lucky enough to be born into a successful family which was also a company. On the other hand, imagine being born as Ferdinand Porsche, with a genius grandfather who defined many aspects of the automobile, and a successful industrialist father, who created a startup and navigated it to become a world-class brand. That would be a tough legacy to live up to. For some, that would be too much weight to carry. I think for Ferdinand Alexander, the key was that he was honest enough to say that he would be an industrial designer, and not an engineer like his father and grandfather. By doing so, he was able to express a deep congruence between his own dreams and the path of the firm, which resulted in the 911. When those two diverged, he expressed the entrepreneurial instincts which I believe all great designers carry, and founded his eponymous design firm, which went on to create many lust-worthy products.

So at the end of the day, whenever I see a 911, I'll think of the individual behind its shape, whose most worthy design was perhaps the arc of his own life.

metacool Thought of the Day

Posted on 3 April 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

“There’s a huge, gratifying feeling on the rare occasions that any of us come up with an inspiration to do something innovative. The personal rewards, and just the feeling, is enormously good. Part of what gave us the ability to be creative is the old thing – -necessity is the mother of invention — and the passion and curiosity about why things work. It’s about the ability to picture what’s going on and discuss things with other people who have thought about it longer than you have, or have a different approach… It’s a fun thing to do, for sure. You appreciate other people doing things when you read the history books. If you feel that in some small way you can join this illustrious bunch of people who have done things, it’s worth having a go at it.”

– Dan Gurney

Concept Car at Your Peril

Posted on 1 April 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

The term "concept car" is used in many industries today to refer to a prototype that's meant to test a marketing concept. Obviously the origin of the term is in the auto industry. Under the guidance of design maestro Harley Earl, General Motors refined the art of the concept car in the 1950's, using one-off prototypes to test and showcase styling "trends" or upcoming technical innovations. A concept car is something for which the user experience has been fully fleshed out, but the supporting technical detailing may or may not be there, and certainly all the layers that make up a whole product — sales, marketing, support, service — are nonexistent. A concept car is usually built as a one-off or in extremely low volumes. These days if you were to bring a model — working or not — of a future personal computer to a tradeshow or demo opportunity, you might refer to it as a "concept car".

Last week Jeep released a concept car called the Mighty FC Concept. As you can see, it's very gnarly:

If you're the kind of person who dreams of parking a VW DOKA TriStar Syncro in your garage, as I write this you're probably creating an online petition to convince the powers that be at Jeep to put the Mighty FC into production. For everyone else, please allow me to explain why this particular Jeep concept car has created a ton of buzz out among the forward-control cognoscenti, to wit:

Historical Reference: the Mighty FC pays homage to the original Forward-Control Jeep, which was actually put into production in the 1950's. That particular design was done by the famous American designers Brooks Stevens. So the Mighty FC plays to nostalgia, but also is an "in" statement for a certain crowd.
Functional Elegance: I haven't explained forward-control yet: it's when you take a truck chassis where the driver and steering wheel sit behind the front wheels, and via some mechanical contortions, you arrange the new seating position to be above or beyond the front wheels. The iconic VW Bus is a forward-control job, too. Functionally speaking, forward control is an elegant packaging solution because it moves human cargo to the periphery of the vehicle, opening up the rest for other stuff you'd want to haul around. However, the functional deficit is that said human cargo now becomes the first on the scene of the accident, if you get my drift. Given modern engineering techniques, materials, air bags, and structural know-how, I have to believe that the Mighty FC could be made relatively crash-worthy.
Pure Macho Gnarlyness: while the Mighty FC is by Jeep after Jeep, I'd argue that its proportions and stance are actually those of the formidable Land Rover Forward Control. The British surely know how to make a handsome military vehicle. Unlike the Land Rover FC, the original Jeep forward-control had the surface detailing and proportions of a plant-eater: gentle, bucolic, easy going. Its trans-Atlantic second cousin, however, is big and bold and looks much mightier. And that's what the marketplace wants: to look tough and mighty. That green paint, those crazy portal axles, them big knobby tires, the two spot lights nestled up around that winch, those orange tow hooks, that bottle opener behind the driver's door handle — this thing just looks killer. It's like, visceral, man.

So Jeep is going to build it, right? Who knows. Actually, probably not. I doubt that the business case for the Mighty FC would work out, and it's not clear there's actually a market for an off-road capable pickup — it would likely appeal to that small segment of the auto-buying public which fancies vehicles such as the Citroen Mehari, BMW M Coupe, and Cadillac CTS-V wagon… eccentric cars, all, but memorable ones, too. To market it would be really great for Jeep's brand.

And therein lies my beef with concept cars in general. If you have a great idea, and if you believe in it, should you concept car it? I'd say no. If you aren't sure about it, there are other ways to gain confidence in its validity beyond showing your concept in public. And, if its such a great idea, why show all of your competitors what you're working on? Why tell them that you've had a great insight? And why alert the marketplace to an upcoming innovation? A couple of decades ago, Apple used to show lots of "concept cars" of future computing devices, and to what end? Very few of them shipped, and those that did were either met with disappointment — because the reality couldn't compete with the concept — or they drove down sales of existing product, which is not the best way to get the most out of your brand.

But perhaps the biggest reason not to show concept cars you don't ever intend to produce is that you disappoint your biggest fans, those net promoters who would do anything for, and tell anyone anything positive about, your brand. These are the folks who write blog posts like "I Am So Excited About The Jeep Mighty FC Concept I Think I Might Die", or who spend hours photoshopping your PR photos to show the rest of us what a four-door or full-van version might look like, or who write headlines in national newspapers asking "Has jeep created the most interesting concept of 2012?". Do you really want to excite these folks, only to disappoint them over the longer term? My gut says no. Product brands aren't like perennially losing baseball teams whose fans have no alternative to their hometown monopolistic losers. Instead, it's pretty easy to switch when you stop meeting my expectations. Better to surprise and delight me with a real product I never anticipated, than to tease me with vaporware that we both know you'll never ship.

The whole point of having a strong point of view is to ship something remarkable. And the reason we're here is to ship. If you do have that strong point of view, believe in it first, and commit yourself to shipping. Then — and only then — show off your concept car.

Innovation principles in practice: 4, 8, 13, 14, 15, 17

Posted on 28 March 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

This excellent interview with Professor William Sahlman covers many great points about innovating. Please watch, listen, and enjoy.

Principle 4: Prototype as if you are right. Listen as if you are wrong.
Principle 8: Most new ideas aren't
Principle 13: Do everything right, and you'll probably still fail
Principle 14: Failure sucks, but instructs
Principle 15: There's no way to correct nothing
Principle 17: It's not the years, it's the mileage

Being remarkable, with Sam Zygmuntowicz

Posted on 27 March 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

The decision to be remarkable is not one to be taken lightly. It means you can't settle for anything less, and that's a big promise to make to yourself and others.

But man — what a payoff.

Just Say No to Sarcasm

Posted on 26 March 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

Say no to sarcasm. Yes, it's okay as a funny aside during a dinner conversation with people you know well. But it doesn't belong anywhere else, and certainly not in a creative workplace. Categorically ban it from any place or space where you're endeavoring to bring something cool and new to life.

Sarcasm brings with it many ills. If I'm listening to your concept for a marketing tagline, and I sarcastically respond "That's great", I've just cut you down in public, which is not helping you get to a better place. And now you no longer trust me as a generative, open-minded person. Worse yet, the next time we work together, you've learned not to take my utterances at face value. So the next time I say "hey, that's so cool!", you're going to waste energy and time processing that statement to figure out my intent, as oppposed to taking it as a microburst of positive energy which helps push you forward.

We're all here to be remarkable. A broad commitment to being remarkable reduces the friction, smooths out the bumps, and amps up the energy we all need to continue bringing cool things to life. Sarcasm is friction. Plain old nasty, energy-robbing, friction.

Innovating is already so hard — so why add any additional things to get in your way, right? Just say no.

Innovation principles in practice: 2, 6, 8, 19

Posted on 22 March 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

Pianist Jeremy Denk visited NPR's studios to play and reflect upon Bach's Goldberg Variations. You can listen to the interview here — it's fascinating. Here's an excerpt:

One of the most beautiful thing about the Goldbergs is that Bach uses it as a canvas in which to draw this seemingly infinite world of possibility. He grabs from everybody; he basically does a mashup. He does things in the style of the French overture, in the style of different dances; he does lamenting — from the smallest to the largest, from the happiest to the saddest.

I see a strong philosophical link here to Tom Waits and Ice Cube. So much of the creatvity that fuels innovation is about connecting the dots between disparate sources of inspiration. It's about sampling from here, from there, and synthesizing those pieces to create a new, innovative whole. When you really examine them, many breakthroughs in the worlds of products, services, economics, and politics look a lot like what is happening with musical innovation, where it's about assorted bits and pieces being combined to create something which feels totally new at the time but which with time and perspective can be traced back to its component sources.

Principle 2: See and hear with the mind of a child

Principle 6: Live life at the intersection

Principle 8: Most new ideas aren't

Principle 19: Have a point of view

Learning from the Panama Canal: John Stevens, innovator

Posted on 21 March 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

The fellow in the photo above is John Stevens, a self-taught civil engineer who made a huge contribution to the development of the Panama Canal over a hundred years ago. I've been learning about him through the pages of David McCullough's amazing work The Path Between the Seas, which is the story of how the Panama Canal came to be. From political intrigue which brings down governments to financial engineering that would make even a Goldman VP blush to the hard-headed bravery of entrepreneurial engineers like Stevens, this book has it all. It's the ultimate start up fable. It was recommended to me by my friend and colleague Bob Sutton, who is a big fan of the book, too:

This is a great story of how creativity happens at a really big scale. It is messy. Things go wrong. People get hurt. But they also triumph and do astounding things. I also like this book because it is the antidote to those who believe that great innovations all come from start-ups and little companies (although there are some wild examples of entrepreneurship in the story — especially the French guy who designs Panama's revolution — including a new flag and declaration of independence as I recall — from his suite in the Waldorf Astoria in New York, and successfully sells the idea to Teddy Roosevelt ). As my Stanford colleague Jim Adams points out, the Panama Canal, the Pyramids, and putting a man on moon are just a few examples of great human innovations that were led by governments.

For all you interested in the art and science of bringing cool stuff to life, this is a mandatory read. It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking up a copy — you won't regret it.

Anyway, back to John Stevens. Anyone tasked with leading teams of creative people on a quest — where you know what you are going after, but you have no idea how you're going to get there — needs to study Stevens. A railroad man who trailblazed many a path through the mountains of the American West, Stevens instinctively knew how to get on with things, and how to inspire every one else to do their best. In a very Dave Packard kind of way, the guy knew the value of literally getting in the trenches to so that he could know — really know — what was happening out in the world. Where his failed predecessors in the saga of the canal ruled from the dry and safe roost of a remote office, upon his arrival in Panama, Stevens made a huge difference to the morale and direction of the entire enterprise simply by pulling on some big rubber boots and walking up and down the line of excavations, all the while chomping on a cigar. This guy is a role model for all us trying to make a dent in the universe.

McCullough includes some choice quotes from Stevens, many of which come from some books he authored later in life, which I am planning to read after I finish Path Between the Seas. Here are some of my favorites, with some color commentary:

"With great respect to supermen, it has probably been my misfortune, but I have never chanced to meet any of them."

As you might expect from someone with the discipline to put in the amount of study to become a self-taught engineer, Stevens was a believer in the simple value of hard work. I have to believe that if Stevens were to be alive today in order to meet Roger Penske, he would deeply admire Penske's aphorism, "Effort equals results". I also like this quote because it says something about the nature of talent, that it's not just about being born with something, but being willing to develop your talent, to gain the kind of experience that only comes with mileage.

Here's a great one on the primacy of doing:

"There are three diseases in Panama. They are yellow fever, malaria, and cold feet; and the greatest of these is cold feet."

I love that line. I'd wager that more organizations die of cold feet than from the burns that come with trying and failing. For anyone who has ever engaged with getting an organization to change, it's cold feet that you're fighting.

Finally, I'll leave you with Steven's wonderful expression of what I call Innovation Principle 15: celebrate sins of commision, stamp out sins of omission:

"You won't get fired if you do something, you will if you don't do anything. Do something if it is wrong, for you can correct that, but there is no way to correct nothing."

In fact, I like his formulation a lot more than mine: there is no way to correct nothing, so do something.

Role Model: The Curiosity Chronicles

Posted on 19 March 2012 by Diego Rodriguez

My colleague Paul Bennett produces one of my favorite collections of thinking, a blog he calls The Curiosity Chronicles. Over the past few weeks here at metacool I've been riffing on a bunch of ideas and thoughts rattling around my head and heart on the subject of leading, being a leader, and leadership (of which three the first is by far the most important…). To that end, Paul's latest post Curious About… Role Models really got my attention. Here's an excerpt:

To me, both of these examples share something in common. They are of women, leading in that unique way that women leaders excel: by sharing emotional stories and personally connecting in the first case, and by doing rather than endlessly debating in the second. It brought to mind British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s famous line: “If you want anything said, ask a man. If you want anything done, ask a woman.”

And here's another:

Being inspired by others is one of the most important aspects of leadership in my opinion, and having role models is a way to have something to constantly strive for. And work towards. It keeps us grounded and reminds us that we are all human. Whether it’s your mother, a young women who moved you with the story of her journey from village to boardroom or a mother who just happens to be digging a vegetable plot for her children to inspire the rest of the nation to eat better in the most important garden in the world, nothing helps us retain a sense of self better than realizing that there are other people out there in the world that we can learn from.

How might we all learn to be ever curious, like Paul? As he says, you could do worse than to follow your role models, or to go find some if you if they're not there yet for you. For instance, for me, when I need a reminder to feel the confidence to express myself first and analyze things later, I watch and read about Shinya Kimura. I'm hoping to visit his shop in the next few months. Finding inspiration in others is a surprisingly effective way to let yourself inspire others.