by Michael Bierut

This article originally appeared in Design Observer, 1-04-09

It actually doesn’t seem that long ago that the only problem was getting all the work done and finding people places to sit. Back in the middle of that seemingly endless string of 60-hour-work-weeks, not one, not two, but (um) several clients called to ask if I wouldn’t mind billing them in full, in advance, for work we hadn’t yet begun, just so they could commit their budgets and get the money off their books. And then at least one of them just seemed to forget about the project altogether.

I mentioned to this at the time to a friend who’s been a hedge fund manager from before the time when anyone had ever heard of hedge funds. “Yeah, that’s the kind of shit that happens just before everything goes horribly wrong,” he said, looking pained. “That’s why I’m getting out.”

Even if you don’t know much about the economy, you’ve probably noticed that something went horribly wrong in 2008. And 2009 doesn’t look much better. I’ve been working as a designer for over 28 years, and depending on how you count, this is either my fourth or fifth recession. Here’s what happens, and a few things you can do about it.

What happens in a recession

1 Everything slows down.
On October 19, 1987, I was talking on the phone to a client about a potential project. Suddenly she went silent and then said, “Wow. The stock market just went down 700 points. Let me get back to you.” It was a long time before she got back to me. In a recession, it takes forever to get things off the ground. Clients take their time gathering (lots of brutally competitive) proposals, interviewing (lots of hungrier-than-usual) prospective design firms, calling back and forth with minute (and trivial) revisions to the proposals, and finally selecting the (perhaps-not-so-lucky) design firm to get the assignment. Then they go back and renegotiate all the terms of the proposal. Then they delay the start of work several times, put the project on hold several more times once it’s underway, and generally take lots of time to brood over every decision every step of the way. Once the project is delivered, they wait longer to launch, print, or build it. And then when you submit the invoice…well, you get the idea.

2 Everyone acts busy.
Yet, in the midst of all this molasses-like slow motion, everyone acts busier than ever. One reason is is because of layoffs, fewer people are around, and those left behind have to do the work of their fallen colleagues. But another reason is that everyone knows that it’s idle people who get laid off, so looking busy is the best defense. Things that used to be settled with an email need a phone call, what used to be a phone call is now a meeting, a 30-minute meeting now takes four hours, and so forth. If you’re afraid of losing your job, asking your design firm to visit with three dozen iterations of a brochure cover to spread out on a conference room table certainly seems like a way to signal to the powers-that-be that you’ve got way too much on your plate to be axed.

3 Nothing is certain.
Even if you’ve just presented three dozen iterations, your client can still get fired, and your project can still be put on hold. This makes planning anything completely maddening. I remember back in the 1991 recession going to a meeting in suburban Washington DC with one of my partners for a new business presentation to a senior marketing person at a client company with a name you’d recognize today. We presented ourselves all bright and cheerful to the receptionist and said, “We’re here for our 10 o’clock meeting with Ms. Magillicutty [not her real name].” The receptionist looked blankly at us for a minute, then looked vaguely terrified, then asked to to sit down in the lobby, then moved us to a small conference room. After a long time, a young fellow came in and said, “Hello, I’m Joe Blow [not his real name]. Ms. Magillicutty can’t be here, and she asked me to help you.” We showed this polite but baffled guy our wares and left. What everyone knew, and no one wanted to say, was that Ms. Magillicutty had been fired sometime between making the appointment and our arrival. Needless to say, we didn’t get the assignment, which had probably been eliminated along with Ms. Magillicutty. Joe, however, was quite skillful in the situation, and, if he’s still there, is probably busier than ever.

What you can do

1 Be frugal.
Whether you’re a freelancer at a kitchen table or a principal in a big consultancy, you’ve got overhead, not the work you do, but the other stuff you need (or think you need) to do the work: the printer paper, the rent, the $120,000-a-year business development consultant. This is a chance to get back to basics. Ask yourself: what do I really need to do my work? Then get rid of everything else.

2 Be careful.
In your desperation to compete for work, you’ll be tempted to do things that you might not do when times are good: take on work for a shady client, start a project without a contract, ship a finished job to someone who’s fallen behind on an agreed payment schedule. Do not do these things. Not only will they not help, they will almost certainly end in tears, probably your own.

3 Be creative.
The modern design studio can’t help but subscribe to the cult of asap. But while working at full speed is great for profit margins, it’s not so good for quality control. A design solution almost always benefits from a second, third or fourth look. Take advantage of the slower pace of a recession by remembering what it was like in design school to spend a full semester on a single project. What seemed then like torture may now feel like a luxury, and your work will benefit. And don’t forget that recessions are a great time for the kind of research and development that manifests itself in self-initiated projects, work that takes a longer view than the next deadline. As Michael Cannell writes in today’s New York Times, “However dark the economic picture, it will most likely cause designers to shift their attention from consumer products to the more pressing needs of infrastructure, housing, city planning, transit and energy. Designers are good at coming up with new ways of looking at complex problems.” In the same article,Cranbrook’s Reed Kroloff agrees, saying we could be “standing on the brink of one of the most productive periods of design ever.”

4 Be sociable.
In boom times, no one has time to talk. “Let’s have lunch” can be an empty pleasantry, and even if you make a date with a friend, it will be rescheduled three times before you both silently agree to forget about it altogether. Congratulations! You now have time for lunch. (Somewherecheap, of course.) Use the gift of time to reconnect with others. But don’t, if you can help it, think of this as merely something as deliberate and goal-oriented as networking. This takes the fun out of it for both you and your date. If you make time for people you like with no agenda except the simple joys of human companionship, trust me, something good will come of it.

5 Be patient.
My friend the ex-hedge fund guy (he did get out in time) told me recently, “In the middle of every boom, people say, ‘This one is different, it’s never going to come down.’ But it always does.” This was true with dot-coms, and it was true with real estate. “In recessions, they fear the same thing: this one is different. But it will eventually turn around after all the crap gets worked out.” And it will, eventually. Just hold on tight.

You may have noticed something interesting: all of these tips for what to do in a recession will work just as well in good times. Or even better. So the final lesson is to use this downturn as a learning experience. If you’ve got this discipline to survive, or even thrive, in the next year or so, you’ll be mastering skills that will serve you well forever. Good luck.

by Rick Albano

As I watched the inaugural address a few weeks ago, I was stoked, but equally freaked-out by the constant warning of tougher economic times ahead. I was inspired by Obama’s words, but when he paraphrased the bible, saying we must “do away with childish things,” I got a little fidgety. No doubt, he was referring to the last eight years of shenanigans by the cartoon character sitting sheepishly to his left, but the quote hit home for a guy who makes a living doing “childish things.” I mean, the artist in me says that children draw pretty pictures, and the writer in me knows that kids love flowery prose. As a creative looking for work, it made me think of worst-case-scenarios and reflect on other times in my life when I had to cinch my belt up a few notches, dial back my artistic integrity and swallow my pride.

At the beginning of this exciting path I’ve chosen as a creative professional, when I was just out of university, it took me a while to get my bearings. Was I a fine artist? A budding music director? A copywriter? Fresh-faced and willing to do anything for a paycheck, I explored my options. Along the way, I worked the swing-shift at a factory painting Harley Davidson belt buckles (artiste), moved crowds with the “Crazy Chicken” as a wedding turntablist (music impresario), attempted to execute an illustrated novel of David and Goliath for a religious organization for a few hundred dollars and some drawing supplies (indie comic illustrator), and penned a series of “wacky” scripts for a fake disc jockey in a nationwide department store (music journalist/advertising whiz). During the same year, one job I took that helped me fine-tune my goals and set some boundaries as to what I could live with every day-I was a deejay for one night at a nudie bar in Medford, Oregon called “Le Dolls.”

I half-heartedly interviewed for the gig on my way to pick up an application for seasonal work at a fruit basket company (art director/merchandiser). Inside the club, the work environment-from the dark, carcinogenic ambience to the surreal stage shows to the bald, seven-foot-tall owner-was one that appealed to the Charles Bukowski-lover in me. I looked at it as an opportunity to add to the “life experiences” I’d draw from later in my writing and considered it a chance to finally finish a series of paintings I’d started on the subject. Plus, I’d be spinning records for pretty girls (vibe selecta!). But I never thought I’d actually get the job, so I was shocked when I got a call later the same afternoon asking if I was free to work that night. The Boss called it a “baptism by fire” and told me to show up in a few hours.

From the moment I walked in the door I realized that the baptismal waters would at a boiling point all night. I stepped behind the elevated podium that served as the DJ booth and assessed the situation: There were the shaded eyes of the clientele, peering up at this fantasy-crashing stranger, the old computer filled with MP3’s like “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and “Don’t Want No Short Dick Man,” the microphone aimed at my face like a gun (if you think your voice sounds funny on an answering machine, try saying “Get out your money and give it to Bunny” over a hissing PA), and of course there were the dancers. With names like Savannah, Cheyenne, Crystal and Amber I was having a hard time keeping my precious metals/southern cities straight. The culmination of my stress came when I couldn’t find the dancer who was “on deck” and had to run into the dressing room to search for her (The first notes of “Cherry Pie” were already playing!). A girl who was changing inside shrieked and told me to get out, then went to find The Big Man. I guess she didn’t want me to see her naked.

I didn’t get in trouble, but at the end of my shift I knew I was done. I couldn’t sleep that night and the next day, when The Boss called me in for my second night in a row, telling me I did great, I declined, explaining that I was considering taking a high school tutoring job and that there were obvious conflicts of interest.

A few weeks later, I decided to move to San Francisco and within a year I was surfing the dotcom wave, writing about music. In another two years, I’d be unemployed again-then Bush would happen and 9/11 would happen-but I’d find another job, with renewed focus and a healthy respect for the impermanence of “the good life,” and most importantly a willingness to try anything in the name of “art,” even if only for one night.

What’s the wildest thing you done for a buck? Join the dialogue at the 52 LTD blog…

by Shelly Strom + Daniel Pink

We already know cities such as Seattle and Portland boast a treasure trove of creatives. We’re still learning, however, about the ways in which creatives are, and will continue to be, economic drivers.

Daniel H. Pink, who served from 1995 to 1997 as chief speechwriter for Vice President Al Gore, sheds light on this subject in his best-selling book “A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future.” 

“A Whole New Mind” synthesizes big picture trends to explain how a new epoch of our post-industrial society is rising and how right-brain types are the sort of entrepreneurs and workers who will succeed.

Pink suggests that we are evolving away from the Information Age, during which the left-brain dominant knowledge worker reined supreme and are moving into the Conceptual Age, a stage where creatives and other types of right-brain people take center stage.

The main characters in the Conceptual Age, Pink says, “are the creator and the empathizer, whose distinctive ability is mastery of R-Directed [right-brain] Thinking.”

We at 52 Ltd. enthusiastically recommend “A Whole New Mind,” which is a quick, uplifting read.

It brings clarity at a time during which the global situation seems increasingly complicated.

It tells us that we in the creative community are doing is the right thing-cultivation of creative types over the long-term will make us economically healthier.

Pink points to downward pressures on U.S. jobs, forces that he labels Abundance, Asia, and Automation.

Abundance, he says, has satisfied the material desires of many in the developed world. In turn, significance of beauty and emotion are heightened, as is desire for meaning.

Asia, Pink says, is fulfilling demand for white-collar left-brain knowledge workers, not to mention reduced labor costs. The dynamic is forcing knowledge workers in advanced parts of the world to “master abilities that can’t be shipped overseas,” he says.

Automation is impacting today’s desk workers the way it did for yesterday’s factory workers, thereby forcing workers to bring value in ways that computers never can, he says.

These forces, Pink said in an email to me, are likely to intensify during the current downturn.

“When consumers are strapped for cash and credit, they’re unlikely to open their wallets for modest, incremental advances in goods and services. They’ll do that only for huge, bold, conceptual leaps. As a result, for both individuals and organizations, right-brain thinking might be even more important, not less important, in a downturn,” Pink wrote via email.

In these economically challenging times, “A Whole New Mind” is a welcomed bit of encouragement, especially for those of us already honing these right-brain abilities.

“L-Directed [left-brain] Thinking remains necessary but no longer sufficient, we must become proficient in R-Directed Thinking and master aptitudes that are high concept and high touch,” Pink says in “A Whole New Mind.”

“We must perform work that overseas knowledge workers can’t do cheaper, that computers can’t do faster and that satisfies the aesthetic, emotional and spiritual demands of a prosperous time,” he says.

 “A Whole New Mind,” published in the thick of a booming economy in 2005, gives us vision and points us in the direction of a yet untapped wellspring of potential, something for which many of us are looking right now.

Succeeding in this paradigm, Pink says, amounts to understanding and mastering six specific high-concept and high-touch aptitudes. He calls these aptitudes “six senses”-design, story, symphony, empathy, play and meaning.

“These six senses increasingly will guide our lives and shape our world. But to many of you, this vision might seem dreadful-a hostile takeover of normal life by a band of poseurs in black unitards who will leave behind the insufficiently arty and emotive. Fear not. The high-concept, high-touch abilities that now matter most are fundamentally human attributes. After all, back on the savannah, our cave-person ancestors weren’t taking SATs or plugging numbers into spreadsheets. But they were telling stories, demonstrating empathy, and designing innovations. These abilities have always comprised part of what it means to be human. But after a few generations in the Information Age, these muscles have atrophied. The challenge is to put them back into shape,” Pink asserts.

Roughly three-quarters of “A Whole New Mind” is devoted to explaining these six senses in order that the reader can begin to master them. At the end of each section on the senses, Pink presents what he calls a “portfolio” of specific exercises applicable to mastering each aptitude.

For the left-brain skeptic, these exercises likely yield valuable insight into Pink’s thesis. For the right-brain creative, these exercises are a worthwhile reminder of the various facets of creativity.

Regardless of your thinking, the portfolios offer what seem to be good suggestions for cultivating creative aptitudes. Not to mention that the 50,000-foot view Pink provides via “A Whole New Mind” is important and illuminating.