Workspace Wuv.

 

Watch this:

http://www.imaginaryforces.com/featured/10/502

It's beautiful, isn't it?

There's a romance about the workspace that seems to have popped up over the last few years, spawning blog entries, entire websites, contests, documentary films, overly deep discussion, and serious self reflection that takes itself FAR too seriously (this little ditty, for example). And I am such a fucking sucker for this stuff, that I have bookmarked it all, clicked through every picture, watched too many movies, and all too often found myself perusing the workspaces of others like some sort of binoculared pervert perched in a tree. And it's always, always while sitting at my own desk avoiding the very work that would go a long way in bringing the fantasy to completion.

What fantasy is that? I think it's the delicious promise of productivity. For me, that would be ideas conjuring up words, words forming sentences, forming paragraphs, sliding onto the page and magically transporting the ideas in my head into someone else's. Easily, effortlessly. And looking cool while doing it, of course.

When you're working well, really well, really into it, there's that feeling of time disappearing and leaving you alone for a while. And when I see the right combination of windows, surfaces, tools, and wall color, I feel that possibility. An open MacBook. A perfectly placed Moleskine. A cappucino with latte art. I know, I know, BARF-O-FUCKING-RAMA, right? I'm right there with you.

And yet I can't help it: every time, I just keep clicking, picture after picture, putting myself in there for a moment and wondering if that 8000€ stainless steel hanging pendant lamp would help me be a better, more inspiring, and more inspired manboy.

I seek the perfect work space, a perfectly solid desk, not too heavy, but never flimsy, the right amount of sunlight, a lamp that says I have taste, but don't take this stuff too seriously (because that would be so embarrassing) and a chair, designed by someone you may have heard of, that holds my ass in a perfect balance between style and comfort.

SIDENOTE: Aeron chairs with that mesh material, insect-like design, and a seemingly cult following have never worked for me. They always feel like a slingshot that's trying to press my ass cheeks into a single unit. Is that just me?

It is the perfect setup, the perfectly set-up space that I crave. A well organized (that's how I roll, YMMV) group of beautiful things that make others say (as I have said so often) wow, your workspace is so inspiring! And then I want to sheepishly grin and pretend that it's just something that sort of happened. When in reality it's been a subject of life long study, made easier by the internets for making it possible to sneak around the offices of famous people, and by a higher income, which make it easier to buy things not made by Ikea. And pursued with the (mostly) genuine belief that designing and executing the perfect workspace will have a positive, measurable effect on my output.

And I know it's all bullshit. Massimo Vignelli can talk all he wants about his deskular situation, and how he loves it and it loves him (oh, hot productive man-on-desk action!). But we all know that it's just a bunch of ginned up romance and that his desk is, relatively speaking, a transient part of a long successful career based on talent, luck, and a lot of hard work. This is not like how 51% of the reason Nigel Mansell won the '92 F1 championship was because he had the best car. This is more like Picasso having basic access to decent paints and a brush that didn't stab him in the eye.

So I'll keep watching and clicking like some kind of fucked up office voyeur. And I'll keep dreaming of my MILK desk and wireless peripherals, VESA-mounted hi-res display and a sleek and silent laptop. And surely over time I'll spend an unwarrantable amount of money on all of them. And they will make me a little bit happier.

But I know that really, I should just write more.