In his book “Show Your Work”, Austin Kleon debunks a popular myth that most people hold (myself included): that geniuses are the ultimate winners. If you think about knowledge work, we tend to believe that the more knowledge and skills you acquire, the more valuable you can become. And thus, in a perfect meritocracy – the smartest and most creative-ist would eventually rise and win: whether it’s the admiration of peers, earning a fancy title, power and influence, and/or a handsome salary (yes please!).
In the world of UX design we have a role called “Head of Design” and we each feel this person IS the head (metaphorically speaking) and I guess we’re…the hands? Isn’t the head where the brain is? And the hands is what does the labor? And whether the top of a design org is “the head” or the “Senior Director” or the “CDO” – what hope do we have compared to those who have been privileged to reach the top? What about the rest of us not-so-genius dummies?
In this world of the genius, Kleon write “the rest of us are left to stand around and gawk at [the genius’] achievements.”
So we work hard to “get better” and rise higher. Fundamentally no one wants to be seen as incompetent. It’s hard to argue against that. We all struggle at various times with internal doubts like “Am I good enough?” “Am I smart enough?” “Am I capable enough?”
If I am honest, I feel this tension is something everyone feels whether they are senior or quite junior. When we start as junior designers we long for acceptance and status – that tension is definitely there. But even when we are senior we can be also have the same longing for acceptance and status, be it more in the form of gaining acceptance from those who may report to us or the boss above us and the hunger for status may be to maintain our position or become more influential.
The tension never stops as human beings. Or can it? What do we productively do with this anxiety? Do we just shut up and do our jobs with the hope we too will reach the top?
Kleon gives designers hope:
There’s a healthier way of thinking about creativity that the musician Brian Eno refers to as “scenius.” Under this model, great ideas are often birthed by a group of creative individuals—artists, curators, thinkers, theorists, and other tastemakers—who make up an “ecology of talent.” If you look back closely at history, many of the people who we think of as lone geniuses were actually part of “a whole scene of people who were supporting each other, looking at each other’s work, copying from each other, stealing ideas, and contributing ideas.” Scenius doesn’t take away from the achievements of those great individuals: it just acknowledges that good work isn’t created in a vacuum, and that creativity is always, in some sense, a collaboration, the result of a mind connected to other minds.
What I love about the idea of scenius is that it makes room in the story of creativity for the rest of us: the people who don’t consider ourselves geniuses. Being a valuable part of a scenius is not necessarily about how smart or talented you are, but about what you have to contribute—the ideas you share, the quality of the connections you make, and the conversations you start. If we forget about genius and think more about how we can nurture and contribute to a scenius, we can adjust our own expectations and the expectations of the worlds we want to accept us. We can stop asking what others can do for us, and start asking what we can do for others.
In his blog post about this, Kleon continues:
“To put it even more simply: Genius is an egosystem, scenius is an ecosystem.
Our world is an ecosystem in which our only real chance at survival as a species is cooperation, community, and care, but it’s being lead by people who believe in an egosystem, run on competition, power, and self-interest.
…When you think about your family, your friends, your neighborhood, your office, your city, your country, your world… are you operating as an ecosystem or an egosystem?
Which model we choose to operate under will determine the quality of our lives, and, arguably, our survival.”
A new world
I love this concept of the scenius. It implies that there is another model of thinking about things. Sharing your work, helping others and being a part of a “scene” allows you to do good work. It calls out that geniuses are NOT lone wolves, their achievements typically can’t occur in a vacuum (design is NOT antisocial, coming down from a mountaintop) without influences or precedent. There is no such thing as a self-made designer.
That being said, each designer out there is often self-involved and busy working on a different projects and there are so many aspects to getting that work done right – from the research to the design to testing and ultimately what gets implemented. But do we truly grasp how important others are in our process? Do we truly aim to help other designers as we tackle our given assignments? Do we want to learn as much as we can from other designers’ experiences?
Too often, truth be told, I think we get caught up in “not looking bad” or “trying to look good.” Sharing your work is a requirement in design – depending on the culture of a team. We know we have to get feedback – to put our egos on the line and learn to deal with critique. But who doesn’t feel the hotness of the “hot seat” – wishing the feedback session was done. Not looking smart or getting your work ripped apart doesn’t feel like we are becoming the genius authority that an “egosystem” wants us to aim for.
Making the shift
To shift into this mindset means to focus on your art (your craft as a designer) and how to improve that work through connecting with others (an ecosystem which is really a community helping each other to get better).
Intentions matter. When we share our work, perhaps if we think during that moment “I want my work to be better” or “I am sharing so others can benefit” that we’d evolve past the egosystem (competition, power, and self-interest). It’s worth a try.