"Design is in everything we do. From our fax forms to our office space, our company is driven by design."
And who better to design a design-driven company than designers themselves -- or CEOs trained to think like designers? "Designers can facilitate strategic conversations better than anyone," says Buchanan, "because they have an ability to visualize issues and problems in a way that traditional business consultants can't." Currently, the entrepreneurial population isn't bristling with design sensibilities, but a growing appreciation of its importance could lead CEOs to seek at least a familiarity with the discipline. "I think the M.B.A. programs will make dramatic changes," says Buchanan. (See "Too Cool for School," below.)
Design schools, meanwhile, have beat them to it. Such renowned institutions as the Rhode Island School of Design and the Art Center College of Design, in Pasadena, Calif., already make business education a priority. Solitary art-school grads poring over esoteric fonts have given way to designers working in tandem with teams of mechanical engineers, M.B.A.'s, and cultural anthropologists. Those new-style professionals aren't positioning themselves for the corner office, but some do hope to end up in an executive suite. "We've moved from the studio to the boardrooms, becoming a major competitive weapon," says Darrel Rhea, a principal at the design-focused market-research firm Cheskin.
In fact, the two worlds have never been that far apart. Design firms and progressive companies rely on many of the same tools: rapid prototyping, observational research, creative thinking, collaborative work environments, and multidisciplinary teams. Design, says Clement Mok, chairman of Sapient Corp.'s innovation advisory board and president of the American Institute of Graphic Arts, is a process "of visualizing raw ideas, showing their potential as well as their flaws, facilitating a common understanding of a problem or challenge, and enabling the iterative refinement of ideas through auditing, editing, prototyping, and other methods." That's not so different from what many CEOs would call their core competencies.
Marchant could certainly list such design-related skills on his rÉsumÉ. But that wasn't always the case. He began his design odyssey in 1984, when he became CEO of Pro Form, a start-up selling a knockoff of the hot home-gym system Soloflex. Realizing that Pro Form "wouldn't succeed with a parity product against an established brand," he took the advice of a fellow CEO and looked up a talented young product designer named Sohrab Vossoughi. At the time, Vossoughi, a recent graduate of San Jose State University, was working for Hewlett-Packard, freelancing on the side, and dreaming of opening a design firm. In an early meeting, Vossoughi explained to Marchant that in the search for differentiation one can substitute thought for cost, and design is the medium to do so. Impressed, Marchant made Vossoughi an offer: If he would consult for Pro Form, he could draw on the company's resources to start his own business.
So Vossoughi became Pro Form's product Pygmalion. Believing the gym system should look like a home furnishing rather than a machine, the designer substituted fluid curves for clunky welds, bright colors for industry-standard chrome, and fabric seats for vinyl ones. As a result of the makeover, Pro Form won an account from Sharper Image and the interest of Nike, which acquired the company 14 months after it was launched.
It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Marchant advised Vossoughi on the fundamentals of growing his company, Ziba Design Inc. Vossoughi, in turn, acted as Marchant's guide through the world of design, teaching the CEO to recognize the elusive magic that turns a mundane tool into an object of desire. "He started to love design," says Vossoughi of his friend. "He was discovering the beauty of things that are just right."
Marchant was also coming to see design as a quality that can enrich experiences and organizations in the manner described by Buchanan. He recalls one particular moment of illumination: during a visit to Vossoughi's home, he stepped into the bathroom and was overwhelmed by the way every fixture, soap dish, toothbrush holder, and towel bar had been tweaked, machined, and reconfigured by the designer to produce "an extraordinary experience." Marchant began to ponder: If a bathroom could be made extraordinary through design, why not a company?
Vossoughi taught Marchant to recognize the elusive magic that turns a mundane tool into an object of desire.
Having followed Pro Form to Nike, Marchant continued his indoctrination under CEO Phil Knight. "The biggest lesson I learned," Marchant recalls, "is the strategic importance granted design, how Phil moved designers up the chain, from people who touched communications or products as they went out the door to people who dictated the process to begin with." At Nike, designers both created and communicated the brand, transforming a company that made shoes into a purveyor of athletic heroism.
In 1987, Marchant left Nike to start Modo, which trundled along for 10 years manufacturing "computer furniture for yuppies." Then, in 1997, Marchant's board of advisers suggested that the company narrow its focus, and the CEO chose carts. Earlier, Vossoughi had been forced by Ziba's burgeoning success to relinquish his role as Modo's de facto creative director. To Marchant, the time seemed right to bring design in-house and give it the prominence Vossoughi and Knight had taught him it deserved. "Hit 'em where they ain't," says Marchant, quoting baseball great Wee Willie Keeler. And in the manufacturing sector, they ain't in design.
