Bland New Office

Garages of worship

The birth of innovation in unintended spaces

Everything good used to start in a garage. Jobs, Wozniak, Hewlett, Packard, Disney drawing a mouse behind his uncle’s house, Dyson’s furrowed brow piecing together vacuums that didn’t work (yet). Concrete floor, bad lighting, air that smells like nothing. The sound of something starting, maybe dying, maybe turning into the future.

Now it’s all polished concrete and perfect smiles, places that look like they were designed by people who hate mess. Billions spent making sure you never forget you’re part of a “culture,” even though nobody can really define the word. You swipe in, sit in glass boxes, talk about synergy until your soul gets frostbite. The computers are faster, the ideas slower, the performance diverse, equitable, and implosive.

And when COVID ended, it was the people with the nicest offices who were the last to come back. Turns out once you’ve seen how little space you actually need to do good work, it’s hard to stomach the smell of disinfected ambition again.

My dad had a spare room inside the house, but he chose the garage. Not a workshop, not nostalgic. Just a car, a table, a lamp that buzzed. It was cold in there—the kind of cold that keeps you awake. He didn’t make anything famous, but he liked that no one bothered him. That’s the secret everyone forgets: the good stuff happens when no one’s watching.

The garage is the last honest space. No slogans, no mission statements, just you and whatever noise you’re making. Maybe it’s a song, maybe it’s a bad idea, maybe it’s the start of something that eats the world.

So here’s to the people sitting in garages tonight. To the ones who didn’t earn the skills to afford an office, who don’t want one anyway. The ones sketching, soldering, taping, swearing. The ones who still believe that great things can start in ugly places. Garages reek of effort.

The rest of the world can keep its campuses and its free lunches. The future is still being built in cold garages that no one cares about. And that’s exactly how it should be.

I’m sticking up for the world. I don’t blame anyone for throwing fuel on the fire, but at some point it’s all fuel and no fire. We need to consummate our ideas.

What We Should Be Doing About Work

We forgot that work was never meant to be a performance. It was supposed to be a process, a practice, a place where you could build something without an audience. The modern office turned it into theater. We built stages, not studios.

It’s time to bring back the workshop mindset—the noise, the mistakes, the smell of something becoming real.

What We Should Be Doing About Culture

Culture isn’t a word that belongs on a wall. It’s how people treat each other when no one’s watching. We can’t design it into existence with posters or perks. It happens in the quiet, invisible moments—when someone stays late to help, when a bad idea gets room to breathe, when failure isn’t fatal.

Real culture grows from trust, not talking points.

What We Should Be Doing About Workspace

The best rooms aren’t the biggest ones. Big rooms breed confidence. Small ones breed truth.

We should be shrinking the room—fewer walls, fewer witnesses, fewer reasons to pretend. The garage worked because no one was looking. It was cold, unbranded, and full of possibility.

Everywhere we work should have a little of that in it: a corner that’s yours, a floor that’s scuffed, a space that’s too quiet until something starts to hum.

Tips to Stay Alive

Stay uncomfortable If the floor’s too clean, you’re in the wrong place.

Don’t overexplain The best ideas sound stupid first.

Protect your corner Every garage has a cold spot where something real begins.

Remember who it’s for Purpose first, polish later.

Rebuild the garage wherever you are Even if it’s just a desk, a notebook, and a flickering light.