Eiffel Over

Tag: FeedbackLoops

  • When the joke isn’t funny anymore

    I’ve been writing this week about when is and isn’t a good time to optimise. And also about the way a street theatre clown uses feedback to keep them close to their goal of making the audience laugh. 

    Well, the clown has another trick up their sleeve, which I learnt from clowning teacher Holly Stoppit, which is called the Drop. 

    Usually a clown can whip up an audience into a frenzy of laughter by doing silly, unexpected things on stage. They will find a gesture or a game that gets the laughs rolling. But then usually, at some point, the joke will stop being funny. The tide turns quickly, and the audience isn’t laughing anymore. 

    This is when the clown should use the Drop. They simply forget all about what they were doing and invent something new. The surprise keeps the audience engaged. It reanimates the clown, giving them a new creative opportunity. It reconnects the clown and their congregation. And the game of improvised laughter-making starts again.

    The reason the clown can do this is they have no resistance to changing the plan. Few deeply held plans about how the session is going to go. Few carefully created props that wouldn’t get used if they took the show in a different direction. And critically, no ego.

    With none of this baggage, the clown is freed of sunk-cost fallacy. Sunk-cost fallacy is the often-held belief that we must continue doing the same things as before because we have invested so much in our existing ways of doing things, even if in the long run changing plans would lead to better overall outcomes. 

    One of the reasons we continue to do the same thing as before rather than change approach is because we feel we have so much invested in the status quo. It could be investment in physical infrastructure or personnel. It could be more personal than that and be an issue of reputation. Or a fear of challenging the powers that be.

    But if the approach we usually take is no longer working for the system, we need to have the confidence to drop and explore something new. Because when the audience stops laughing, the joke isn’t funny anymore. 

  • The tight feedback loops of the clown

    In street theatre, the clown lives for the audience. I’m not talking here about the stereotype of the kids’ entertainment performer, but of the much older sort of clown performance. The kind of clown who appears on stage with nothing more than a funny outfit, a sense of curiosity and maybe a trick or two up their sleeve.  In this sort of performance, the whole purpose of the clown is to find something that will make their audience laugh.

    So if they do something, and the audience laughs, that’s good feedback. They do it some more. If it is a funny gesture, they refine it. When they get more laughs, they amplify the movement and the laughter increases. If that amplification of the movement didn’t correspond to an increase in volume of laughter, they bring it back down again and try a different variation. 

    In improvised clown performance, there are strong reinforcing and balancing feedback loops at play. When the audience laughs more, the clown does it more. When the audience laughs less, the clown does it less.

    The clown, with no script, few props, and lightly held plans, has stripped back all the barriers between them and the audience. This stripped-back approach creates an intense feedback loop which keeps the clown on purpose: of making the audience laugh.

  • When optimisation is a good idea

    There are times when optimisation is a good idea. For example:

    When the technology involved is mature. With a rapidly changing technology, process optimisation may not keep pace with technological evolution.

    When the environment is stable. It is easier to optimise a structure for a prevailing wind than for blustery conditions. 

    When customer behaviour is constant. If customer demand is broadly unchanging, then we can optimise around how we carry on giving them the same thing.

    When you have good feedback. This is critical. Without good feedback from the system you are operating in, you don’t know if what you are putting into that system is meeting your aims. And you can’t see if the system conditions are changing.

    When there are no disruptors. These disruptors could be technological. Or they could be a group of engineers (or other humans) with an approach that is changing things up. It is too late for optimisation when no one needs what you are offering.

    In short, optimisation is good when the conditions are steady. 

    But if our operating environment is changing, then we need to dedicate at least some of our resources to asking, do we need a different approach?

  • Losing edge (on the disadvantages of scale)

    In my last few posts I’ve been exploring the relationship between the scale of design team and the connection with the places they are working with. Today I’ll go into the benefits of smaller scale.

    To explore this topic I’ve invented a game as a thought experiment. In this game, teams of different sizes compete in a woodland to build shelters from materials they have foraged. To form their working groups, the participants of each team form into tight clusters. The catch is that only people on the outside of the cluster – the ones on the edge – can do the foraging. 

    Yesterday, I explored the advantages that larger groups have, and in particular the possibility of specialisation that a larger team allows. But this specialisation comes with costs. A big one is the loss of contact with the surrounding ecosystem. 

    In a smaller team, everyone is involved with foraging, designing and building. This interconnectedness means that the processes can inform each other. The process of foraging informs what materials are available for design and construction. Design itself might be a process of trial and error with the available materials. And the experience of construction can inform what materials the foragers need to look for next. 

    The smaller scale also enables the design process to adapt to environmental conditions. If, for example, a particular material is running out in the environment, the foragers can get something different, and adapt the design. Over time, there is even the possibility that the foragers could notice the impact of harvesting materials on the ecosystem. It could be, for example, that harvesting a certain kind of timber encourages regrowth of other species. 

    This constant, direct feedback loop is much easier to achieve in smaller teams—teams with more “edge,” or more points of contact with the environment.

    In larger teams, this kind of information can still be shared, but because specialist designers aren’t directly in contact with the environment, a formal process for transmitting information must be established. This introduces a risk: if designers don’t experience the environment firsthand, they may become desensitised to the information. Seeing and feeling the conditions on the ground creates a deeper understanding than hearing about them secondhand.

    While this is a post about building wooden shelters, it is a metaphor for our actual large-scale design processes, in which designers have virtually no contact with the environment that they are affecting by their design decisions. Without edge – without strong connection with our ecosystems – it is much harder to work in harmony with those systems. 

  • No more fish in the sea

    Somehow the topics of my posts have returned to the subject of the sea. It is apparently a rich subject to trawl.  Sorry, I couldn’t resist the pun, but it is exactly to trawling that I am heading. 

    Yesterday I used Donella Meadows’s fish stocks example to show how humans can harvest a living resource while enabling it to thrive. A key to enabling this system to work is the balancing feedback loop between supply and the people doing the harvest. When the catch gets too low, the boats go home, and the fish can restore their population.

    But what happens when that balancing feedback loop is broken? 

    Let us imagine an entrepreneurial fisher who, noticing that their catch was diminishing, decides to invest in a much bigger net. Now their catch goes up and it is worthwhile for them to stay at sea for longer. Other boat captains do the same, and the fleet stays out much longer. 

    Now, rather than the fish population having time to replenish itself, it is further depleted. When the fish are further apart, their rate of reproduction diminishes. 

    Here, trawling is breaking the balancing feedback loop between supply and harvesters. So, instead of stopping, fishing continues and the population becomes so low that it is not able to grow back. It has become what is known as a ‘desertified state’, a vulnerable situation in which a living system can no longer thrive. 

    Clearly, this is a simplified version of a much more complex system. But hopefully it serves to illustrate that in thinking about how we scale up options, we need to think about how we might inadvertently be breaking the feedback loops that enable our activities to operate within the living system’s limits.

  • Plenty more fish in the sea

    Yesterday’s post on the fish écluses on the Île de Ré speaks to the idea of creating straightforward connections between the resources that humans need to live and thrive. 

    As engineers (and other humans) we need to find ways to harvest the materials and energy we need in balance with what the living and mineral world can sustain. So to help us understand how this can work I’m sharing Donella Meadows’s example of fish stocks to help see how humans can live as part of a sustainable system of supply.

    Meadows’s model concerns the local fish population in an area of sea. Left to its own devices, the fish population is stable because there is only so much food to go around. Too many fish, less food per fish, some fish die. Too few fish, more food per fish, they reproduce more. This feedback loop stays in equilibrium around a mean.

    Now, the local fishing fleet gets involved. By harvesting a small number of fish, the population goes down, increasing the reproduction rate of the remaining fish, and the population returns to what it was. Fish too much, however, and the fish are further apart. Fish that are further apart take longer to reproduce! And so for a while, there are few fish, the nets are empty and the boats go back to port. During this time the fish population recovers, and eventually the boats can go back to sea.

    This simplified model beautifully illustrates how humans can harvest what they need while still living within the ecosystem’s limits.  The key characteristics here are a living system that regenerates itself – the fish; and a feedback loop between supply and those doing the harvest. Simply, when the catch is too low, the boats go home. 

    This feedback loop between supply and harvesting is what interests us in regenerative design. It is what allows us to harvest abundance, and even create abundance, all while living within the ecosystem’s limits.