I receive a lot of queries about my journey to and through anthropology, innovation, and industry; as well as requests for advice from people just getting started. I wish I had time to answer them all, but in lieu of that, I’ve decided to offer this post. I hope it’s both useful and engaging!

A circle of plastic chairs around a fiberglass table with an umbrella stuck in the middle—that was my ‘office’ for about three years. It was a very comfortable place for me; the smell of chlorine, the sound of flip flops scuffling along the pool deck, lawn sprinklers schtick-schtick-schticking in the distance. I started swimming in the first grade, and later worked as a lifeguard over summer vacations. I served as captain of my high school swim team, and continued lifeguarding as an undergraduate. I was wet—a lot.

I could usually be found at my ‘office’ between swim training sessions, entering notes into a PDA I used to keep track of client progress. On a typical day, one or two members would join me for a chat in the shade. Many of them were in the entertainment business— studio execs, actors, writers, choreographers, etc. Most had ‘hopped’ over the LA river from the row of studios where they worked in Burbank.

The people I worked with ranged from ambitious athletes looking to improve their stroke, to busy professionals who wanted to optimize the time they spent on cardio. They also included folks like the high-spirited writer looking for the next new experience, the studio exec who just needed a break in her day, and the furniture store owner with fierce dedication and sporadic progress. And then there was the Russian, who only wanted to learn how to swim as far as possible underwater. (I still think he was a spy, or maybe a method actor preparing for the role of a spy. In LA you never know.)

Anyway, this was my life during the last few years of grad school at USC. I had a dissertation writing fellowship, so my time was spent writing and swim training, swim training and writing—plus a lot of time driving back and forth along Hollywood Way between home and the pool. I loved it. My approach to training centered around helping clients build confidence and rethink their body’s relationship with the water. Much of the technique I used was derived from the total immersion method; but I quickly learned that the real key to helping people improve wasn’t teaching the mechanics of swimming. It was to understand my clients holistically, and to adapt the pace, cadence, and style of training to their individual frames of reference. The process was surprisingly ethnographic in a lot of ways, and involved getting to know clients well enough to understand their contexts, motivations, personal logics, fears, and thresholds.

Over time, many of them shared deeply personal thoughts with me as part of this process, especially when they lost concentration, or forgot something we’d covered in a previous session. They’d hang their arms over the edge of the pool, out of breath and defeated, searching for a way to rationalize their performance in their mind, “I’m just out of it today. I wish I knew how to deal with…” Of course, I wasn’t there to help solve their problems; but, I did listen.

One client liked to talk through the differences between a novel and a screenplay in an attempt to delay his first plunge into the pool. Another would run through the intricacies of business deals. But, many exchanges ran much deeper. Out of the blue, a client came out to me one day, and another broke down crying during a warm-up stretch. Eventually I realized that there was a very deep connection between helping people grow more confident with their bodies in the water and the personal transitions they were experiencing in other parts of their lives. It was truly inspirational to witness the changes they were experiencing.

I eventually finished my dissertation and graduated with a doctorate in Social Anthropology. I had no prospects for directly applying my ten years of graduate training (which encompassed both an MA and PhD), and had pretty much resigned myself to becoming some sort of ‘aquatic anthropologist.’ I was, after all, using many of the skills I’d developed in my training: facilitating conversations, listening deeply, building rapport, identifying patterns, developing interpretations, etc.

One day, a friend contacted me about an opening as adjunct professor at CalArts in their critical studies department. Within a month I was designing and teaching their visual anthropology and ethnographic methods courses. The students were great: all artists who were taking my courses because they were actually interested in anthropology (or in some cases how they might use ethnographic methods in their artwork). The bonus was that CalArts doesn’t assign grades, so I never found myself haggling over how many points someone should have received to ‘get an A.’ I even had a teaching assistant.

However, the pay was low, and it was clear that there were no real growth opportunities there. In fact, I continued to make more money swim training; but, for the time being, it seemed like the ‘logical’ thing to do with my degree. My mind began to wander, though, and I would often daydream about building a lap pool in my backyard and running training sessions from home.

About a year later, I ran across an online listing for a Research Scientist at Intel near Portland Oregon that caught my eye. I’d never seen a job description like it. They were looking for social scientists, and especially anthropologists, to develop a deep understanding of the role of technology in cultures across the world. My first reaction when I saw this was “Why has no one ever told me about using my training this way?” And then, “Why was the unstated assumption that the ultimate use of a doctorate in anthropology should be teaching at a university?”

I had some thinking to do. I’d always been drawn to anthropology precisely because of the way it requires a grounding in lived experiences, the way it necessarily privileges cultural relevance and context. This position seemed like a great way to engage that inspiration directly. But, was this worth leaving Los Angeles and my life as a swim trainer? I was certainly fulfilled, and felt a great deal of satisfaction from helping people build their confidence—both in the water and out.

Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me. I applied, was offered the position by Genevieve Bell to join her Digital Home Group, and decided to jump into an entirely new role and life. I remember saying goodbye to my clients, some of whom I’d known for years. A few of them treated me to lunch, and gave me some parting gifts. I still cherish one in particular: a DVD of Wes Anderson’s Life Aquatic.

I had no knowledge of chip architecture, use cases, or even customer segmentation when I walked into my job talk at Intel. I just focused on what I knew and what inspired me. The talk was titled “Narratives, Networks, and Cultural Landscapes”—themes that spanned across my work with Radical Faeries, the Earth Liberation Front, and the people of Jalcomulco. Those themes drove much of my work at Intel, and still do today. I learned the rest on the job.

So, when people ask me how they can transition from academia to industry, I’m often caught a bit off guard. I never considered my decision to join Intel a departure from my approach to life as an anthropologist. As I argue in Ethnographic Thinking, I believe that training in anthropology distinctly (and permanently) changes how you approach the world and your role in it. From the swimming pool to the strategic plan, thinking like an anthropologist has become inescapable for me.

That said, there are some adjustments from academia to industry I experienced that may be useful to readers of this post. For better or worse, a large portion of doctorate training in anthropology is a solitary venture. After coursework in ethnographic methods and a deep dive into the literature of the discipline, you usually define your dissertation research topic, focus on a geographic region, select a field site, and establish the theoretical grounding that will inform your work. Only then do you set out for the field, nearly always alone. While there, most budding anthropologists earnestly collect copious amounts of data (likely too much), return from the field to analyze it, alone, and begin writing their dissertation, again alone.

My experience in industry has been quite the opposite. Collaborating with peers and within interdisciplinary teams is critical to success in industry-based research roles. There’s a reason for that. As cognitive psychologist Robert Weisberg argues, collaboration introduces divergent forms of thinking within groups and speeds up “chains” of connected ideas that trigger and accelerate creative new approaches to challenges. Other dynamics that come from effective collaboration include things like building and maintaining project momentum, increased flexibility, and accelerated problem solving. With collaboration tied so closely to innovation and effective team performance, there’s little room for the maverick.

Fortunately, many of the skills ethnographers acquire in their training are actually quite useful for collaboration and supporting healthy team dynamics. In order to build rapport with participants, most ethnographers have honed skills in empathy, facilitation, and deferring judgement. All of these can be applied directly to the relationships they have with fellow team members. Time in the field also teaches ethnographers to expect the unexpected and to adapt accordingly. Flexibility in industry settings is an incredibly valuable skill, since market shifts often drive changes in strategic priorities. Fieldwork also priorities a mindset of participatory learning and the ability to function and focus in unfamiliar settings. These are incredibly valuable skills for helping teams think outside of their internal practices and priorities, and to integrate analogous models into their work. Finally, a healthy dose of reflexivity combined within a holistic understanding of the relationship between researcher and participant helps keep ethnographers working in industry focused on how they’re embedded within cultural systems they investigate, and not just as representatives of an organization or client. This kind of perspective shifting is critical to building a broader cultural understanding of an organization’s offerings.

Another important adjustment from the academy to industry is the difference in time frames. In general, the academy tends to think of research in much longer terms. This is understandable, given that research in academia often runs parallel to teaching and publishing responsibilities, most of which are the solo responsibility of the researcher. However, in industry, insights from research tend to have a much shorter shelf life. Pair that with the fact that research questions are often addressed by teams in industry settings, resources tend to be more readily available, and shifting strategic priorities change based on economic contexts, and the result is that you can easily find project durations in industry settings that span from half to a quarter (or less) of those in most academic settings.

However, this doesn’t mean that research in industry settings is necessarily less rigorous. What it does mean is that researchers need to be better prepared to think collaboratively, to delegate, to coordinate, and to synthesize and interpret data that may easily shift in terms of its relevance to the organization’s needs. It also means that it becomes more important to be able to accurately and frequently scope and scale research, to ensure that it aligns with the needs of the organization (not just your interests).

This brings me to the final major shift I see between the academy and industry settings. Within the academy, research outcomes tend to focus on contributing to a body of scientific knowledge of one sort or another. This might be an area of investigation that has lasted for years, or even decades, and its form of execution often centers around models of peer review and theoretical debate that can last just as long. In most industry settings, you will find that there can be significant value placed on cumulative knowledge-building and even some theoretical debate; but at the end of the day, the greatest value is from the impact research outcomes have for the organization under current (and near term) market conditions. In short, your insights need to be relevant to a much broader range of stakeholders than other researchers.

There are certainly more considerations to take into account when transitioning from the academy to industry, but careful attention to these should help any anthropologist or other qualitative researcher think about the primary adjustments they’d need to make.


Shifting focus to industry also means tapping a different (and broader) set of resources. Some of my favorites are listed below. This list isn’t anywhere near exhaustive, so if you have any additions, please add them in the comments below, so that all readers can benefit.

Take a break and listen to my conversation with Rita Denny! We chat about how EPIC is pivoting for their conference this year in light of COVID-related restrictions, as well as changes in ethnographic praxis overall. We also touch on the early bias toward psychology in industrial research, the illusion of the sovereign and rational decision-making customer, the advantages ethnographers have as both insiders and outsiders in their organizations, and the opportunity to observe social change as it occurs in our current disruptive moment.

A special thanks to Gerry Scullion and ThisisHCD for hosting ethnopod.

Be sure to check out some of Rita’s work below, as well as a profile by Josef Wieland on the EPIC site.

Please join me as I talk with Sam Ladner about her new book, Mixed Methods. We cover some of Sam’s critical insights, including: working in cross-functional teams, the importance of artifacts, creating psychological safety, luxuriating in the customer, and data exhaust. If you’re a current or aspiring UX Researcher, this episode is for you! (Thanks to Gerry Scullion and ThisIsHCD for hosting ethnopod.) And, if you’d like to dive deeper, check out some of these reading recommendations, including two of Sam’s books!

Anthropology and computer science go back much further than many realize; and the relationship between the two continues to evolve. Join me as I talk with Genevieve about the relationship between technology and culture, cybernetics, and the story behind the formation of 3AI at Australia National University. (Thanks to Gerry Scullion and ThisIsHCD for hosting ethnopod!) And, if you’d like to dive deeper, check out some of these reading recommendations:

My colleague, Charley Scull, has been ‘unpacking’ weirdness for a while now, and reaching some intriguing insights about its anthropological usefulness. Most recently, he presented some of his thinking in this space at the EPIC 2019 conference. For those of you who missed it, he’s captured it below, just after his introduction to the work:

Charley: In this Pecha Kucha, I use an anthropological perspective to explore the theme of weirdness. The talk begins with an observation about weirdness while doing sustainable seafood fieldwork in Indonesia with the Future of Fish organization. It then goes on to explore the meaning of the term through philosophical and marketplace lenses and makes a case for weirdness’ value as a researcher superpower!

Grit Grocery, conceived in 2015 in Houston, Texas, was a farmer’s market on wheels, directly sourcing local unprocessed foods and selling them from a pop-up format—essentially a modified food truck, but without the kitchen, and with all sales on the street or sidewalk. I became Co-Founder in 2017, after my business partner purchased and modified a truck, tested the concept, and built a cold storage room in his garage.

My contribution was experience. A cultural anthropologist by training, my consulting work included research with grocery stores, convenience stores, restaurants and CPG food brands for over a dozen years, with an LA-based strategy and design firm focused on food retail shopping experiences, branding, design innovation and prototyping stores. When I moved to Houston in 2016, and met someone interested in starting a potentially innovative food retail concept, I was intrigued. My consulting experience suggested that Grit would never work, because I knew how high the barriers were to build a supply chain and develop operations from nothing in the grocery business, especially without experience or infrastructure.

But from the customer’s perspective, I enjoyed the Grit Grocery shopping experience and the brand. And after a dozen years as a consultant, I felt like it was a good moment to stop observing and offering insights, and start participating more. I had learned a lot from my years of interviews, strategy workshops and store visits, but wanted to get in the middle of something new. It felt like the right moment to take a risk and explore a new world.

So, after modest crowdfunding success—relatively speaking in startup terms—Grit Grocery launched in Spring of 2018 with $75,000. Our small team consisted of my business partner and myself, a third co-Founder who had just moved away to Manhattan, and two sales people for the truck. Shortly after launching, we brought on another co-Founder to work on social media and marketing. Our process began with building the actual business: renting a warehouse space, constructing cold rooms, learning to drive the truck, gaining competency in produce quality assurance, and many other skills that ethnographic training and research experience does not teach you.

The experience was alternately invigorating and deeply frustrating. Seemingly simple tasks could require weeks of preparation and protocol development; like developing and communicating quality control standards for everything from cookies that were quick to crumble, to surprisingly resilient limes. At other moments, new experiments required more of a cavalier Texas attitude, something my Midwestern sensibilities often struggled with: Can we really set up sales on this street? And sell raw meat? Am I even legally allowed to drive this big truck?

Based on an ambitious entrepreneurial vision of buying many trucks, hundreds hopefully, we launched a campaign to find investors—which is what it means to be a “startup.” It’s not about building a company, as much as it is about telling a story, in order to fund the vision and begin building a company (and then selling the company, or parts of it). That startup story gets told, perhaps hundreds of times, for many different audiences, as a “pitch.”

Our Pitch varied in form, format and content, depending on the audience and their imagined expectations. There were pitch competitions and startup incubator interviews, social media post pitches, and face-to-face sit-down meetings. For every pitch expert complaining we hadn’t addressed supply chain solutions, another complained that we hadn’t painted a picture of the target customer. Around and around we went, always on the verge of catching some big investors, always ready to discuss how some investor might be interested.

During this storytelling phase, one persistent question from investors stuck with me most: How does it scale? The question is deceptively simple. Structurally, startup stories operate at the intersection of a business vision (based on a credible opportunity) and some kind of insight into the market. These market insights are based on what has been learned or established, which can include a wide range of data inputs and analyses, including competitive analysis, borrowed models, industry trends, and/or sales data. It may also consider research, including ethnographic or qualitative insights.

What I found most glaringly absent in this process was this latter piece. But that doesn’t mean just including ethnographic views of customers and their behaviors in these stories. It also means observing and offering insights on internal culture and organizational behavior within the start-up. How and where the two meet may ultimately best define the right scale for a startup (or any other business).


In the course of figuring out what was going on at the Grit Grocery truck on a daily basis and possibly steering business strategy and vision, I started a research-like “game” for our team to navigate the uncertain terrain of consumer behavior patterns. I called it: “Insight or Noise?” Among a sea of data points gathered on a daily basis, many may carry broader significance. But especially when you’re starting up, and so many new customer faces arrive at the truck every day, how do you distinguish meaningful insights from behaviors that might be labeled “noise”? How could you determine which insights were worth following up on, or which sets of behaviors constitute valid patterns, and make operational changes accordingly? We would sit in the warehouse on many mornings and share stories from the night before at the truck and debate what was going on.

Case in point: after some discussion we started bottling orange juice in larger bottles, to see if we could charge more and build volume. The next day, one regular customer complained that our OJ bottles were now too large, and that as a couple, they couldn’t finish that much. The following day, another customer told us he appreciated the larger OJ size, because he didn’t want to have to restock every other day. We kept asking customers which they preferred, and why. No discernible pattern emerged, at least not one that could clearly inform decision-making.

In another instance, we attempted to discover how Grit fit into weekly shopping routines. We found that many of our assumptions were correct: customers enjoyed shopping for specialty items and some unexpected treats, while many of these same customers also talked about the regular items they consistently purchased, whether fresh squeezed juice, pasture raised eggs, or homemade hummus. So they sought out a balance of regular items and surprises. This insight brought us back to the format we had created: Isn’t this balance exactly how we wanted people to shop the truck? What would inspire them to spend more at the truck, or shop more often? In other words, was there a new insight here or did this merely support that customers understood our core value proposition?

In the end, my co-Founders mostly labeled my ethnographic stories “noise” and kept pushing for the agendas they felt were intuitive and “right” (to them). They had another story in mind. And in certain ways, they were right, assuming their story was a good startup story. But was their startup story true to reality? The “noise” of ethnography accumulates through listening and the art of noticing. However, these ethnographic stories often disrupt, or represent an impediment to the neat theories and financial projections of tidy startup pitches that paint a picture of what scales well.


At the end of 2018, while Grit was taking a New Year’s break, I took the opportunity to assemble a year-end audit, which was influenced and shaped by my anthropological background. The main point of criticism, a surprise to no one at Grit really, was to alert us to growing complexity in our operations, marketing, food production, sourcing, supply chain, and communications. On one hand, this complexity made it possible to tell new stories about where Grit might grow. On the other hand, it made the overarching story—especially in terms of scalability—unclear.

At that time, the cloud that hung over Grit Grocery was funding, ideally through investment. We needed more cash, in order to buy more trucks and fund technology projects, hire talented people (who knew more than we did), and to grow and further demonstrate how our model might scale. At the same time, we struggled with how to best frame our story in ways that would attract investors. In most situations, we sought to describe ourselves as an industry disruptor, something innovative and game-changing; the kind of company, in short, with the potential to change how food gets bought and sold.

Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing posits ethnographic stories and investigations as counter to scale and scaling, because they interrupt rather than nest neatly. She defines scaling as “infinite expansion” (or its possibility) “without changing the research framework,” and recognizes the reach of this conceptual tool beyond science, and into the worlds of business, capitalism, and progress, generally. In her book on the circulation of matsutake mushrooms and their markets, she uses the ethnographic “arts of noticing” to share stories that fragment, rather than scale, and in doing so, has created an exciting and productive counter-narrative to what’s expected from a story about business and change. In other words, she does not share a narrative of boom and bust, or a hero narrative of how successful companies succeed wildly.

Tsing illuminates some of the challenges for scaling, telling stories about scale, and, ultimately, realizing scale. Perhaps Grit Grocery’s struggle to tell a scalable story is, in part, because this unique startup concept exists in and feeds off the spaces created by breakdowns and defects of another system not unlike the system Tsing writes about—of food retail, the traditional grocery store and its massive supply chain.

The physical and cultural space of Grit Grocery purposely challenged existing institutions of food retail and its built-in scalability. Instead of factory farms, Grit sourced from local family farms. Instead of massive consumer packaged goods (CPG) factories, Grit partnered with artisanal producers. Grit’s locations, while consistent on a weekly schedule, resulted from customized relationships in urban zones, such as downtown Houston, where building more traditional food retail boxes is cost-prohibitive.

And in other ways, Grit, as a system, was designed to respond to indeterminacy or emergent phenomenon. We developed a Grit Kitchen initially to manage produce that would have otherwise gone bad. Truck salespeople, while well-trained, encountered many novel situations in their intimate customer exchanges, and so we hired people who were passionate about the cause, so that they could respond to any situation in authentic ways. Even the Grit truck itself contained so many quirks and idiosyncrasies, it was hard to imagine how to reproduce it once, much less at scale.

Getting back to Tsing, she argues that within these kinds of broken systems, “unpredictable encounters transform us; we are not in control, even of ourselves…everything is in flux,” and that, “indeterminacy, the unplanned nature of time, is frightening” (20).

But the theoretical story Tsing articulates is not the best way to frame a successful startup story for investors. It is not comforting. The startup pitch seeks to remove indeterminacy and uncertainty from the startup. Yet Tsing, and ethnography itself, often reminds us that humans are messy and don’t scale well. For Grit Grocery, finding opportunities in contexts other companies have passed over is less than reassuring.

With this challenge in mind, I think the greatest value of ethnography in this case was not looking out at customers, but looking in to the culture of Grit itself. Because while much of my ethnographic interest was in understanding shopping behaviors, looking at internal culture revealed and continually exposed complexity—to an increasingly defensive audience, and an organization stretched thin. If Grit Grocery was to make its way and thrive in a fragmented environment, any potential scalability needed to emerge from within. What I discovered was frequent and continual expansion of the company’s scope: trying new things, getting into new businesses, offering more products in more categories. Stretching ourselves thin, in a business that ultimately needed to thicken.

The critical eye of ethnography can scrutinize the problematic nature of a startup’s we-built-it-in-the-garage mythology. Removed too far from reality, startups often rely too heavily on initial visions. And when vision leads the way, insights and reality, including (and especially) ethnographic insight, tends to challenge (and sometimes support) that vision.

At the same time, the critical eye of ethnography can serve as a valuable tool for investors to evaluate start-up stories, helping determine whether these new ideas meet customer needs while also assessing whether their organizational cultures are a good fit to accomplish the challenge at-hand. Because it’s when the two are in conversation—customer needs and organizational culture aptitude—that new and unexpected opportunities for entrepreneurs become reality. And as such, ethnography should be considered a valuable tool in the startup world, for evaluating new ideas and generating them, too. Rather than looking to ethnography to validate or verify, its greater value is in guiding and inspiring a startup.


Tsing, Anna Lowenhaupt. 2015. The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press

A version of this paper was initially presented at the Society for Applied Anthropology conference in Portland, Oregon, March 19-23, 2019. Thank you to Ken Erickson—who organized the panel, titled, “When the Models Break Down What’s a Business Anthropologist to Do?”—and fellow panelists Jo Yung, Jason Eng, Dawn Rivers, and Maryann McCabe.

For more than a decade now, we’ve witnessed the rising popularity of ethnographic methods in a wide range of settings. From designers to computer scientists to marketing specialists, many now realize that ethnographic insights can drive the successful development of new products, services, and systems from the customer’s perspective.

As an anthropologist, it’s encouraging to see ethnographic methods transform how professionals of all stripes innovate. However, many in my field, including me, have expressed concern about the ways in which these broader uses of ethnographic methods often fail to recognize the greater value of ethnographic thinking and the ways it goes beyond simply identifying “user needs.”

While I believe this is a legitimate concern, I want to pause and change the conversation. I want to shift the the way we talk about appropriating ethnographic methods from one that reinforces notions of disciplinary gatekeeping to one that extends the influence of anthropologists and professional ethnographers. I want to change the dialog from one centered within a protectionist mindset to one that embraces a mentoring mindset; from a focus on pedigree to a focus on coaching; and from a disposition of insiders to one of crusaders who champion the power that ethnographic thinking can provide.

So how do we do this?

First, it’s worth recognizing a few simple truths. Not everyone who practices ethnography is an anthropologist (nor should the be). Practicing ethnography doesn’t make you an anthropologist (and that’s OK). And, finally, practicing ethnography shapes the mind in ways that have inherent value (both personal and professional). I expand on this final claim much further in Ethnographic Thinking, but for the purposes of this post I want to identify those traits using the following table of what I call key traits of ethnographic thinking:

Continual CuriosityImmersive LearningHolistic Analysis
Expanded AwarenessTactical FacilitationSystems Thinking
Deferred JudgementDiligent DocumentationSituational Insight
Thoughtful AdaptationLayered ListeningEmpathic Storytelling

Now, did most of these traits gain professional value within the discipline of anthropology as it developed ethnographic practice? Yes. Do anthropologists need to “own” them to ensure their professional relevance? No. Indeed, I argue that everyone can benefit from this growing interest in ethnographic practice, and that anthropologists are uniquely positioned to lead and structure the use of the practice that originated in our discipline. And, if anthropologists are unhappy with poor adaptations or misuses of ethnography, the question should be: What should an ethnography of X look like? What broader strategic thinking should be brought to bear to demonstrate how ethnographic thinking provides more than a list of customer needs?

Paying Homage to Our Ancestors

There is actually a clear precedent for the kind of leadership I’m calling for here. One need only look as far as Franz Boas (largely recognized as the “Father of American Anthropology”) for his work at the American Museum of Natural History. While there, he was instrumental in shifting the conception of race from one of evolutionary hierarchies of different cultures, to a definition of culture as a “community of emotional life that arises from our everyday habits.” He did this in a number of ways, perhaps most notably by changing the way artifacts were displayed at the museum: from objects ordered by type along a master evolutionary narrative to objects organized and displayed within their cultural contexts.

Margaret Mead (a student of Boas) was also a critical figure in efforts to shape both professional and popular understandings of how we approach the study of human cultures, including the broader value it provides. While she was particularly prolific in her accomplishments in this regard (see Margaret Mead, The Making of An American Icon, below), one of her most commonly recognized achievements was to drastically shift childrearing practices in the United States based on insights on the topic from field work in American Samoa and Bali. Her influence extended as far as changing the recommendations of childrearing expert, Dr. Spock, whose appreciation for Mead’s ethnographic insight led him to recommend abandoning Western traditions of more ‘rigid’ practices in favor of on-demand breastfeeding and affection.

Whether they would recognize it or not, both Mead and Boas were key figures in efforts to help those outside the discipline understand and utilize the benefits of ethnographic thinking. Mead didn’t expect Dr. Spock to become an anthropologist (or even an ethnographer), but she did help shape important constructs for his thinking about different cultures, provided unique cross-cultural insights, and brought ethnographic insight to bear for him and many other practitioners, policymakers, and influencers.

But what about today?

Ethnographers compelled to convey the value of the practice beyond identifying user needs can begin my making some key shifts of our own. First, we can change the vernacular surrounding contemporary applied uses of ethnography from one that begins by asking comfortable questions to one that challenges safe assumptions in ways that re-frame the value of the practice. So, for example, instead of simply asking “do you really know your customer?” we might also ask:

  • “Do you know which norms, customs, and dynamics work for or against innovation within your organization’s internal culture?”
  • “Do you have a deep understanding of the stakeholder cultures you need to navigate and the pathways you need to create within them to drive customer-centered innovations into the marketplace?”
  • “Are you thinking beyond the obvious and benefitting from cultural understandings of analogous domains to inspire new ways of thinking?”

These prompts are just a few examples of the kinds of questions ethnographers can ask that are designed to encourage organizations to take a more holistic view of innovation and how it can benefit from ethnographic thinking. The ultimate goal is to serve the customer better, of course. However, without understanding and appreciating the full range of other cultural considerations that have direct bearing on how innovations find their way to customers, great ideas can (and do) get lost. This full range approach is something I call full spectrum insight, a process by which the ethnographic lens is aimed at all significant influences and influencers that are part of the innovation process:

Facilitating Mindset Shifts

Ethnographers can also ask other strategic questions that change the way organizations approach challenges and leverage more holistic understandings of culture to do so. For example, below we see two instances of how ethnographers might alter dialog to help teams re-think how queries are constructed: from being merely inquisitive to being fully curious:

Similarly, we can shift a team’s approach to solving challenges by opening up mindsets and transforming the process from a constrained (and constraining) one, to an adaptive one:

And, finally, we can shift the disposition with which teams convey their insights, so that they prioritize their listener’s cultural contexts to connect ethnographic insights to those listeners’ motivations, values, interests, and plights:

These are the kinds of techniques that demonstrate how ethnographic thinking can transform how everyone advances innovation, constructs queries, approaches challenges, and conveys their insights. If we’re going to continue to see increased appropriation of ethnography, let’s lead the charge in this direction, at these levels of strategic input, to stimulate these kinds of mindset shifts. I’d wager Boas and Mead would approve.

[This post is summary of a presentation given at the Society for Applied Anthropology meetings on March 20, 2019 in a session titled Increasing the Impact of Anthropologists Beyond the Academy, chaired by Inga Grub]. You can listen to an audio recording of the session here.

In retrospect, the signs that this was not a familiar research conference had been there all along: the list of participants and their roles within organizations, the sessions on the periphery with the trade booths and café in the center, the prominence of the word ‘disruption,’ and the fact that very few of the talk titles even wasted time with anything as tangential as a semi-colon! This was a space where speed, efficiency, ingenuity and optimization were the dominant themes.

Although, I didn’t set out to explore the conference’s form as data, once the ethnographic brain is switched on, there’s really no turning it off. This forced me to recognize my own biases, as well as reflect on relationships and unpack questions such as why the story of research— a story that is so critical to my own practice— played such a peripheral role in this space.

I was in London to make sense of the future of mobility and transportation landscape, by taking part in the Move 2019: Mobility Re-Imagined event. It was a hybrid of a conference, trade show, and a speed-dating event for investors and innovators. The field is at a critical juncture in its evolution and the creative ingenuity being applied to the diverse challenges of efficiently and sustainably moving people and goods into, out of, within and between cities has broadly captured the public imagination, my own included. Having done significant global ethnographic fieldwork with the Future Lab innovation team at the Renault-Nissan-Mitsubishi Alliance on social aspects of the future of mobility I was eager to see how others were talking about this and its many related themes.

The great hall crackled with a tense energy, strung taught between the breathless optimism and the swagger on the one side and a tangible underlying sense of doubt and anxiety on the other. Bets were being placed on techno-futures all around us, but would they prove to be the right ones? “Change mobility and you will change the world,” a keynote speaker from the Boston Consulting Group implored us, and many nodded in agreement; but the weight of the moment hung over the room like a cloud too. There was a sense that the near future would reveal both winners and losers. But nobody was going down without first making their case. Game on!

The players formed an eclectic and impressive group of thinkers, including creative and agile innovators, eager and/or panicked investors, and legacy players able and willing, however grudgingly at times, to re-invent themselves to what they see as a changing marketplace. But the challenges they addressed are often profound and include population growth and urbanization, connecting new technologies with legacy systems, slow-moving regulators, the need for sustainable energy sources, storage space for unfathomable amounts of data and so on. And those are just some of the design and engineering challenges!

More than 360 speakers were organized into eight different streams, with titles like: Business Models and MaaS (mobility as a service), Urban Supply Chains, Autonomous Vehicles, Smart Cities, and so on. The presenters spanned tech start-ups, government agencies, big automotive OEMs (Original Equipment Manufacturers), energy companies, financial services, logistics and many other domains.

The talks themselves, rolled out in 25 minute increments and in nonstop succession that left little time for discussion (or reflection!). A lot of the talks followed a familiar pitch-like formula that began with identifying a big problem; then explained how the speaker’s organization had decided to address said problem; indicated where others had missed the mark (this was not universal); and closed by indicating that the work they had described was just the beginning and that they were building off of those early successes and expanding into new areas and new partnerships. The formula of these talks/pitches felt like it played into the impatience and urgency of the event that sometimes felt to me like a VC meets start-up courtship dance. Discouragingly, from my perspective, the path of research to insight, understanding and validation, rarely got much, if any, air time in these talks. I later found that conversations of substance and often real candor were still happening throughout the event, but in the cafés and trade booths around which the conference rooms were situated, and rarely at the talks themselves.

Micromobility is seen as an area of real growth but it needs to buck the bad press of public nuisance and infantilism

In spite of the pace and the technology-first focus, bigger picture thinking did emerge, which was a pleasure to see as an anthropologist. There seemed to be something inherent to thinking through these problems that necessitated an interconnected and systems-oriented perspective–a rarity in many other consumer spaces. However, while the idea of systems was invoked, they were often discussed in fairly limited ways and were primarily construed of as complex “problems to solve for”. The vast and varied complex human beliefs, values, practices and experiences that animate these systems in the real world was disappointingly (from my perspective) often absent from the conversations, beyond occasional references to users and subscribers. Surely, there were more flies in the ointment of progress and future modeling than just software glitches and funding flows, right?

In addition to talk of systems and beyond the expected debates about the ideal energy source of the future (hydrogen, electric, hyperloop, human power etc.), the market readiness of autonomous vehicles, the tension between open-platform and protectionist practices, and the unending discussion of universal versus local solutions that extends well beyond automotive, a number of distinct culturally rich themes also emerged.

From Boston Consulting Group Keynote
  • Shapeshifting companies forced to confront their own identities in an ongoing struggle to ignore, absorb, or contest their perceptions of a changing marketplace
    • Uncertainty about the future relevance of OEM automotive companies
    • Ridehailing expanding into micromobilities
    • Transit authorities collaborating with private services
    • Legacy energy companies exploring alternative options
    • Manufacturers turned investors and vis a versa
  • Systems thinking approach to intermodality and multimodality
    • Often seemed limited to efficiency and optimization as opposed to ecosystem perspectives which includes social and cultural behavior
    • Micromobility a key democratizing tool for the spaces between and major area for growth and investment
  • Nostalgia served as cautionary tale and underscored uncertainty about the future
    • Presentations with visuals of missteps and innovations from the past
    • Re-visiting, re-vamping and re-positioning of ideas that have worked in the past like bicycles, buses, scooters, trains, carpools, re-imagined as optimal elements of future solutions


An iconic London Taxi in front of the Victorian era Marylebone Rail Station

After the conference ended I had to figure out how to get to Heathrow for my flight home. I decided to take one of the ride-hailing services I had just heard about that wasn’t yet available where I live. I was compelled by their model of using small vans, dynamic routes and pooling platforms to connect with existing transit systems. I was also compelled by their £10 off coupon!

In practice, the experience was not as bright shiny and different as I had envisioned and it ended up being indistinguishable from taking a Lyft, back home. There’s probably some lesson there about hype, fancy websites, and slick apps, but —given what I’d just witnessed at the conference— who has time to contemplate it? Since I was the only rider, I fell into a conversation with the driver, a Bulgarian mechanic who had lived in London for 10 years. He did ridehailing as a side-hustle before and after his regular work.

As is so often the case, when you’re driving around with people, we fell into conversation. He told me about growing up in Bulgaria before the fall of Communism and about the good and bad of that time and he talked about what a struggle it was to make ends meet in London. He lamented the lack of interaction he had with his neighbours, compared to apartment life in Bulgaria, attributing the London reserve to the fact that people had to work too much. Despite the struggle, he and his family were happy in London and he was proud that his daughter’s English was now better than her Bulgarian.

When talk turned to ‘Brexit’ he shared his fears that his family would one day be deported even though they had come to the UK on a legal work permit and had built a life here. Connecting the uncertainty and unfairness of this potential uprooting to his work life, he told me that until recently he had worked for one of the bigger ride-hailing companies until they had suspended him, without explanation or recourse, even though he had an excellent driver rating. Unfair but not unfamiliar was his assessment. I left his car, with a warm hand shake and a heavy slap on the shoulder.

The interconnected poetics of the fieldwork experience struck me, as they always do, by the ways in which the big themes can weave together with small details and cultural threads, always grounded in the lived experiences of people. In this vein, I was struck by how closely his personal experiences of nostalgia, shapeshifting and innovation mirrored things I had seen on the floor of the conference. As I had found there, his hope and optimism for the future was counter-balanced by uncertainty, anxiety and doubt. And just as some of the most exciting innovation promised frictionless and optimal movement of people and objects, his story showed ways in which these ideas could easily be complicated in myriad ways from the personal to the geo-political with a dose of human/machine frustration thrown in for good measure. Despite it all, new mobility didn’t always feel all that different from old mobility and bigger social themes like fairness, power, access and agency remain, no matter how we design the future.

Having said that, change is definitely in the air and re-thinking the familiar and solving for the future remain vital aspirations. Speed, optimization and efficiency are all important values in the development cycle of goods and services, but they do not overrule the critical importance of making sense of social messiness, privileging inclusivity, and seeking cultural alignment for technological innovation. Not only can these fast and thick approaches to thinking complement one another, they can also benefit from the productive ways that they push one another. The possibility for inclusive and socially-grounded mobility techno-futures can be there for us all, but not without keeping both the human and the machine in sharp focus.


For those with a deeper interest in mobility, check out this addendum for some of the talks that really piqued my curiosity with their possibilities and/or spoke meaningfully to social, behavioral, human and cultural factors.

  • Robin Chase, a co-founder of Zipcar, introduced a sense of social responsibility in describing a manifesto for inclusive design in the mobility space.
  • Tom Kirschbaum the COO of Door2Door a software company that provides a white label software platform for multimodal mobility services spoke about the importance of local knowledge, rural mobility, and attending to the emotional impact of new technologies.
  • Presenting an atypically moderate point of view, he also urged the audience to consider mobility transformations over disruptions as a guiding metaphor.
  • Chantal Ambord of BlaBla Car, an inter-city ride-pooling platform that allows riders and drivers to set the level of social engagement that they want (bla, blabla, or blablabla) was a model that got my mind spinning on multiple levels.
  • Vilhelm Hedberg of Ekar ,the first car-sharing service in the Middle East and Syed Gilani of Safr, both talked about the distinct impact that women, along with other cultural forces, are having on the industry.
  • A provocative talk by the spatial economist and urban mathematician Yuval Karmi outlined the potential for humans to bring out the worst in robots amused as it informed.
    • “The inventor of the safety elevator wasn’t the one to imagine the skyscraper”, he warned us, when talking about unexpected consequences.
  • Markus Seidel of the BMW technology group in China described a future imagining of an E3 urban transportation system of elevated and covered e-bike roadways.
  • As a general rule, the Cycling and Active Mobility stream seemed to feature more speakers who were both personally and emotionally invested in the adoption of their services, which served as a balm to some of the other talks which could come across as overly slick.

Further reading:

I’ve been having more and more conversations with people who are  thinking about how to position research within their organizations. In one case, a senior researcher and her colleagues were debating whether user experience (UX) researchers should report up to design, to engineering, or whether they should establish their own reporting structure within their company.

In one way, I see this dilemma as a promising sign, since it feels like an indicator that we’re emerging from the reductive perception of research (and especially ethnographic research) as a tool embedded within other practices that’s used solely for identifying customer needs. However, I also think it’s worth considering whether this is the most effective question to ask. More specifically, does this question do enough to shift the conversation away from the constraints of “ethnography-as-tool” perceptions, and toward the ways in which research provides strategic market insight?

Learning from Others

It’s useful here to turn toward design and the ways in which it has pushed past traditional perceptions of its purpose and value as ‘the practice of crafting beautiful objects.’ Through a concerted effort to actualize the critical value of its mode of practice (aka design thinking), millions now understand and use design processes to innovate across vastly different practices and settings. In this same way, ethnographic/user experience research needs to push past its own object of practice—user/customer needs—and better communicate the broader value of applying its processes to other domains. This means defining its contributions not as identifying customer needs alone, but as insights derived from modes of thinking about culture that reveal both customer needs (the original ‘product’) and the dynamics within and between the cultures that those consumers and companies exist within.

So, for example, the most valuable insights into social networking aren’t necessarily about how easily users can share content, or even what they like to share. They’re about how sharing and trust are understood within different cultures (or subcultures), and how this plays out in social networking platforms in different (or perhaps similar) ways. They’re about how the range and direction of sharing practices in different cultures might allow an organization to better understand patterns of reach, pathways, and the viral potential of content. And, they’re about how the modes of interaction social networking organizations provide—as well as the nature of their organization’s own practices and norms—either facilitate or run counter to their customer’s cultural contexts and expectations. These insights, derived by applying ethnographic thinking to domains that reach beyond identifying user needs alone, have direct impact on the business models of organizations providing these services.

Returning to the question of qualitative research (specifically UX) and its position within organizational structures, the benefits of ethnographic thinking listed above clearly demonstrate that subsuming it within any other discipline would constrain its full value. Which, I believe, leads us to two other questions.

Toward a Value Proposition

First, if the full range of insight from ethnographic thinking is often under-appreciated, how do we make its value proposition more clear and compelling? In the same way that design centered on it’s unique ability to drive innovation as the core value provided by design thinking, I would argue that research should better communicate how it can inform strategy through behavioral and cultural insight. To do this effectively, we need to steer clear of highlighting skillsets or professional qualifications, and prioritize the strategic value that ethnographic thinking provides to organizations. For example, we might present some of the following benefits, which place an emphasis on the advantages they provide to an organization first, followed by the means of achieving them:

  • expand market share and increase loyalty through deep understandings of different customer cultures and the ways in which they intersect the organization’s own culture;
  • increase new product/service success rates by developing offerings that are a solid behavioral fit for customers and are situated appropriately, ethically, and strategically within different cultures;
  • reduce risks through incremental, culturally-informed, thoughtful adaptation to cultural changes;
  • help organizations grow strategically by facilitating, finding patterns among, and curating, inquiries from customers, collectives, and internal stakeholders;
  • solidify market share by deriving longitudinal and holistic insight from cumulative understandings of behavioral and cultural dynamics relevant to the organization’s offering;
  • build internal creative momentum by cross-pollinating ideas between insider and outsider domains and growing the pool of possible ideas via sharing different points of view;
  • improve internal traction for innovation and product/service development by expanding empathy to include both customers and internal team members and stakeholders;
  • break down silos and ensure customer centricity by challenging assumptions, ‘common sense,’ and orthodoxies within organizations.

(More here and here about ways these benefits can be realized in more detail.)

Similarly, we might work to introduce the broader benefits of ethnographic thinking within prompts that take the form of something like an elevator pitch…

Want to lower organizational risk and make better-informed strategic decisions? Ethnographic thinking will help you deeply understand your customers and their cultural contexts so that you can both serve them better and be more strategic about the actions and approach your organization takes to serve them.

Words Matter

As for the second question, I think we need to ask whether ‘User Experience’ reflects the full value that its practitioners can provide. Like Carrie Yury, I appreciate how the emergence of this term reflects the increasing recognition of the importance of integrating behavioral and attitudinal insights. However, it seems clear that the term also implies a set of constraints that focus on understanding people solely as ‘users’ (more on that from Tamara Hale here) within the confines of designed experiences. When we factor in the rapid growth of immersive interactions that reach ever more deeply into our lives via advances in AR/VR, AI, ML, IOT, voice, haptic, and gestural interfaces, and even ingestibles, the term UX feels even more limited.

So, instead of User Experience, shouldn’t we be shifting our terminology to better reflect how behavioral and cultural insights can both ensure customer fit and drive more effective organizational strategies? Rather than focusing solely on UX, shouldn’t we be talking about Behavior, Culture & Strategy (BCS)? And, instead of asking “Where do we position UX within our organization?,” shouldn’t we be asking “How do we position BCS to optimize for its full value throughout our organization?”

Regardless of whether a nomenclature change transpires, it’s clear from my conversations with colleagues that a shift is underway: FROM seeing research as a tool embedded within other practices TO a means of establishing frameworks for other practices. Organizations at the forefront of fully leveraging behavioral and cultural insight will use these frameworks as a competitive advantage to develop more culturally-attuned product and service offerings, more informed and aware customer strategies, and improved adaptations to their internal cultures that align better with both.

How is it possible that a conversation between two people as far away as Sydney and Seattle felt like a fireside chat? Gerry Scullion is such a great host and skilled conversationalist that it felt that way to me. Listen over at This is HCD and hear how Ethnographic Thinking can expand the strategic value of Human Centered Design.

On ethnographic thinking in the development / innovation process:

“…Many designers are incredibly skilled at asking why at the front end of the design process but eventually feel compelled to drive towards a ‘what’. They’re trying to get toward that solution or that thing or that collection of things. Whereas I think ethnographers are by nature, or disposition, much more comfortable opening questions up, because that’s what they do all the time, right? They’re always asking why; you know they ask those types of questions all the time. I don’t see them as necessarily opposed. I just think it’s worth considering that there are different trajectories and that there is that history in which ethnography has been positioned as only a tool for design versus something that can be used as a means of opening up the process. If you understand Ethnographic Thinking and it’s value in this way, it makes sense that that it should be engaged throughout the design process, not just in the beginning ‘explore’ phase…”

On ethnographic thinking and sense-making:

“…One example of this can be seen in the contrast between synthesis and analysis. In the case of synthesis (a term more aligned with design practice) the process is often seen as a narrowing one that is aimed solely at a singular design solution. Whereas analysis (a term more aligned with ethnographic practice) implies a more open approach; that there are dynamics to consider that may mean your outcome doesn’t necessarily need to be a solution point at all. Instead, it may be ten points, or your solution may be a ‘swirl,’ or a ‘grid,’ for that matter. These opportunities for diverse outcomes can only happen if you’re willing to continually ask why and open up the process in parallel to efforts to reach a design solution.”

On ethnographic thinking as means of understanding cultural fit of a company’s offering:

“You also start to see the value that the ethnographer’s insider/outsider status brings to the table in ways that allow a team to incorporate the broader cultural dynamics at play between the customer, the company, and its offering in ways that expose new and unexpected opportunities. This can be seen as the strategic value of Ethnographic Thinking and the value it provides organizations in the ways it informs questions of ‘how’: How are we going to expand market share? How are we going to better understand consumer behavior in this respect? Or how can we introduce a new product in, say, Egypt? All those things are more than just visiting living rooms. They’re about developing the strategic insights that lead to culturally-appropriate strategic decisions that ultimately have real market impact.”