Category Archives: designing

Concept Car at Your Peril

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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:

Jeep Mighty FC Concept front quarter
Jeep Mighty FC Concept rear quarter

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  • Historical Reference: the Mighty FC pays homage to the original Forward-Control Jeep, which was actually put into production in the 1950's.  That particular design was done by the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.

 

 

Learning from the Panama Canal: John Stevens, innovator

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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.

metacool Thought of the Day

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“Coming up with ideas is interesting and indefinable, isn’t it? The brain is a funny thing. An idea often emerges in the shower, or during a walk. Your brain has been ticking away and the idea just bubbles up. Occasionally you feel, ‘God, I’ve gone dry.’ It’s like writers’ block. Shortly before the launch of a new car, when I’ve used all my existing ideas, I think, ‘Now what?’ But running the car produces new ideas as you understand what you’ve created.”

– Adrian Newey

Innovating the Delta Wing Way

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The Delta Wing.  It looks like a rocket, but it's a car.  It also represents a fundamental, albeit still potential, paradigm shift in our conception of what a racing car can be.  I love the way it looks, and am even more excited about what it represents.

For students of the art and science of bringing cool stuff to life, the key question isn't "will it win?", but "how did it come to be?".  Hopefully someday someone will write a book on the story of the Delta Wing.  For now there's Wikipedia and this good Popular Mechanics article for those of you interested in the backstory on this amazing car.

Because I don't know enough yet about the how on this one, let's focus on the what.  If the Delta Wing were a movie and you were the director, here are the characters you'd ask central casting to deliver to your set to weave a compelling tale of daring innovation:

The Ace Technologist: Ben Bowlby is the technical mastermind behind the Delta Wing and the leader of a spectacularly talented and experienced design team.  I admire the elegance of his design vision, and the way in which he went back to first principles in order to reach for a new outcome.  The Delta Wing effectively performs as well as cars having double the horsepower.  That kind of elegant efficiency is what we need in the world today.  Efficiency is sexy, a notion that some wayward manufacturers would do well to rediscover.

The Visionary Entrepreneurs: two business-savvy racers were instrumental in making the Delta Wing happen.  Chip Ganassi provided financial backing for the first prototype of the Delta Wing, which was not accepted by the racing series it was designed for (see The Enlightened Incubator entry below).  Duncan Dayton then took the ball and ran with it, recasting the Delta Wing as a Le Mans competitor, and practising some magic to build a coalition capable of developing, building, testing, and ultimately running a competitive new racecar design — quite a task.  Dayton epitomizes the truest sense of entrepreneurship: making things happen by making the smartest use of the resources you have at hand.  Dr. Don Panoz, an entrepreneur's entrepreneur, and Scott Atherton also played pivotal roles in the genesis of the Delta Wing.  And last but not least, kudos to Nissan for having the guts to engage with this endeavor as a motor supplier and sponsor.  Their commitment to innovating makes me want that GT-R even more.

A Team of Artists Who Ship: The Delta Wing is built by the heroes at All American Racers (AAR).  AAR is hallowed ground in the racing world, as place where heroes like  Dan Gurney and Phil Remington still walk the halls.  Over its long history, AAR has proven to be one of the most innovative institutions based on US soil.  I don't know about you, but the idea that the master maker Phil Remington had a hand in the creation of the Delta Wing, well, it sends shivers down my spine. 

The Enlightened Incubator: you can't run a race car without a sanctioning body to hold the race.  At the annual 24 Hours of Le Mans race, there are 55 positions available for race cars to compete.  Early on in the Delta Wing venture, Duncan Dayton and company secured the 56th place on the grid from the sanctioning body for Le Mans, the Automobile Clube de l'Quest.  While the Delta Wing won't be contesting the Le Mans race for points, it will be an integral part of the racing field, and will live out of the "56th garage" at the Le Mans circuit.  This idea of the 56th garage being available represents highly enlightened thinking when it comes to the art and science of innovation.  I've written before here on the vital importance of designating a place for the people in your organization to fail.  And while I hope the Delta Wing has a successful race at Le Mans, no matter what happens they will have learned a substantial amount, and the cause of innovation will be served.  Next year's car will be that much better due to the enlightened incubation of Garage 56.

Professionals to Get the Job Done: at the track, the Delta Wing will be run by the storied Highcroft Racing team.  Though most of the focus in racing is on the driver, it is actually one of the ultimate team sports, especially in the kind of endurance racing the Delta Wing is designed for.  Ideas are one thing, executing against them is quite another.  It takes a village. 

A Brave Protagonist: and then there's the human in the hot seat, Marino Franchitti.  Race drivers are only as good as their last race — it's an incredibly competitive sport, and there's a line of drivers out the door waiting to take over your spot.  That's why I admire Marino Franchitti's willingness to take on the reputational and career risk of driving not just a new car, but a new paradigm.  Unfortunately, the world of racing does not operate by the rule of Silicon Valley, and failures are not celebrated as points of learning.  On the other hand, someone had to pilot the Wright Flyer, and now Orville's name is one for the ages.  Hats off to Marino, and here's to him showing us how fast this thing can really go, WFO.  He has guts.

One Sexy Beast: from an aesthetic standpoint, I think the Delta Wing rocks.  It looks wicked – why be beautiful when you could be interesting?  Of course, I've been accused of having a rather unmainstream view of car aesthetics (here, here, and here, for example), but I call 'em like I see 'em.  This thing grabs your attention, and keeps it.  I believe a whole generation of 8-year-old kids are going to fall in love with automobiles because of the Delta Wing.  And here's a suggestion to the fine folks at Polyphony and Nissan: create a digital version of the Delta Wing and let the rest of us drive it virutally in Gran Turismo 5.  It'll do wonders for the Nissan brand, and it will create a pull effect on the conservative world of racing: we really want to see you professionals race the cars we love driving online. 

To sum it up, if you're going to shift a paradigm, you could do worse than to try and do it with a really sexy beast like this one, but you'd better have the entire innovation ecosystem in place, too.  Enjoy the photos and videos below.

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Prototyping is the process

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If you google "design thinking process", you'll be presented with a series of diagrams or lists or steps which, in a linear fashion, purport to represent the way a good designer works.  They'll often look something like this:

  1. Understand
  2. Observe
  3. Ideate
  4. Prototype
  5. Test
  6. … and cycle back to Step 1

We're all familiar with cooking manuals, and this one feels not unlike a good recipe for chocolate chip cookies… first this, then that, and then do this.  Easy, safe, predictable, comfortable. 

Except, that's not the way designing really happens.  There is no six-step process to design nirvana.  It doesn't exist.  Over the years I've tolerated and communicated this linear portrayal of the design process because it's an easy way to explain the gist of things to folks not familiar with the art and science of bringing new stuff to life.  The secret is that, when you're designing, it feels like all of these at once.  So I used to draw this linear process up on a wall, and then wave my hands in the air and say something like "But really, it's a big furball… when you're really doing it, you're bouncing all over the place and the steps don't matter." 

I think we can do better than that.  And now I know how.

A wise colleague recently corrected me on all of this.  "Prototyping isn't a step in the process," he said.  "It is the process." 

Exactly.  Designers are always prototyping, whether it's moving things around in their imagination, building a reverse income statement in Excel, or hacking something out of wood using a sidewalk as sandpaper.  The notion that a designer waits until it's "prototyping time" to start messing around with stuff is just wrong.  Prototyping starts when the design process begins, and it never stops.  We build to understand.  We observe for generative insight but we also observe to gather data regarding the hack we just whipped up ten minutes ago.  We ideate with our gut and our hands as much as with our brains.

We prototype all the time.  We must prototype all the time.  Prototyping is the process.

RIP, Sergio Scaglietti

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Ferrari250gto

The great entrepreneur, marker, artist, and businessman Sergio Scaglietti passed away on Sunday.

Via his intuition-driven design process, Scaglietti created some of the most visual stunning cars of all time, such as the Ferrari 250 GTO pictured above.  In the humble opinion of this writer, he also brought to life the most gorgeous and lust-worthy designs ever marketed by Ferrari, which is really saying something.  His creations took a Modenese vernacular sculptural aesthetic and made it the international standard for all things red, loud, curvy, and fast.