Archive for April, 2005

Apr
28

Networks in expanding cultural spaces IV

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new yorker 5.jpg

How did the problem and the solution find one another?

From the MET point of view, the Chudnovsky brothers represent a “solution” so remote it might as well be one of those green glass Japanese fishing floats bobbing happily off the coast of Peru. From the Chudnovsky point of view, the MET problem is quite literally locked away in a vault buried within an institution and a profession the brothers do not understand and may not actually know about. The Unicorn tapestry photos might as well have been on Mars. (This is an asymmetrical remoteness because, presumably, museums find mathematicians more easily than mathematicians find museums.)

That problem and solution found one another is a miracle. Our job is to see if there were mechanics in the miracle, and what, if anything, these can teach us about networks in expanding cultural spaces.

The first question, of course, is whether the Chudnovsky-MET connection has anything to do with the real world. Some will say the Unicorn photo problem is the sort of thing that happens to museums, and nobody else. Surely, the brothers Chudnovsky are the very definition of an arcane solution. Maybe. But not if we proceed metaphorically.

I think it must be true that problems in the world are speciating as fast as everything else in our culture. When we decide to “reinvent” some part of our world, to express our creativity, to think “outside the box,” we often force ourselves to move out of the standard package of solutions to something that must be custom build, perhaps even purpose built (few, if any, modular components).

In the old Vegas, entertainment called for little more than a conventional stage, a half decent sound system, and some way of keeping middle-aged women from practicing Dionysian abandon at Wayne’s expense. The advent of Circe du Soleil changed all that. Now it is customary to make people sail through water and air in a single arc. For the old Vegas, the number of people capable of solving the staging “problem” could be counted in the hundreds of thousands. For Circe, it’s down to a handful. God knows how they find them. (Chances are, they train them instead, perhaps from infancy.)

I think this might also be true for the corporation. There was time when CEOs were either patrician or hard charging. (Morgan Stanley, before and after.) And there was plenty enough of either one. Now that the corporate world is a place of new complexity, the number of suitable candidates has fallen. It is not clear that the MBA conduit remains the best recruiting system and it looks as if the old supply chains are failing us. In-house training may be the solution here. (And this is a very interesting recipe for plenitude. Some theory of the corporation says that managers are supposed to be interchangeable and that when they do trade places, the intelligence of the system distributes itself and becomes more uniform. But if we are looking at a world in which corporations are so complicated that they can only be run by creatures raised from within, creatures who do not and cannot move across corporations, this will encourage still more different corporate cultures.)

My point (and I do have one): as the world becomes more various, problems and their solutions are perhaps becoming more various too. If the old supply chains are failing us, this opens the vista of a culture in which problems and solutions are ever harder to connect.

Oh, for crying out loud, I’ve done it again. Banged out 700 words and not yet supplied the answer to the question in question. My conclusion, and I do have one, tomorrow. Sorry!

Categories : Plenitude
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new yorker 5.jpg

Observed: an unlikely solution finds an improbable solution

Proposed: that we can give an account of the network that connects them

Yesterday: the transition from stage 1 to stage 2

Today: stages 2 through 5

The transition from stage 2 to stage 3 is pretty clear cut. Real estate magnates read The New Yorker and they know an investment opportunity when they see one.

The magnate put up $400,000 to fund the Chudnovsky brothers. In return, he got at least at least one mention in The New Yorker, a philanthropic project that differentiated him from other real estate magnets (of whom there are, I believe, several in NYC), elevated standing in the social world of NYC, a claim to “getting” and supporting what is peculiarly New York about New York. (I am making assumptions about the magnate’s motives. I apologize if these are unfounded, diminishing or unduly Machiavellian. ((Hey, if you want a rosy view of human nature, stay away from the dismal sciences.))

In sum, the magnate converted $400,000 into a pretty substantial body of social and cultural capital. We can’t do this calculation precisely. But there is a PR expert somewhere who could assess the ROI with a fair degree of accuracy. (How else do PR firms decide what to charge?) At the very least, the investment brought him: more profile, more invitations, broader social access, higher social access, and finally a larger business network. This, in turn, gives him access to more and loftier real estate deals. This, in turn, will improve the financial resources with which he can fund subsequent philanthropic “gestures” that the spiral may continue upward.

Many investors pay much more for much less. Museum sponsorship can be much more expensive and receive no reference in the New Yorker or word of mouth treatment. Below, I have included a passage from my new book that describes the more traditional bargain.

Now how does the magnate collect his social and cultural capital? It is not enough to make the philanthropic gift, one must be seen to make the philanthropic gift. Mention in The New Yorker is one way of doing this. Another is showing the Chudnovsky brothers off at a Manhattan soiree. Thus have patrons always harvested the investment. Thus have clients always been obliged to “sing for their supper.” Patrons compete and sometimes trump other patrons when they show off their clients. Patrons impress status non combatants when they show off their clients. Patrons draw in other would-be clients by showing off their clients. Getting the Chudnovsky brothers to show up for a soiree was very good for business. (And it doesn’t matter that their heads are teeming with numbers, racing off in pursuit, say of pi. Really, they just had to turn up.)

In the transition from stage 3 to 4, the ROI soiree model holds with one small difference. When the hedge fund manager shows off the Chudnovsky brothers at his soiree, he is leveraging the magnate’s accomplishment. He is cutting himself in on a piece of the action. For this evening, he too is a patron of the life of the mind. Why is this ok? Why should he help himself to the anthropological consequences of the magnate’s beneficience? It’s ok because he is staging his friend, the magnate’s, generosity. Now the investment is being put to work in the world. It is being lent out. (Is this something the actor understands? Oh, something tells me a hedge fund manager could work it out.)

Little does the fund manager know he plays a much larger role in our network. For he is a MET patron, and this entitles him to cameo appearances from MET curators. Thus does he let the world know of his philanthropy. As it happens, the evening that he invites Chudnovsky brothers, he also invites a curator who happens both to know about the Unicorn problem and to have a wife who is teaches math.

And now we move from stage 4 to stage 5. And wouldn’t we like to have been there when the penny dropped. When asked what they did for a living the Chudnovsky brothers probably said something conversation-stopping like, “oh, we calculate pi.” All eyes glazed over except those of the curator’s wife, who released finally from the tedium of these events, said, “really?” with an intensity of feeling that quite took the brothers aback. And it wasn’t long before the brothers were gazing upon the Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries and supplying a solution that was otherwise permanently, structurally, beyond the problem solving powers of even a museum as mighty as the MET.

Geez, this is taking way too long. Tomorrow, then, the thrilling conclusion to the mystery of “networks in expanding cultural spaces.”

Excerpt from Culture and Consumption II

Museums also have had long, intricate relationships with local families of high standing. These families supply precious resources: social authority, cultural capital, and political influence. They have offered their children as curators, their spouses as volunteers, their matriarchs and patriarchs as board members, patrons and donors. They have made the museum a repository of material culture (e.g., china, furniture, art and silver) that has helped define their status in the community (Warner, Low, Lunt and Srole, 1963, p. 107).

The relationship is not asymmetrical. Status flows to these families as it does from them. In the crudest case, the museum will trade social standing for infusions of cash. In effect, it launders wealth so that a “new” family may become (or begin to become) an “old” family. Normally, the exchange is more complicated and more delicate. Museum and family seek a balance in their exchange. There are many currencies in the exchange: money, events, names and naming, objects, prestige, standing, and influence of several varieties. What is given and what is got are calculated with some care. The bargainers seek a rough sense of parity (when an exquisite one is not possible).

Inevitably, there are asymmetries. Some families rank so high they must necessarily give more status to the museum than they get. Others rank sufficiently low they must always get status more than they give. All of this requires careful calculation about what is owned to whom, and someone on staff capable of making them. In a robust status community, the museum is simultaneously a participant in, an arbiter for, a contributor to, and a beneficiary of the process by which status is reckoned and apportioned. (I appreciate that this “exchange” model of the relationship between families and the museum does not always square with the family’s point of view. Many families see their contributions to the museum as “free gifts” offered in the classic tradition of liberality and not because of the consequences that may follow from the act of giving (Kelso 1929).)

Categories : Plenitude
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Yesterday, we noted how an unlikely solution (two mathematical brothers from Russia) found an improbable problem (distorted Unicorn images at the MET).

Today, I want to use this story to address a question: can expanding networks hope to keep up with the expanding cultural universes in which we live. (All unicorn stories are allegorical and especially this one. The photographic ’tiles” created by the MET proved to have captured diverse materials that would not, when assembled, fit. Gregory Chudnovsky decided finally, “The [MET] tapestry is like water. [It has] no permanent shape.” Water, c’est nous.)

As to the improbability of intersection, we open with a shocker. It is, I think, relatively certain that the Chudnovsky brothers enter this network ONLY because certain conditions were fulfilled. The brothers:

1. were immigrants
2. came in twos (brothers insisting that they represent one functional mathematician)
3. failed to get mainstream academic appointments and lived in obscurity
4. pursued a problem regarded as unsolvable
5. built their own computer and stuffed it into a living room
6. did all of this in New York City

If even one of these conditions were unfulfilled, no New Yorker story, no Rube Goldberg mechanism, no MET solution.

But the moment the world supplies all of these conditions, I think the movement from stage 1 to stage 2 is relatively certain. (And this is strange. One condition missing, no transition. All conditions in place, transition inevitable.)

This is where we are obliged to get “all anthropological.” We are after all talking about cultural systems here, not logical or mechanical ones.

Here’s how I think it works culturally. The Chudnovskys make an irresistible narrative, at least in our culture, in this moment, in New York City. Most people, and virtually every New Yorker, is pleased to hear this story. Most people, and virtually every New Yorker, is still more pleased to tell the story.

Why is this? The story has good narrative value. It gives us sympathetic actors, little guys shut out of the mainstream, who quixotically pursue impossible problems, and do so from the discomfort of an apartment they share with a home made computer. Not just little guys, but deeply eccentric creatures who insist they are a single mathematician who happens to be divided across two bodies. People who have ordinary intellectual gifts love to tell stories about very smart people who are tormented (A Beautiful Mind) or very strange (the Bobby Fischer story). It is, I think, a way of saying, “whew! I may not be all that smart, but at least I’m not nuts.”

For a variety of reasons, then the Chudnovsky story tells well. All of us like to hear stories. It gives pleasure to hear stories. This is almost certainly hardwired and I will say no more. We like even more to tell stories. Telling good stories gives pleasure plus some kind of personal capital. As social actors, we are now more appealing, more credible, perhaps more charismatic. And this is a capital we can spend on a variety of things, some tangible, some not, all of them more or less influential in the disposition of our “life chances.”

Most of all, the Chudnovsky story has “definitional” force. One of the pleasures that listeners take from this story is a confirmation that reads something like: “yes, this is the kind of city I live in. Yes, this is the kind of person I must be (if I live in the kind of city this city is).” Floridians might tell this story with a certain, “get a load of this for just plain nuttiness” and in this case the definitional force runs in the other direction. (“We’re not like this, thank God!”)

But for New Yorkers this story carries a deep confirmation of what the city and its occupants must therefore be. Many other events, institutions, people and misadventures compete to supply alternate notions of the city. The horror of 9-11, Time Square, Donald Trump, crime, any one of these supply a different definition of the essence of the city, to the chagrin or distaste of most New Yorkers. The Chudnovsky story helps define the city these people want to live in and the kind of people they must be, by implication.

This is the place to bring in a “6 degree” analysis. (Thank you, Brian.) Chances are the Chudnovsky story spread quickly. It’s an empirical question: how many links did it take to hit the New Yorker net and how quickly did it then climb the editorial ladder? In this case, the New Yorker Magazine acts as a classic diffusion agent. It is always in the business of making the affairs of the city available to those who cannot experience it first hand. (This is all New Yorkers, because no one can be everywhere on the island, and lots of people across the state, the country, and the world.)

For some of these readers, the New Yorker goes so far as to traffic in a “New York frame of mind” and now the magazine is much more than a classic diffusion agent. It is not just supplying notice of urban affairs but an opportunity to participate as a “New Yorker in absentia.” For this virtual New Yorker, the Chudnovsky story has special definitional force. “Ah, yes, this is confirmation of the very special place this city is…clear evidence of its difference, and how important it is for me to stay in touch.”

Transitions through stages 3, 4, and 5 are much simpler and can be dispatched with a simpler argument. This I leave for tomorrow. Because, like, clients are waiting. I think you see what I am trying to do here. I am trying to see if there is a cultural account of the network that connects the Chudnovsky solution to the MET problem that shows where system, emergent or otherwise, driven by maximizing actors driven by cultural objectives, is operating to link diverse parties in disparate places. This will give us a chance to ask whether networks can keep up with expanding universes.

(I acknowledge the sheer implausibility of my example. Most readers will already have said to themselves, “for crying out loud, there is almost nothing in the Chudnovsky story that corresponds to the real world. Most problems have nothing to do with spoiled digital images at the MET. Most solutions, we must hope, bear no relationship to underemployed mathematicians from Russia!” I hope my final discussion will show that the Chudnovsky story has a certain illustrative value as a talking point.)

In the meantime, I am putting down the chalk and I hope, when I come in tomorrow, someone will have finished the equation.

Categories : Plenitude
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This is the story of how an unlikely solution, two mathematical brothers from Russia, found an improbable problem, digital images of a Unicorn tapestry. What connects them is a Rube Goldberg mechanism that includes The New Yorker magazine, a real estate magnet, a hedge fund manager, a MET curator and his wife. As we will see, the chances of this particular solution finding this particular problem were astronomically small. Or were they?

The story. Two brothers, born in Kiev, take up residence in New York City, where they lived hand to mouth on the outskirts of the academic world and devote themselves to mathematical problems of great interest but small promise. The brothers Chudnovsky, Gregory and David, built a computer out of mail order parts, installed it in Gregory’s living room and set to the task of calculating pi to two billion decimal places. Twenty-six fans were needed to make Gregory’s apartment habitable in the summer time.

In 1992, The New Yorker wrote an article about the Chudnovsky brothers and their story attracted the attention of Jeffrey H. Lynford, a real estate tycoon. Lynford put up money enough to install the brothers in their own research institute at Polytechnic University where the brothers built a still larger computer.

About 10 years later, the Chudnovsky brothers were attending a party held by Errol Rudman, a hedge-fund manager and a MET patron. Also in attendance was Walter Liedtke, a curator at the MET and his wife, Diana, a math teacher. Walter and Diana wondered whether their fellow guests might not represent a solution to a problem at the MET.

Several years before, the MET had taken digital photographs of a set of tapestries known as “The Hunt of the Unicorn.” (These were woven around 1500 and held for centuries by the La Rochefoucauld family before coming to the US, thanks to a Rockefeller purchase, in 1937.) The tapestries were photographed in 3 x 3 foot sections with the idea that the resulting ’tiles” would be electronically reassembled in a “faithful” image. But the digital record was very large (filling two hundred CDs) and reassembly proved impossible. Eventually, this problem was found to conceal a still more vexing problem: that the tapestries had shifted during the photographic process so that the tiles could not be reassembled. Only higher mathematics, and, as it turned out, two brothers from Russia, could put the tapestries back together again. And of course they did, using their new supercomputer to perform what the New Yorker calls “vast seas of calculations upon each individual pixel in order to make a complete image of [the] tapestry.”

This story covers a lot of ground, culturally, and it brings together really diverse elements. The temporal dimension stretches from the 16th century to the present day. The geographic one takes in Russia, France and the US. We’ve got diverse players: real estate tycoons, a prince of capital, a museum curator, mathematicians. We’ve got diverse institutions: a research institute, the New Yorker, the MET, an ancient French family, a look in from the Rockefellers. Badly written, I don’t see any reason why this couldn’t be a Dan Brown novel.

Diverse elements link implausibly (otherwise they wouldn’t be diverse). This is the Rube Goldberg aspect, with each connection apparently a most delicate, most implausible hinge. Working backwards, the ‘tapestry” problem cannot find its “brothers” solution unless the brothers meet a math teacher whose husband happens to be a MET curator who happens to come to lunch at the home of a prince of capital who happens, presumably, to know a real estate magnet, who happens to read a story in the New Yorker about two brothers who happened to come to the US and build a supercomputer in their living room.

I will supply Part II tomorrow. For those of you who have finished the Times Cross Word puzzle, here’s another. The diversity of contemporary culture continues to grow and we are now, in the words of one book on the topic of networks, “small pieces loosely joined.” But it is also true that new technologies, the web, email, blogs among them, have created new, more powerful way of casting connections across these diverse cultural spaces.

The question is this: which is growing faster: the universe or the networks?

I liked the Chudnovsky story because it might serve as a way of thinking about the question in, er, question.

References

Preston, Richard. 2005. Capturing the Unicorn. The New Yorker. April 8, 2005. pp. 28-33.

Weinberger, David. 2002. Small Pieces Loosely Joined. Cambridge: Perseus.

Categories : Plenitude
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Apr
22

SETI@home II

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Yesterday, I thought out loud about what a trend surveillance system might look like, and two friends of This Blog Sits At, Steve Portigal and Tom Guarriello, were kind enough to offer illustrative materials.

Steve offered this photo taken in April 2004. His blog comment:

My cool-hunting moment. Kids in front of the Metreon in SF wearing backpacks made from cereal boxes.

This is a near perfect example of the task ahead of us. It is, at least from my point of view, completely cryptic. No ready explanation leaps to mind.

We cannot apply the Shaeffer-Letterman test: “is this something or is this nothing?”

It could be something. It could be first warning of a larger trend that will someday dominate youth culture and the marketplace it controls. Or it could be the final piece of evidence someone in the SETI system needs to leap to a conclusion, that small ledge on the sheer cliff face of contemporary culture. For instance, this might be the evidence that persuades someone that the long hip hop regime is finally on the wane. And definitive warning on this development would be worth its weight in gold.

Or it could be nothing, an act of almost perfect randomness, a prank, or a trick. Nothing comes of nothing, and we will say no more of this.

At this point, we don’t know what we don’t know and we are obliged to be ecumenical. All evidence is allowed in. The Shaeffer-Letterman test will eventually be accomplished by repetition. If this is “something,” it’s something we will see again. (And we will be quicker to see it the second time, having seen it the first.) The SETI net, cast wide, would decide the matter quickly, and if cereal boxes are something, then ethnographic interviewers can be dispatched to ask the crucial questions that would begin to reveal what the dickens is going on here. (We can hope that university courses in ethnographic and qualitative methodology would seize upon SETI and might supply some of this investigative work.)

Now chances are most of us will not hear of the cereal box phenomenon until it has been spotted and vetted by a couple of layers of editorial scrutiny in the SETI system. And that’s as it should be. There is so much spotting and thinking to be done in a culture as dynamic as our own that we want to divide the labor into manageable chunks.

The importance of editorial scrutiny is revealed by a splendid link offered by Tom Guarriello. It appears to be sponsored by a Japanese trade association and it documents what people are wearing each week in 5 neighborhoods of Tokyo. Here’s a case in point:

japanese fashion.jpg

If Steve’s example was conspicuous for its conspicuity, Tom’s example suggests the more usual fare at SETI will be tons of photos of tons of lots and lots people. It will take a well trained eye to spot the datum that counts for something. (All of us will remark on a cereal box. Only a very few of us will be in a position to say, “oh, an M hat!”) In this case, SETI becomes a high volume, a Gill Whale, game and now the division of labor becomes still more important.

The book I’ve got coming out from IUP suggests the value of capturing trends in talk and all the expressive media. Gathering and sorting ALL this data is a staggering task. And it will not happen at all until we can think of some way of paying for it.

A couple of months ago, I thought I had a commercial client who would fund the thing, but more and more I think no one commercial interests has deep enough pockets or patience to make this work.

The incentive system remains the most vexing matter.

References

Steve’s find: chittahchattah.blogspot.com/2004/07/my-cool-hunting-moment.html

Tom’s find: www.style-arena.jp/english/index.htm

(sorry my links are not working at the moment)

Apr
21

SETI@home

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M E-L from Ishbadiddle offered this comment on a recent post:

“Install a good SETI system.” How about a SETI@Home system? Distributed coolhunting / trendspotting via the blogosphere?

I found this interesting for a couple of reasons.

First, it demonstrates that the readers of This Blog Sits At are more gifted than its writer.

Second, it nails one of the big “intellectual capital” opportunities that the internet makes possible, but that we have yet to create. Call it SETI@home, with thanks to M E-L.

Two conditions are now in place for SETI@home.

First, that the participants are now qualified as observers. Trend spotting used to be the domain of gurus and other Mr. and Ms. smarty pants who fancied themselves as deep thinkers and far seers. Now many more people can contribute. (Henry Jenkins is our guide for what happened here.)

Second, the blogsphere makes us instantaneously accessible to one another so that observation and valued-adding intelligence can swarm in a “decision markets” kind of way. (James Surowiecki!)

A third condition has not arrived: an incentive system. (No one is going to create value unless they have some way to harvest value.)

This could be a more or less conventional business model. We monetize the outcome (trend reports, trend conferences, etc.) and then pay the participants. The trouble with this model is that value of this kind is amorphous in several ways. “Value from” is almost impossible to calculate. (We can let the market decide “value to.”)

There is another system, something more reciprocal. Hargurchet Bhabra told me that physicists have created a kind of Ziggurat on line. Anyone can contribute and the lowest rung of the Ziggurat is open to all. But a hierarchy of access is eventually created. The idea here is that people end up with access to value extraction in proportion to their level of value creation.

I am not sure how this works in an emergent way. As Hargurchet told it, I think there were gatekeepers in place, and that’s a little tedious. Maybe, it’s a voting system, and the more others like, read, comment on, build upon our stuff, the higher we can go on the Ziggurat.

So, let’s review. Everyone contributes to the lowest rung of SETI@home. This is on the order of “something I just noticed.” This is the equivalent of the “pictures” of space that SETI has us work on. Then everyone takes a small problem, often their own contribution, and thinks about them carefully and well. Then we need a line of editors who sort, bundle and promote various things. This creates a much smaller, but still quite large universe. So we need another set of editors working at this still higher level. I guess that’s maybe how it would work. We get access to the next aggregated level of SETI@home if one of our contributions have “made the cut.” (Presumably, we want to aggregate this too, so that we get to keep our access privileges even if our latest contribution has not make the latest cut.)

Our incentive here is that we get access to streams of intelligence and analysis. We give to take. But it would also be possible to give people in industry access to one of the levels through a subscription fee, and this could then be distributed to editors and participants. Or it might be used to fund an annual conference for the SETI@home players. This would be a fully participatory TED or POPTECH operation and it should probably be held in conjunction with same. (I prefer the latter and that’s because Andrew Zolli is the man.)

I know someone is going to say that this entire affair is just too damn Canadian, that’s it tries to organize what is ought to be and is in fact emergent. I beg to differ (though of course the criticism of Canada is precisely right). As it stands, we are reading one another and citing one another. But I don’t hear anyone sitting down, taking the feeds from x blogs and given them a systematic, clarifying, aggregating treatment which in turn becomes a feed to some still larger act of aggregation and analysis.

As a last note: for the list people we would want to contribute, may I suggest John Maeda, Allen Professor of Media Arts and Sciences, MIT Media Laboratory, author of “Design by Numbers,” “Meada@media,” and”Creative code” and Scott Fedje, Director, Image Design at Cole Haan. I heard them both talk at the FUSE conference and they were sensationally good. Fedje did some great stuff on remarkable developments taking place in Japanese retail design, including a store the internal space of which changes shape constantly.

References

For Ishbadiddle

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softball.jpg

Am in NYC for a conference. Went for a wee perambulation in the park this evening. and lo and behold (what can this phrase mean), a many faceted baseball diamond on Heckscher Ballfield in Central park.

This field has four diamond, one in each corner. And it’s small enough that the “outfields” don’t just touch, they actually interpenetrate. This means that as you are playing one game, you have to pay attention to developments in three others. The alternative is terrible collisions, dropped balls, tears and recriminations.

When there is a “heavy hitter” at the plate, each center fielder actually plays facing the center fielder from the game opposite his own.

You can choose your own referent, but if baseball is America’s game, perhaps Heckscher’s field is telling us something.

Your faithful correspondent n the park.

Apr
18

new models of the corporation

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I attended the Marketing Science Institute Meetings in Boston last week.

Two papers stood out:

Innovation Streams, Senior Teams and Ambidextrous Design by Michael Tushman (Harvard Business School)

Best Face Forward: Interface Systems and the New Frontier of Competitive Advantage by Jeffrey Rayport (Marketspace LLC)

A brief account of Tushman’s presentation:

Tushman distinguishes between two modalities in the life of the corporation:

1) The exploitative modality in which the corporation works the world it knows. This is a matter of extracting maximum advantage from the market as presently constituted. This is the traditional modality of the corporation, the very method of “business as usual.” But it is now haunted by a new, tragic understanding: that what makes corporation successful also make it vulnerable to discontinuous technology. Success is now sometimes a tragic flaw.

2) The explorative modality in which the corporation prepares for the world it doesn’t know and can’t fully anticipate. This is the new modality of the corporation, the place it is obliged to give up some of its problem solving, quality controlling, administrative elegance. Here it is obliged to be messy, complicated, iterative, and wrong.

These two modality are mutually presupposing. If the corporation is only exploitative, it cannot survive sudden change. But if it is only explorative, it cannot manage its affairs, exploit opportunity, or “get down to business.” The corporation must do both to make its way in the world.

The trouble is that these are effectively different cultures. They are driven by different assumptions and objectives. It is pretty hard to stuff them into the same organization, because they are often mutually mysterious and perpetually distrustful. In many cases, the explorative and the exploitative camps end up fighting one another, a contest between bean counting, risk-adverse bureaucrats on one side and reckless, restless, risk-crazy adventurers on the other. Or so they see one another, for these modalities are deeply contradictory.

What I like about Tushman’s scheme is that it moves us two steps forward. In effect, it says to the exploitative people., “Look, you have just going to have build explorative modality in. Stop treating change as the unwelcome guest who must be asked to dinner periodically and then sent packing. These are not the odd men out. They are now the odd men in.” Useful! Tushman formalizes something that have known for sometime: that change is a structural reality for the corporation and it must be embraced as such.

But he’s ecumenical, this guy is. For Tushman now says to the explorative people, “You have to stop saying things like ‘everything you know is wrong. Change is the only constant. The new rule is that there are no rules. There is no form upon the deep. It’s all just chaos now.’” Having given them a secure place in the proceedings, Tushman now says to the explorative group, “shut up already. And enough with the scare mongering.” [All these attributions to Tushman are purely my invention. I am merely trying to capture his argument in a vivid way. I have taken liberties in the process, for which all apologies!]

Tushman understands that the corporation can segregate the two modalities into separate functions and different personnel streams, but at some point these two violently contradictory modalities are going to have to co-exist in the same individual. Somewhere there has to be a senior player who understands them both, not as mutually exclusive impulses, but as exclusively mutual. The senior manager is going to have be powerfully, equally, and simultaneously explorative AND exploitative. Hence the notion of “ambidextrous design.”

I have to tell you that at this point in the proceedings I could hear the earth move. Here’s a professor at the Harvard Business School making the case for plenitude and transformation, not as a wild-eyed call for poetic refusal of bourgeois rigidities…but because ambidexterity is good for business.

Hah! So much for the man in the gray flannel suit. Now this guy or gal must be capable of arguing X and not X. This is a Dostoyevskian enterprise that does not come easily to the average MBA, and this is true because there is not instruction in this matter at any business school. (No, not even Tushman’s own.) But now we have an account of the corporation that says that the individual must possess and cultivate his or her own internal complexity to do their jobs.

I know a guy who works for corporate America who has tremendous range. Nick Hahn (Vivaldi Partners) can look at explorative and exploitative problems with perfect simultaneity. When you asked how he manages this, he says that it is a gift from the family. His father was an executive in the world of packaged goods and his mom was an artist. He was accustomed to skipping back and forth between the explorative and the exploitative often and at will

The question is, 1) “how do we build this into the corporate mind set?” and 2) “what MBA program, or change in personnel, would solve this problem?”

Ok, I will complete the second half of this blog tomorrow when I will describe the presentation of Jeffrey Rayport. Oh, and that reminds me. For those in the New York area, I will be talking at the Brand Identity Package Design conference at the Plaza hotel on Wednesday, the 20th. I’m talking at 9:00. Just come in. If challenged, say you are, 1) “his brother,” 2) “his sister,” 3) his “voice coach,” 4) “spiritual advisor,” 5) his “parole officer.” Used individually, I think these will all work.

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At a family get-together, I went for a walk with my brother-in-law, a surgeon, and his dog, “Quizzie.” Quizzie stayed about 30 or 40 feet in front of us, with her nose to the pavement in front of her. She was the most evident topic of conversation, and Geoff and I fell to talking about the evolutionary episode that brought dogs and humans together.

The conventional wisdom here, I think, is that dogs predisposed to human contact vastly increased their chances for survival and that the “domesticated gene” got selected in. I think it is probably true that the human communities predisposed to canine contact also increased their chances of survival. While we were selecting them, they were selecting us. They are hard wired to like us. We are hard wired to like them. The relationship is a shared genetic endowment. We might say it’s a mutual genetic endowment.

But as we talked, a larger possibility occurred to us: that dogs may have allowed the human species to engage in a certain “farming out” of the evolutionary process. Once dogs were a dependable part of the human community, they gave us extraordinary powers of sight and smell we no longer needed to supply for ourselves. This freed us to use the evolutionary episode to master other abilities, chiefly higher cognitive ones. (I don’t know the physiology here, but I expect having a chemical laboratory in your nose takes up quite a lot of skull space.) And we could now use these cognitive abilities undistracted by the “Wait, was that a sound? Whoa, what sound was that?” vigilance that is the dog’s life. In the immortal words of Michael O’Donoghue, you can listen good or you can think good, and if you have to choose, it’s better to think good.

So, anyhow, yesterday, I got an email a friend in the capital markets who specializes in the tech sector and he asked me to comment on satellite radio, an emerging sector about which he has some doubts. Here’s what I said to him in the return email:

I think satellite radio adds value by disintermediating the consumer’s access to good music. Without this delivery system, I have to find, evaluate and chose the music I like. Then I have to buy, digitize and manage this music.

Satellite radio gives me “just in time” delivery across a large spectrum of musical taste. To this extent, it seems to make good on the promise that Larry Ellison was pushing for software a few years ago: that we should only have dumb terminals with all of our software and files residing somewhere on line.

What satellite radio lacks, perhaps permanently, is the ability for me to push a button and identify a particular song I want to add to my personal rotation.

For a consumer taste point of view, it’s as if we are moving in two directions: towards much more novelty (lots more new music and more kinds of music) AND towards more repetition. Satellite works for the first but not the second. Hope this helps.

It seems to be that what satellite radio does for music, Google does for information. “Just in time” access is the coming thing. Once technology releases us from having to find, sort, choose, embrace, and remember our music (or knowledge), does it also open up another “farming out” of the evolutionary process. We have already seen that faster, easier access to cultural materials has encouraged and enabled the construction of larger and more complicated personal identities. What difference will it make to the way we think?

No, really, I’m asking. Or, as we sometimes say in the tri-state area, “I’m asking here.”

Apr
13

Call me the mechanical boy

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My new watch arrived today. I hadn’t really slept since ordering it, so great was the anticipation of ownership. It’s an atomic watch. I couldn’t be more proud.

It’s called the Eurochron Atomic Watch and it sets itself according to the atomic caesium clock located in Boulder, Colorado. Charmingly, Eurochron says my watch receives ‘time telegrams” from Boulder throughout the day.

The eerie thing about my watch is that it’s now in perfect sync with the cable box. Pam and I determined this by shouting “now” when each advanced a minute. I am sure there are some imperfections in the system, but someday all clocks will give exact time.

My grandfather worked for the Canadian Pacific Railroad and every day at noon, the CPR would send a signal to every little station house so that all clocks could be synchronized and all the trains made to run on time. Between the noon of one day and noon the next, some of these clocks would slip into the dreamy imprecision of an Oxford don, but, hey, who cared? Even the most errant clock would return to orthodoxy in about, oh, 5 hours, 14 minutes and 3 seconds. Give or take. If humans sometimes go on “moral holidays,” surely clocks could have moments of their own.

My sister sent me a Garmin handheld for my birthday. It determines location by GPS. I think she hopes geo-caching will get me out of the house more. The unit shows an animation: a rotating earth surrounded by revolving satellites. You can’t actually see yourself on this spinning planet, but you know you are there somewhere. More exactly, the satellites do…most exactly. This is really eerie. When Pam and I took the Gamin in the car, it calculated not just location but distance traveled and average speed. We can’t get it to “lose” us even when we went 120 miles an hour on I-95 and careened without warning down country roads.

So there’s a tension between the perfect calibration of time and space, and the slippery imperfections of the social and personal world. The world is rich with variety and muddied by loose boundaries. It is, come to think of it, almost entirely Elizabethan. The Renaissance distinguished between the unchanging world of the stars above and the sublunary one below where everything is change and sometimes chaos.

For the Elizabethans these were mutually exclusive worlds, but ours intersect in interesting and useful ways. It is precisely because the world is so precisely calibrated in space and time that the change and chaos can be allowed to flourish. My clients don’t care to know where I am or what I am doing for most of the month of April, just so long as they can synch with me at precisely 4:00 on the 21st day in a specified room of a specified building. This is our CPR moment. I am now entirely devoted to their bidding. My intentions are their intentions. Once the project is done, I begin to wonder off to think of other things. And that’s ok, because the synch will be made to happen again.

Indeed, this might be why the consultant model works so well. It is actually better to hire people who have spent 24 hours (or days) in a relatively feral state. The consultant who is released from corporate intentions (and committee meetings) is actually more interesting and productive than those who are not. I don’t suppose that I get very far out of the corporate mind set, but this is just as well. This is, after all, a “sweet spot” game. I can only serve the corporation if my absence was shore leave. The AWOL consultant is hopeless (and almost certainly has tenure somewhere).

I am not sure where I am going with this one. (Frankly, I am so besotted by my new watch that it’s a wonder that I can write at all.) But I think I am moving away from that favorite way of thinking about the future that says, “everything you know is wrong. We can think about the future only by examining every assumption and learning to live with the most exceptional order of disorder. The world is changing is beyond recognition.” We heard a lot of this on the run up to April 2000.

No, the more interesting strategy is to observe the interactions of order and disorder. It’s as if we are installing an infrastructure. This is designed to make a minimum of assumptions about the world that will spring from it. It is designed to enable just about anything. But it is an infrastructure and as such it will trade off some things to get us others.

So much for the old Romantic idea, that the world of creative profusion comes from departure and a refusal of the rigidities of the human world. No, in this case, disorder depends upon order, imprecision requires precision. The real question then becomes is there a set of minimum assumptions that maximizes the quality and quantity of output even as it works constantly to diminish its own footprint. What do we need at a minimum to generate a world that operates at the maximum?

I don’t know. It could be just my new atomic watch talking.

References

Bettleheim, Bruno. 1959. Joey: A Mechanical Boy, Scientific American, 200, March: 117-126.

Apr
12

CEOs and the liberal arts

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The CEO, student of Boethius? Chief executives who have been to the Platonic cave and back again? Senior managers who know their Jane Austin?

Today, the Wall Street Journal issues another call for a liberally educated CEO.

“It’s about maturity and leadership rather than how many accounting courses did you take,” Mr. Veruki says. “Companies are going to start to look at the fundamental value set of an individual and their basic education. Did they study philosophy and culture and history rather than just accounting, finance and engineering? Fast-forward 20 or 30 years, we’re going to find [business leaders] who maybe majored in philosophy rather than business.” [Peter Veruki is head of external relations at Vanderbilt University's Owen Graduate School of Management.]

This WSJ story is a perennial. It appears each April in the business press, from which it is ripped by Latin scholars and history teachers and pinned to that profusion of notices on the professorial portal, delicately to scent the halls with new optimism and confuse passers-by with that self defeating protest, “damn it, we are not irrelevant.”

It is of course a splendid idea. CEOS are living in a world of vertiginous complexity. The world now moves so quickly, we can almost see the hands move on the IBM clock. The CEO now needs formidable powers of pattern recognition. He or she doesn’t have to know anything about Plato qua Plato. But a chance to think as Plato thought, a chance to think the things Plato thought, supplies patterns so powerful, so revelational that any one of them might serve to help a CEO see a forest in the trees. Some CEOS like to wear their learning on their sleeve. Hollinger’s Lord Black was one. (Little Latin, less Geek?) No, what we want is not the content but the form of Platonic thinking, the better to parse and shape problem sets of which the immortal could not dream (but now observes with interest).

The trouble, as we have noted in this blog before, is that the Liberal arts have been taken hostage by the antiquarians on the one side and the world renouncers on the other. The antiquarians do love their special studies so well that they will not release their forms for other intellectual activities. The usual study of Peloponnesian wars grinds very fine and thin. It is only sometimes about bigger pictures and larger forces. Mostly, it is designed to satisfy an academic agenda, and this is its own little battle field, a million small qualifications mobilized to defend the author from criticism only another academic could think up. Can this study gift the CEO with new powers of pattern recognition? No freakin way.

But the world renouncers are much worse. These are the radicals with tenure, the people who took to the academy so that they could absent themselves from the real world, and who know use their redoubt to mock and scorn anyone who engages with it. To think that these people might have any influence over the education of a CEO is a prospect to horrible to contemplate. And this brings us to the nub. Students who would prepared themselves for senior management with a liberal degree have a very good chance of being taken captive by the nit wits. The would-be CEO who enters the liberal arts has taken up a knight’s quest that only the most exceptional can survive.

So, by all means, let us encourage this idea that the liberal arts are necessary part of the senior manager’s education. But let us insist that CEOs pursue this exceptional knowledge from the venues where the well runs pure: night school and self instruction. Everything else is a fool’s errand.

References

White, Erin. 2005. Future CEOs May Need to Have Broad Liberal-Arts Foundation. Wall Street Journal. Wall Street Journal. April 12, 2005.

Apr
11

Franklin Covey plays the race card

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My Microsoft migration continues. Having replaced Explorer with Firefox, and Outlook with Gmail, I needed to find a replacement for Outlook’s calendar. I struck upon Franklin Covey’s PlanPlus for Windows XP.

Very useful, it is, too. But what struck me was the design.

First, the splash page of the program, the one that loads each morning, shows an African American male who appears to be about 35 years old (as above).

Typically, “diversity” as a cultural agenda encourages commercial players to show, say, four people in an ad or package, one of whom is African American. This is one of the communications clichés of our age and in a hundred years they will smirk at us for it. I don’t mean that it’s not a good idea, just that it is by this time a somewhat labored one. There are, to be sure, one or two cases in which an African American appears alone, and in this case, it is almost always an African American woman. I don’t think I have ever seen a corporation use an African American man alone.

The Franklin Covey image changes things quite substantially. This African American model does not stand for all African American consumers. He stands for all consumers, plain and simple. He stands for us all. The splash page dares to show our collective face as an African American one. Splendid. At a stroke (splash?), Franklin Covey has replaced a patronizing strategy of representation with something like real inclusion, a consumer society so integrated that any part of the whole can stand for the whole of the whole, as it were. Of course, we are not yet completely integrated, but I think this is one of the ways societies can work our way in that direction. Splendid, splendid, splendid.

But the theme of diversity shows up elsewhere in the software. When you evoke the “big compass” aspect of the program, you are invited to specify your most important life objectives according a variety of roles. I remember looking in on PlanPlus software about 5 years ago, and I don’t remember seeing reference to “role.” If it is new, it means that Franklin Covey has moved to embrace a second notion of diversity, what we might call the diversity within.

I believe that “diversity within” is one of the big cultural issues of our day. We are all of us much more diverse as individuals; we construct and occupy more deeply diversified portfolios of self. This aspect of diversity has been relatively obscured by the notion of diversity as racial, gender, sexual inclusiveness, by “diversity without.” More’s the pity. “Diversity without” is a pressing issue, but “diversity within” will be the deeper, more lasting, more important development in our culture.

Anyhow, we find Franklin Covey rising even to this occasion. It is perhaps well known that Franklin Covey has roots in the community of the Latter Day Saint’s. It is perhaps less well know that some members of this community have been unhappy that the Franklin Covey software sometimes leans away from church teachings in the direction of a new age view of the world. And so we may take it for granted that the Franklin Covey decision makers had to take their courage in both hands to incorporate “roles” as part of the software.

So it’s courage on both counts. Franklin Covey gives us diversity without and diversity within. In the case of the former, they risk their enterprise to achieve a larger social good. In the case of the latter, they advance enterprise by speaking to new realities.

Capitalism, it’s just the strangest, most interesting thing.

Apr
07

how to spot a trend

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Here are two rules and an example for trend spotting:

Rule 1:

Take any possibility seriously. The new wouldn’’t be new unless it defied expectation. All ideas, even crazy ones, are to be taken seriously.

Rule 2:

Install a good SETI system. This is about pattern recognition. Rule 1 means that we are going to have lots and lots of ‘trend candidates.” We need some culling system that allows us to get rid of false positives. In the case of the real SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence), there are 5 steps: 1) collect data, 2) find candidate signals, 3) check data integrity, 4) remove radio interference, 5) identify final candidates.

Clearly, these two rules are related. The credulity of Rule 1 exposes us the chaos of too many trend candidates, and obliges us to embrace a Rule 2 that sorts out the real trends from the apparent ones. Indeed, the wider we cast the credulity net, the more formidable must be our powers of pattern recognition. Or, to put it the other way round: the better prepared we are intellectually to spot a trend, the more widely we may cast the net.

In fact, we could say that these two rules force an intersection in a Venn diagram: where the circle 1 of dreamers/droolers/utterlyingenuous overlaps with the circle 2 of hardheaded/toughminded/cleareyed. This is a very good place to be, not least because in a culture in which anything is possible no longer finds much of interest in someone who sees that everything is possible. (“The world supplies that, we don’t need you.””) The real question is whether any given possibility contains any trace of plausibility, whether it might visit us, that is to say, not just in the imagination but in the world. But, I am missing the obvious (comme toujours): the intersection of circles 1 and 2 is for certain purposes precisely the characteristic intersection of culture and commerce (not to mention the place this blog sits).

An example:

I’’m reading the New York Times today, and there is a story about a guy who’s renovating his place and decided that he will have no chrome, steel, aluminum, nickel or any brushed, satin or polished metal in his home.

As he put it, “No visible metal has become my new obsession.””

Rule 1 says that we must consider this as a new trend candidate. No more metal. No more homes that shine, gleam or even glow. Good bye to all those bright, shiny bits in the kitchen and bathroom. Good bye to anything sleek or polished. Good bye to anything light bearing.

At first, this seems ludicrous. What are the chances that North American householders would ever forsake “visible metal?” But if we are reacting simply against sheer implausibility, this must give us pause. Sheer implausibility is, in fact, good grounds that this trend candidate deserves a hearing. The really new new must always offend us in this way. (If someone had tried to tell us in, say, 1965 that middle class householders would someday install industrial strength stoves in their suburban kitchens, we would have laughed at them.)

Rule 2 says that we must root through the intellectual toolkit to see if we have anything that would provide “skids,”” a way to “dock”” the candidate trend with what we know and a future we can imagine. There are lots of approaches here, but one particularly jumped out at me: brightwork. Brightwork is the name for the bits of metal on North Americans cars. It was especially current in the 1950s.

The term is sufficiently arcane that my Microsoft spell checker does not recognize it, and now shows it with that accusing red underline that says, summon your best imitation of a highly judgmental Bill Gates, “you have made a mistake”” or, as it will be understood for the remainder of this blog entry, ‘this is a trend candidate for which we cannot vouch. Proceed at your own risk. Low Headroom.””

One of the points of brightwork was to make cars look fast. It helped to create the impression that the car was “streaming”” forward. It was brightwork, among other things, that helped give the impression that cars were “moving even when standing still,”” a phrase of high praise for cars at mid century.

I cannot prove, but I do nevertheless believe, that there was a deep cultural connection here: the appearance of motion that brightwork supplied and a temporal orientation that prized the idea that individuals, corporations and countries were “moving forward,”” “racing into the future,”” and otherwise, “on their way up.”” The confusion of movement in space and time was, I think, a key article of mid century modernism. (I have substantiated this claim to some extent in Culture and Consumption II, in an essay on the 1954 Buick.)

Anyhow, the “brightwork”” idea gives us a way to think about the trend candidate presented by the NYT author. If he is removed brightwork from his home, we might suppose that other individuals will do so if and when they decide that the home should be stripped of these important traces of dynamism, that they wish to retreat from a culture that prizes individual and collective mobility, that one of the new objectives of interior design is aesthetic stillness. Naturally, I can’’t even begin to imagine whether any of these things are true. But I know have a set of auxiliary trend candidates, the encouragement of anyone of which would help reinforce the “candidacy”” of the “no metal trend.””

This is not a great example, perhaps. The brightwork notion will test your credulity even more than the “no metal”” one. But it does suggest how “rule 2”” might apply here. And this gives weight to the notion that trend watching should be left not to the hippest person in the room but the person who actually knows something about the culture in question.

We all know who I am talking about. The cool hunters who take good corporate dollars in return for a recitation of all the things you end up taking for granted if you live in TriBeCa. These poor creatures don’’t have intellectual depths. They only have tabloid-like surfaces. They can only reflect what is. They cannot reflect upon what is. One of these days I am going to name names. I really am. It is time to remove this “radio interference”” that we might examine the future with new clarity.

References

Marin, Rick. 2005. Heave-Ho, Silver! The New York Times. April 7, 2005.

Apr
06

Death by committee

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A friend is working for a not-for-profit (NFP). Her boss held a meeting recently to announce that he was convening a meeting to create a “mechanism” to make a decision on personnel policy at the NFP. It turns out that the mechanism would be a committee and this, he thought, would meet 2 or 3 times to reach a decision.

Here’s how my friend does the math: five meetings would be held to make a decision that could be dispatched in 20 minutes. In fact, five hours would be used to do the work of 20 minutes. The ratio of ‘time required” to ‘time spent:” 1 to 15.

My experience in the NFP world tells me this sort of thing is not uncommon. My experience in the FP world says the opposite is happening there: decisions get faster, time is compressed, the world spins ever faster. It’s as if there’s a “continental drift” taking place between these worlds.

This drift comes from many things but it comes in part from a cultural distinction between expressive individualism and instrumental individualism. (With a hat tip to Daniel Bell, and his theoretical contributions here, with which I now take liberties.)

Expressive individualism says the individual is unique, precious, and laden with rights. These rights are self evident and so is the self…evident, I mean. The individual requires no performance, no accomplishment, no reciprocity to assert its claim to these rights.

Instrumental individualism says the individual is an agent and an outcome. The more successful the agent, the more individuated, authoritative, and vivid the outcome. This self is self creating and unpredictable. The self is not evident, it’s emergent.

It was precisely to honor the expressive individual the NFP boss intends to hold 5 meetings. Everyone is to be included. All voices will be heard. If we belong to the instrumental world, we might regard this as intolerable. The opportunity cost of 5 meetings is pretty large. Some of us will be inclined to say, “Let me surrender a little power to the Prince in exchange for the chance to get on with my life.”

But if we belong to the crystal palace of expressive individualism, we say, “No, what counts here is the acknowledgement and enactment of my selfhood. I don’t care that the affairs of state, or at least those of the NFP, are diminished…for I am enlarged.” In a weird way, this is a democratization of the Brahmin bureaucrat for whom form, and not accomplishment, is everything.

But here’s the problem. While the expressive individualists are indulging themselves in the theatre of the 1 to 15 ratio, the rest of the world begins to wonder why they should have to pay for it. And when they decide that they do not wish to, what they withdraw from it’s not just the theatre of expressive individualism but the social contract for which the NFP stands. Now that’s expensive.

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