Any way you look at it, William McDonough and Michael Braungart’s Cradle to Cradle is an unusual book.

It’s a book that invites the reader to envisage a world in which the concept of waste does not exist, and where re-use is preferred to recycling; in short, a world where products have a true life-cycle, rather than a passage from cradle-to-grave.

It’s an exciting book, if only because the physical artefact embodies its message:

Cradle to Cradle is not made out of paper, you see. It’s a format called Durabook. The Durabook is made of a kind of plastic, and is entirely waterproof. More interestingly, it’s entirely reusable – the ink can be easily removed to allow reprinting or notebook use, and the “paper” itself can be melted down and reused without giving off toxins. It’s a good environmental citizen, essentially: reusable, up-cyclable, and with no harmful byproducts. (It’s also surprisingly heavy for such a slim format).

I found it an interesting read. I found a lot of their later commentary on designing services probably the most interesting and relevant – a lot of discussion on refactoring products (which, by their nature, are designed for disposal) into services (wherein the product can be upcycled or removed from the equation, as it’s the service that matters). The Linc concept mobile phone is a good illustration of the thinking the book suggests.

At times, though, I found it depressing; a lot of the innovations pointed to are McDonough and Braungart’s own, and it would have been good to see more examples from people other than them. Similarly, at times the scale of the challenges described in the book seems colossal, and perhaps impossible.

But I think, taken with a pinch of salt, it’s an interesting read, and there’s some good meat within it. With that in mind, here’s what I marked out for myself as being interesting:

p.24, on Henry Ford’s innovations:

“In 1914, when the prevailing salary for factory workers was $2.34 a day, he hiked it to $5, pointing out that cars cannot buy cars. (He also reduced the hours of the workday from nine to eight). In one fell swoop, he actually created his own market, and raised the bar for the entire world of industry.”

I really enjoyed the section on Ford. They point out that a lot of Ford’s innovations really were more environmentally-friendly than the wasteful, inefficient factories that had preceded them. This doesn’t make it good, per se, but it’s worth bearing in mind. And I love “cars cannot buy cars”.

p.46, on the sentiments of the American Pastoral writers:

“[Aldo] Leopold anticipated some of the feelings of guilt that characterise much environmentalism today:
“When I submit these thoughts to a printing press, I am helping cut down the woods. When I pour cream in my coffee, I am helping to drain a marsh for cows to graze, and to exterminate the birds of Brazil. When I go birding or hunting in my Ford, I am devastating an oil field, and re-electing an imperialist to get me rubber. Nay more: when I father more than two children I am creating an insatiable need for more printing presses, more cows, more coffee, more oil, to supply which more birds, more trees, and more flowers will either be killed or … evicted from their several environments.”

p.60, on the struggle between what Jane Jacobs described as commerce and the guardian:

“Any hybrid of these two syndromes Jacobs characterizes as so riddled with problems as to be ‘monstrous’. Money, the tool of commerce, will corrupt the guardian. Regulation, the tool of the guardian, will slow down commerce.”

p.61, on regulation being a signal of design failure:

“In a world where designs are unintelligent and destructive, regulations can reduce immediate deleterious effects. But ultmiately a regulation is a signal of design failure. In fact, it is what we call a license to harm: a permit issued by a government to an industry so that it may dispense sickness, destruction, and death at an ‘acceptable’ rate.”

p.66-67, on sacrifice and “eco-efficiency” as a way of trying to cut down on the bad things humans do:

“In very early societies, repentance, atonement, and sacrifice were typical reactions to complex systems, like nature, over which people felt they had little control. Societies around the world developed belief systems based on myth in which bad weather, famine, or disease meant one had displeased the gods, and sacrifices were a way to appease them…

But to be less bad is to accept things as they are, to believe that poorly designed, dishonorable, destructive systems are the best humans can do. This is the ultimate failure of the ‘be less bad’ approach: a failure of the imagination. From our perspective, this is a depressing vision of our species’ role in the world.

What about an entirely different model? What would it mean to be 100 percent good?”

It takes them a while to get to that point (in a ~180 page book), but that’s the real kicking-off point for the more interesting arguments – by reframing the problem in a world that doesn’t have a concept of waste, what kind of answers emerge?

p.70, on rethinking the “entire concept of a book” (which is something the artefact of Cradle to Cradle itself does, as mentioned earlier):

“We might begin by considering whether paper itself is a proper vehicle for reading matter. Is it fitting to write our history on the skin of fish with the blood of bears, to echo writer Margaret Attwood?”

p.80, on “nature’s services”:

“Some people use the term nature’s services to refer to the processes by which, without human help, water and air are purified […] We don’t like this focus on services, since nature does not do any of these things just to serve people.”

True “services” have to intend to service a particular need – you can’t just apply the s-word to any available substrate or process.

p.84:

“Western civilization in particular has been shaped by the belief that it is the right and duty of human beings to shape nature to better ends; as Francis Bacon put it, ‘Nature being known, it may be master’d, managed, and used in the services of human life.‘”

p.87, on new approaches to zoning:

“We agree that it is important to leave some natural places to thrive on their own, without undue human interference or habitation. But we also believe that industry can be so safe, effective, enriching, and intelligent that it need not be fenced off from other human activity. (This could stand the concept of zoning on its head; when manufacturing is no longer dangerous, commercial and residentail sites can exist alongside factories, to their mutual benefit and delight.)”

That would make Sim City interesting.

p.88; professor Kai Lee talks to members of the Yakima Indian Nation about the long-term plans for storing nuclear waste within their territory.

“The Yakima were surprised – even amused – at Kai’s concern of their descendants’ safety. ‘Don’t worry,’ they assured him. ‘We’ll tell them where it is.’ As Kai pointed out to us, ‘their conception of themselves and their place was not historical, as mine was, but eternal. This would always be their land. They would warn others not to mess with the wastes we’d left.

We are not leaving this land either, and we will begin to become native to it when we recognize this fact.”

This reminds of Tom Coates’ Native to a Web of Data – we will become native to the web when we recognise that the data structures we create and impose on it will stick around forever, and that we should design them as such.

p.102, on “deflowering” a new product:

“Opening a new product is a kind of metaphorical defloration: ‘This virgin product is mine, for the very first time. When I am finished with it (special, unique person that I am), everyone is. It is history.’ Industries design and plan according to this mind-set.”

p.103:

“What would have happened, we sometimes wonder, if the Industrial Revolution had taken place in societies that emphasize the community over the individual, and where people believed not in a cradle-to-grave life cycle but in reincarnation?”

p.104, describing the two discrete metabolisms of the planet:

“Products can be composed either of materials that biodegrade and become food for biological cycles, or of technical materials that stay in closed-loop technical cycles, in which they continually circulate as valuable nutrients for industry. In order for these two metabolisms to remain healthy, valuable, and successful, great care mus be taken to avoid contaminating one with the other.”

p.120: fittest vs fitting-est

“Popular wisdom holds that the fittest survive, the strongest, leanest, largest – perhaps meanest – whatever beats the competition. But in healthy, thriving natural systems it is actually the fitting-est who thrive. Fitting-est implies an energetic and material engagement with place, and an interdependent relationship to it.”

p.128, on misunderstanding Le Corbusier’s intent:

“Modern homes, buildings, and factories, even whole cities, are so closed off from natural energy flows that they are virtual steamships. It was Le Corbusier who said the house was a machine for living in, and he glorified steamships, along with airplanes, cars, and grain elevators. In point of fact, the buildings he designed had cross-ventilation and other people-friendly elements, but as his message was taken up by the modern movement, it evolved into a machinelike sameness of design.”

p.144, on people’s affinity for certain types of visual:

“According to visual preference surveys, most people see culturally distinctive communities as desirable environments in which to live. When they are shown fast-food restaurants or generic-looking buildings, they score the images very low. They prefer quaint New England streets to modern suburbs, even though they may live in developments that destroyed the Main Streets in their very own hometowns. When given the opportunity, people choose something other than that which they are typically offered in most one-size-fits-all designs: the strip, the subdivision, the mall. People want diversity because it brings them pleasure and delight. They want a world of [paraphrasing Charles De Gaulle] four hundred cheeses.”

p.154, on criteria for new product design:

“High on our own lists [of criteria] is fun: Is this product a pleasure, not only to use, but to discard? Once, in a conversation with Michael Dell, founder of Dell Computers, Bill observed that the elements we add to the basic business criteria of cost, performance, and aesthetics – ecological intelligence, justice, and fun – correspond to Thomas Jefferson’s ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’. Yes, Dell responded, but noted we had left out a most important consideration: bandwidth.”

p.172, on the aspects of marketing and selling eco-friendly products:

“A small but significant number o consumers chose to buy the lotion in a highly unattractive ‘eco’ package shelved next to the identical product in its regular package, but the number who chose the ‘eco’ package skyrocketed when it was placed next to an over-the-top ‘luxury’ package for the very same product. People like the idea of buying something that makes them feel special and smart, and they recoil from products that make them feel crass and unintelligent. These complex motivations give manufacturers power to use for good and for ill. We are wise to beware of our own motivations when choosing materials, and we also can look for materials whose ‘advertising’ matches their insides, again as indicative of a broader commitment to the issues that concern us.”

p.185, in a section on “preparing for the learning curve”:

“Biologist Stephen Jay Gould has captured this concept nicely in a way that can be useful to industry: ‘All biological structures (at all scales from genes to organs) maintain a capacity for massive redundancy – that is, for building more stuff or information than minimally needed to maintain an adaptation. The ‘extra’ material then becomes available for constructing evolutionary novelties because enough remains to perform the original, and still necessary, function’. Form follows evolution.”

And that’s all, really. I enjoyed it a lot – though I found its message difficult and overfacing at times, and the perspective perhaps a little smug, there was lots of good stuff in it and it provided food for thought. Thanks to Tom for letting me borrow it, and to Mike for the format this blogpost takes.

Andrei Herasimchuk posted this to the IxDA mailing list, as part of a (reasonably interesting, given the usual turgdity of the list) discussion. The quotation itself was just too good not to lift.

Too much emphasis cannot be placed on the importance of three- dimensional models. We come to this step after we have analyzed and evaluated hundreds of designs and blueprints, trying to bring some quality to the product that will make it easier to use without increasing the cost, more pleasant to look at without any drastic changes in the factory routine. When our ideas have been formulated, we design in clay, then plaster, finally in a material that will simulate the material to be used in manufacturing the actual product. Wherever possible, such models are done in full size. In developing the exterior of a train or a ship, accurate scale models must suffice.

The cost of a model is more than compensated for by future savings. It not only presents an accurate picture of the product for the executives, but it also gives the toolmakers and production men an opportunity to criticize and to present manufacturing problems. Models of some products can be made for a few hundred dollars. Full- scale models of ship or train interiors can cost many thousands of dollars. A mock-up of a modern passenger airplane cabin may cost $150,000 but it will be worth it, for it permits engineers and designers to develop techniques of installation that would not be otherwise possible. Furthermore, sales executives can bring potential customers into a faithful, full scale fuselage to see what it offers, long before production begins. It is far more effective to sit in a chair that judge its comfort by a picture of it.

Henry Dreyfuss, Designing for People, 61-62.

This doesn’t just apply to ships and trains, does it? We’re back to sculpting versus painting again.

Jens Alfke writes about the beauty of the $0.99 iPhone Application. I think he makes a reasonable point: when somebody else is taking care of a lot of the overheads of both distribution and payment processing, there are no compelling negatives to developing micro-priced software applications.

What kind of application are you going to sell for $0.99? It doesn’t seem like a lot of revenue for something that you might call “useful” – but I don’t think there’s a lasting market for one-dollar “toy” applications.

I think the interesting market that becomes opened when you apply this kind of thinking to a particular platform – namely, the iPhone/Touch interface – is one of selling interface.

A good way of explaining this is with a currency or unit converter application (bear with me).

As it stands, if you want to convert from, say, imperial weight to metric, you can just fire up the iPhone’s built in Calculator application and bang out some arithmetic – as long as you can remember the conversion ratio.

If you don’t know the conversion ratio, you can go online – for free, because you’ve got an airtime contract, or pervasive wifi – and look it up, perhaps even finding a nifty Javascript conversion tool. But that’s a long way round for such a simple task.

Or, I can sell you my $2 weights-and-measures converter. It doesn’t do anything fancy, because we’ve already established that the maths isn’t beyond any potential iPhone user. So the single thing I can sell you on – and the single reason you’d buy my app over the long way around described above – is because of its interface. How easy is it to use? How satisfying? Does it simply a complex task?

The iPhone exposes “interface” as an obvious criteria for purchasing things. Because the interface is so hands-on, so direct, users can easily spot when an interface stinks, or when it’s as easy to use as Apple’s own applications. Given that: let’s make an application where the interface is the primary feature, and the functionality is essentially trivial.

Here’s what my hypothetical weights-and-measures conversion application might look like. You choose what you want to convert to and from via a pair of drop-down boxes at the top of the screen. The drop-down highlights which things on the right-hand side are similar types of measurement to those on the left – so that when you select “metres” on the left-hand side, the units of length on the right-hand side are highlighted. And then, underneath, are two vertical, gradated rules – much like on a slide rule. Above them is the exact value readout; at the centre of the screen is a red marker line. You flick one “ruler” up and down with your thumb, and the other moves in accordance to display the converted value. You can then read exact values out at the top of the screen. If you want to slide horizontally, tip the phone on its side and the accelerometer will tell the software to rotate the screen.

The really neat thing isn’t the conversion at all – it’s just two big rules that you can flick about with your finger. But when you’re out shopping and have only got one hand free, maybe that’s exactly the interface you need. The app is a basic, trivial task, that’s enlivened by a useful interface.

Now, obviously I can’t charge you $10 for this. If I asked for $10, most people would either keep guesstimating weight when they go out shopping, or just use the calculator like they’ve always done. But for $2… it becomes much more of an impulse purchase. You’re not purchasing functionality; you’ve got that already. Instead, you’re putting down $2 for the interface I’ve built.

I’m not saying that interface alone isn’t worth a lot, or that it’s worth $2. Far from it. But taking a task that the user could already do and designing an appropriate, specific interface for it, that makes it pleasurable and immediate to use – that’s worth more than nothing. $1, $2 – as long as it’s less than a coffee, but more than nothing, that’s fine. That’s a business model. Not a complete one, or one to base an entire company off, but a business model nontheless.

The iPhone and iPod touch are devices that thrust their interface and interactions front and foremost. They’ve established within a market full of – in places – terrible interaction design, that it’s OK to pay a premium for devices that work well. People who’ve bought an iPhone or an iPod Touch have already made that premium decision. The iPhone Application Store tells us that it’s OK to pay a smaller sum for software that works well. It doesn’t matter that it’s not premium software, or that the software isn’t sophisticated; what matters is that we’re make money from genuine interaction design, rather than a list of features. That feels like another tiny watershed moment.