We often think design should instruct, but I've found the most profound designs don't shout—they invite.
In Japanese culture, a tatami mat doesn't come with instructions, yet stepping onto it, you instinctively slow down. That's affordance: design that quietly shapes how we move, pause, and connect.
Tatami mats work on a modular system: one mat is a moment of presence; several mats create a flexible, intentional space. The best designs, whether physical or digital, should do the same. Not by forcing interaction, but by quietly creating conditions where we instinctively know what to do.
I've been thinking about this on long hikes. When it's time for a tea break, no one needs signs or instructions. You naturally find a flat rock, a fallen log, a clearing space. The landscape affords rest without announcing it. That's the kind of design I'm drawn to: environments that shape behavior not through direction, but through invitation.
Photo: a tatami craftsman's studio I used to walk past on my way to school, over 45 years ago. Still making them!
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