Tag: emergence

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Emergent marketing – the RDL Cohorts for 2026

I’ve noticed recently how often a controlling mindset can creep in when I think about how we spread the word around the regenerative design lab. That controlling mindset seems to say, everything needs to be ready before we share any details. It makes assumptions about when people are ready to receive this information. And this mindset assumes that it is possible to control the way in which information is transmitted and digested. 

But in a complex and dynamic system we know such control is not possible. 

An emergent mindset wouldn’t seek to establish control but to work with this uncertainty. Rather than waiting for everything to be finished, it might say it’s enough to share the essence of what we are trying to do, and to let readers colour the picture in. It assumes that some people will get the info they need, and pass it on to others. Not everyone will get the message, but also that unexpected people will.

So it is in the spirit of emergent marketing that I share the outlines of our incomplete plans for our next cohorts of the regenerative design lab.

Cohort 5 of the Regenerative Design Lab will be an experiment in running an-house programme for an organisation. We are conducting this experiment with the Hazel Hill team of staff and trustees. It will be really exciting to bring together people who care for this wood with a process that has been hosted here since 2022, and will help us learn how to do this process for other organisations. 

Cohort 6 will be our next open cohort, running March to November 2026. There won’t be any special theme to this cohort, rather we are interested in attracting people with a wide range of interests in regenerative design as it relates to the built environment. Details including pricing our now available. You can register your interest but applications won’t open until November. 

And Cohort 7 will be our first alumni cohort, also running March to November 2026. We have seen that for many people that come on the lab, the programme is just the start of a journey into unknown territory that continues for many years afterwards. This cohort is here to support alumni as they continue on their journey of exploration and innovation in regenerative design. 

So there you have the outline, which I’ll leave you to colour and share as you see fit, and I’ll let you know when there’s more news.

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On packing cubes and better fit

Fold everything up and put it straight in the bag? Or fold everything into packing cubes first, then put these in?

Not an important dilemma — but useful for thinking about utility and fit.

Packing cubes make it easier to find your stuff. That’s a win for utility. But they make it harder to use space efficiently. That’s a loss of fit.

When you pack directly into the case, clothes can mould to the contours of the bag. With cubes, you’re first fitting clothes into rigid boxes, then trying to fit those boxes into the bag. The bigger the chunks, the less well they fit.

Even cubes designed for your bag add extra cell walls. It’s more work to get everything in.

Why does this matter? Because it’s all about equilibrium. The more options a system has, the better it can settle into a state that fits its surroundings.

Of course, both bags — with cubes and without — are at equilibrium once zipped. But cubes trap the system in a constrained equilibrium: ordered, but with wasted potential (unused space). Without cubes, the system has more freedom to find a messier equilibrium that actually fits better.

And there’s entropy at play: to keep clothes in neat cubes takes extra work. Left free, they tumble into arrangements that fit themselves.

From a regenerative point of view, sometimes it’s worth adding structure — boundaries, hierarchies, rules — to make a system function. But structure always reduces adaptability. Keeping a system in a fixed order takes work, and wastes some of its potential to respond.

So the design question is: when is it worth doing the work to hold things in order, and when is it better to let the system find a looser, but better-fitting arrangement?

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Don’t scale up — scale right

There are no factories in the living world. Or at least if there are, they are very well camouflaged. 

Humans, by contrast, are very attached to factories. By reducing variation and tightly managing the handover between every step of the process – in other words, the relationships – assembly lines can be optimised for throughput.

Profit is often linked to throughput. Both in terms of the per-unit mark-up on a manufactured item, and in terms of dividing fixed costs, the more you make the more money you make. 

And so standardisation becomes the driving factor. Standard inputs, standard processes, uniform outputs. Each variation brings costs and lowers profits. 

Looking out across the understory here at Hazel Hill Wood, I see a certain degree of standardisation. The only plants I see are birch, holly, Douglas Fir, bracken and bramble. But go to a different part of the wood and the variation and balance of species will be different, depending on the specific variations of that location. In each location, the wood finds the best way it can to grow harmoniously. And in each location, that is slightly different.

The regenerative designer seeks to work with that specific variation, not because of some nostalgia for smaller scale construction, but because they recognise the greater potential value that can be unlocked from working with variation. 

Variation does not work at scale. When large teams need be kept up-to-date and coordinated around changes, then the admin overhead quickly balloons. 

All this points towards construction models built around smaller, agile teams—able to turn the specific variations of place into an advantage. Creating designs that are more harmonious (and therefore with fewer hidden costs). And unlocking local, positive feedback loops that strengthen the local economy and ecology. 

If your goal is throughput, scale up. But if your goal is to maximise value across business, ecology and community — then find the scale that lets all these systems flourish.

Scale up for throughput, but scale right for thriving.

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Field notes: operating the Decision Engine

I’ve written lots of posts this week on decision-making, and that’s because I have run three rounds of The Decision Engine workshop — part three in our Critical Thinking programme. 

The Decision Engine imagines decision-making as a production line that we build and operate. A decision travels through this system — starting with how the question is framed, moving through decision criteria, weighing subjective and objective factors, and arriving (eventually) at a decision.

It’s a model I first helped develop at Think Up during our 2015 collaboration with Arup on the Conceptual Design Mastery programme. Since then, I’ve developed it to account for everything from emotional data and gut feel to AI and emergent behaviour.

But the point is not to turn decision-making into a laborious stepwise process, but rather to build critical insight into our personal and group decision-making. 

Interesting questions that have fallen out of this week’s workshops include:

Should you start with developing ideas or agreeing your decision-making criteria?

Are we deciding — or are we building the mechanism by which other people decide?

What’s the role of subjectivity, and how do we get better at working with it?

When is a good time to decide?

And how do we continuously learn from our decisions.

Plenty to chew on, including whether we could run a day-long, stand-alone course on decision-making in future. Watch this space. 

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What if we got all the designers together who ever designed a place?

Imagine gathering every designer who has ever shaped a single street for a retrospective design crit?

Every building — from the latest new-build to the medieval cottage still standing.

The streets, the services, the flood defences.

All the engineers (and other humans) who made all the decisions.

What would they discover about their design choices?

What would they regret?

Which decisions would they make again?

What patterns of place might emerge — the things that repeatedly work (or fail), whether we choose to notice or not?

What changes might they observe?

How differently would the place sound to different generations of designer?

And how would they all arrive?

It feels like engineers (and other humans) are constantly redesigning places.

But how do we take the long view?

How do we learn from what has worked — and what hasn’t — over time?

So that from generation to generation, we build a progression of holistic wisdom, not just another round of reinvention.

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Catalytic Style

Catalytic style is a an approach to having conversations that helps the solution emerge from the client rather than  having it planted by the consultant. I learnt this approach from Nick Zienau at Intelligent Action, and it is well worth taking the time to practise using it.

The rules of Catalytic Style

  • Keep the focus on the client.
  • Ask short, open questions to keep them talking (what, how, but not why).
  • Offer quick summaries to show you are listening.
  • Don’t offer your own solutions – this is about keeping the focus on the client.
Continue reading “Catalytic Style”