I hate port-o-pots. I find them gag inducing and would rather relieve myself in the woods than in a confined space filled with excrement. I know I’m not alone in this sentiment. This past weekend I attended an event with approximately 900 athletes, and each time I used the aforementioned bathroom jail, I was blown away by the fact that everyone washed his or her hands afterwards. Despite the rain, cold and fog, and the anticipation of returning to a warm tent and down sleeping bag, people waited calmly by the foot-pumped sinks to use bottles of Method soap — which I feel were fully responsible for our willingness to wait and wash. The bottles of hand soap gifting out fragrant bubbles into our palms was an unnecessary addition to our campsite. While a cheaper alternative like Purell or an industrial pink goo could have presumably provided the same service, the soap bottle — a bit of unnecessary convenience — was above all a reminder for intentional living and healthy choices.
I’ve been reading a lot about the concept of choice architecture — buildings and landscapes that use design to shape how we interact with space and how we make decisions. This soap bottle was the epitome of choice architecture. Choice architecture influences our behavior by providing us with appealing and convenient options that tie into a psychological willingness to perform an action. It’s almost comparable to a marketing ploy — a ‘buy one get one’ deal. Dense hedges on one path wordlessly encouraging us to use another is just one example. The way our world is designed is intentional, thereby encouraging — or discouraging us from making poor decisions.
Convenience, pretty packaging, or location influences so much of what we do and the choices we make. I see it in how I design my own life — putting my alarm further away from my bed forces me to get up in the morning. We all experience choice architecture in the placement of retail and amenity as well. Trader Joe’s is infamously particular about where they set up stores. In this way, they remain a highly sought-after retail anchor. The implementation of choice architecture into city planning is where it gets really interesting to me –- as many cities want to integrate this idea of bright and shiny and convenient into the world of place, rather than ‘thing.’
Consider the MARC train and the recent announcement that it intends to begin running on weekends. I can tell you that without any doubt, this will change my behavior in that I’ll be more apt to come to D.C. and stay overnight, knowing I have the ability to take a MARC train home on a Saturday or Sunday. Whereas I had several excuses before (the Amtrak is more expensive, the weekend trains don’t run frequently, etc.), the weekend expansion has eradicated those excuses. Think of the possibilities that designing a space for ease and convenience can have. The High Line Park is above the traffic and the noise of the city, allowing people an uninterrupted vista of activity.
Simple tweaks to currently underutilized spaces like unbroken benches or lighting could psychologically encourage us to choose to participate. It really all comes back to the human element — what we desire in a space and in our lives, and how or why we can get those things on a regular basis. If soap could get 900 athletes to take an extra few minutes in the cold, imagine what more trashcans could do by the waterfront, or what a fruit and vegetable market could do for the Middle East neighborhood. Solutions don’t have to be terribly complicated, as sometimes the smallest, subtlest tweaks in material landscape can have a large affect on the shift in behavior.
