The warnings about the idiots concerned me. ‘The idiots’ were presumably so not because of their dim intelligence, but because they were out there to cause trouble. Most concerning of all was the way in which the people voicing these warnings looked at me. They tilted their head ever so slightly, distorted their mouth as if tasting a lemon, and squinted their eyes – I didn’t stand a chance against the idiots.

Thankfully, I didn’t cross paths with a single idiot. Instead, I came across people who were only too happy to extend kind gestures like serving me conspicuously extra-large portions of food along with a big smile and a cheerful “this will get you going!”

On one occasion as I was preparing to pay for an iced coffee at a roadside petrol station, the attendant offered nutritional advice, “those are full of sugar; they are not good for you. I will make you a real coffee!” Minutes later she returned with my ‘real coffee’ plus a packet of biscuits. What was that about the sugar?

It was too early for the service station to be busy, and we both had time for coffee and a chat. She said she had thought about leaving everything behind and go for a long walk herself, but she offered no clues as to where she wanted to go. I supposed it didn’t matter as long as it was away from the shop, her husband, and her kids – although she quickly clarified she loved them, but at times just wanted to get away from it all. I chose to keep my comments to myself and offer a sympathetic ear only. Though I knew it takes more than a chat with a stranger to kick-start a pilgrimage, I feared providing too much encouragement could result in a kid waking up crying after a vanished parent.

Other wishful pilgrims emerged along the journey in the shape of a baker, a gardener, and others whose professions I couldn’t tell. These were all strangers opening up to me and sharing their dreams in life in ways I haven’t experienced before, or after, the walk.

I wondered what prompted all these people to speak so honestly and freely about personal matters, and eventually concluded it was my appearance. I had the look of a walker and that evoked romanticised ideas of following one’s dreams as well as an invitation to share their own dreams. Had I been an undercover pilgrim, walking in ordinary street clothes, my interactions might have been as impersonal and humdrum as they usually are.

Similarly, how a workplace looks is important, but not so much in its pursuit of style – we have to be careful not to fall into the trap of confusing good taste for good design [38]. How a workplace looks is important because it communicates the ambitions of the people and organisation it houses. The looks of a workplace can influence the interactions an organisation has with its employees and clients. Looks are important and they go beyond beauty.

So, if the idea of following one’s dreams looks like a pair of boots, walking sticks, a backpack, and a big hat, what should the idea of ‘work’ look like?

This question gains further relevance when considered from a wider perspective of what design is. In a Harvard Business Review article, Tim Brown, the CEO of IDEO, wrote:

Historically, design has been treated as a downstream step in the development process – the point where designers, who have played no earlier role in the substantive work of innovation, come along and put a beautiful wrapper around the idea. [39]

Brown then lures us to consider “dramatic new forms of value” if designers were to create the idea itself. Imagine what might arise if workplace designers were involved in designing the idea of work first, and then its wrapper. Hence the two signposts below:

figure a
figure b

A good design would then be that which wraps up an organisation with its inherently unique look of work. The resemblance of workplaces, even those of organisations in different sectors, suggests this view is not widely shared. However, an authenticity of appearance might allow organisation to encounter more dreamers and avoid the idiots.