Why Every Office should scrap its clean desk policy
The 5S system of
management — Sort, Straighten, Shine, Standardize and Sustain — has long stood
for efficiency through tidiness and uniformity. It began in precision
manufacturing spaces; clutter was discouraged because it might cause errors and
delays, as were distracting personal effects. But 5S has somehow bled from car
assembly lines, operating theaters and semiconductor manufacturing plants,
where it might make sense, to the office cubicle, where it does not.
Management gurus today
sing the praises of the “lean office.” But in this vision, one can see a very
simple mistake being made. It fails to realize that what makes a space
comfortable and pleasant — and, to turn to the concerns of modern business,
inspiring and productive — is not a sleek shell or a tastefully designed
interior. Indeed, it may have very little to do with how a building looks at
all.
In 2010, psychologists Alex
Haslam and Craig Knight, both at the University of Exeter in the UK, set up
simple office spaces. Some were in a psychology lab, and some in a commercial
office. Haslam and Knight then recruited experimental subjects to spend an hour
on administrative tasks such as checking documents. The idea was to see how the office
environment affected how much people got done, and how they
felt about it, and they experimented with four different office layouts.
The first was the lean
office, a spartan space with a bare desk, swivel chair, pencil and paper. It
quickly became clear that the tidiness of the space felt oppressive. “It just
felt like a show space with nothing out of place,” commented one participant, adding,
“You couldn’t relax in it.” Perhaps that is what proponents of office neatness
intend.
The second office layout
enriched the lean office with decorative elements. Large prints showing
close-up photographs of plants hung on the wall. There were several potted
plants, too. It may surprise modernists and fans of the 5S system to hear that
workers were able to get more done in the enriched office, while feeling better
about their experience. It will not surprise anyone else.
The final two office layouts
used the same components as the enriched office, and visually, they seemed much
the same. The distinction in both cases was who got to decide its appearance.
The most successful office space was called the empowered office. Like the
enriched office, it offered the same tasteful prints and same shrubs, but
participants were invited to spend time arranging those decorations however
they saw fit. They could even have asked for them to be removed entirely,
perfectly mimicking the lean space, if they wanted. The empowered office could
be lean, or enriched, or something else — the point was that the person working
in the office had the choice.
For the last — and most hated
— environment, the experimenters again invited participants to take time to
move the prints and the plants however they wished. But once that had been
done, the experimenter returned and began rearranging everything until the
office precisely matched the enriched setting. The scientists called this the
disempowered office, though that may be too mild a term. “I wanted to hit you,”
one participant told the experimenter after the trial had been explained.
The empowered office was a
great success — people got 30 percent more done there than in the lean office,
and about 15 percent more than in the enriched office.These are large effects;
three people in empowered offices achieved almost as much as four people in
lean offices. The enriched office was a modest success, but the disempowered
office produced low productivity and low morale.
Haslam and Knight asked their
participants a variety of questions about how they rated the office they had
been working in. They loved the empowered office and hated both the lean and
disempowered ones, complaining of being bored or even of physical discomfort
such as feeling too hot. And their feelings of despair became all embracing: if
they disliked the office space, they also disliked the company that was hosting
it, and they disliked the task they were doing in it.
The physical environment
certainly mattered, and decorations such as pictures and plants tended to make
workers happier and more productive, contrary to what Kyocera or Le Corbusier
might believe. But there was much more to the environment than its design —
equally important was who had designed it. The best option was to let workers
design their own space. The very worst was to give them the promise of
autonomy, and then whisk it away. But who would do such a thing?
Haslam and Knight carried out
the most explicit test of the importance of giving workers freedom to control
their workspace, but other researchers have also pointed in that direction. In
one study, NASA sent marine biologists to work for weeks on end in a tiny
undersea lab — a truly tough environment, but the biologists loved it. However,
they preferred to cook their own basic food from tins rather than eat the
elaborate food that had been prepared for them in advance.
Robert Sommer, a psychologist at the University of California, Davis,
spent years comparing “hard” and “soft” architectural spaces: those
that people couldn’t change, and those that they could. Examples of “hard spaces”
include those where the windows don’t open, the lights or air-conditioning
cannot be changed, or the chairs are bolted to the floor. The quintessential
hard space is a prison, but these prison-like features have spread to schools,
public spaces, and the office. Sommer repeatedly found that apparently trivial
freedoms, such as the right to paint your own wall, help people define personal
space, and make people happier and more productive.
However, 5S enthusiasts at
the Virginia Mason Medical Center in Seattle didn’t get the memo. Doctors and
nurses there were in the habit of hanging a stethoscope on a hook, but
management came up with a tidier solution: a drawer marked “stethoscope.” The
medical staff kept on hanging the stethoscope on the hook. What to do?
“Eventually,” said a supervisor, “we had to remove the hook.”
Unfortunately, the tidiness
craze is global. At Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs, the UK’s tax
collection agency, staff were instructed in late 2006 to
remove family photographs and souvenirs from their desks. At BHP
Billiton, a vast mining company based in Australia, staff were ordered to
maintain a clear desk as defined in an eleven-page instruction manual:
“Clear desk means that at the end of each day the only items remaining will be
monitor(s), keyboard, mouse, mouse pad, telephone handset and headset, one A5
photo frame and ergonomic equipment (ie footstool, gel wrist pad etc).”
If you wish to display an
award, that’s okay — but only if you remove the A5 photo frame. No plants
allowed. And don’t think about ignoring the rules: “Facilities Management will
consult with team managers about lapses.” All these anal-retentive rules are
justified with circular logic: clear desk policies are useful because they will
keep things tidy, “to create and maintain a workplace that is clean, organized,
and professional.”
It is one thing to sharpen
and straighten all the pencils on one’s own desk, metaphorically or otherwise.
To order someone else to sharpen and straighten the pencils on their own desk
displays a curious value system in which superficial neatness is worth the
price of deep resentment.