7

SPECULATIVE DESIGN AS
RESEARCH METHOD
From answers to questions and “staying
with the trouble”

Anne Galloway and Catherine Caudwell

Discourses of speculative design

In UK designers Anthony Dunne and Fiona Raby’s Design Noir: The Secret Life of Electronic
Objects (2001), they argued that design too often unquestioningly reinforces the status quo
of industrial and technological progress, and that its primary purpose was “still to provide
new products – smaller, faster, different, better” (p. 58). In contrast, they advocated using the
medium of design to “challenge industrial agendas” (p. 58), and offer “a critique of the prevail-
ing situation through designs that embody alternative social, cultural, technical or economic
values” (p. 58). Originally operating in the fields of industrial and product design, in the fif-
teen years since publication, this call to arms has been taken up by a wide range of designers,
researchers, theorists, and authors. Critical and speculative design also holds an established
place in design education, with seminal programs like Design Interactions at the Royal Col-
lege of Art in London, UK, and many more continuing to emerge in universities and design
schools around the world.
In addition to critiquing design itself, contemporary critical and speculative design aims
to present alternate social and cultural realities. Dunne and Raby (2013) explain that their
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speculative practice:

thrives on imagination and aims to open up new perspectives on what are sometimes
called wicked problems, to create spaces for discussion and debate about alternative ways
of being, and to inspire and encourage people’s imaginations to flow freely.
(p. 2)

More recently, Dunne and Raby have broadened their scope to call for “speculative eve-
rything” (2013, p. 161), incorporating not just product design or human needs, but rather
“a multitude of worldviews, ideologies, and possibilities” (p. 161). In this speculative design
practice, what Dunne and Raby (2013) refer to as “world-building” still happens primar-
ily through physical artefacts, or “parts representing wholes designed to prompt speculation
in the viewer about the world these objects belong to” (p. 92). In other words, rather than
 86 Anne Galloway and Catherine Caudwell

creating the world itself, their intention is to hint at, or conjure, societies and cultures different
from their own through the materials and forms of objects. Furthermore, Dunne and Raby
seek to “challenge how people think about everyday life” (p. 45), and seem to assume that
their critical and speculative designs will encourage viewers to carry out “a sort of imaginary
archaeology” (p. 93) that renders the familiar strange but is still grounded within “scientific
possibility” (p. 71). Important critiques of this world-building approach are beyond the scope
of this chapter, but include Prado and Oliveria (2014) and Oliveira and Prado (2014). Most
notably for our interests, critical and speculative design is not presented in terms of how to
make or assess objects, but rather in terms of what these objects could or should do.
Design fiction is another label given to works of design that imagine, speculate on, and
represent alternate visions of design and the worlds it inhabits. In 2009, American designer
Julian Bleecker and science fiction author Bruce Sterling separately wrote essays on the
concept of design fiction. For Bleecker (2009), design fiction was a way of describing design
prototypes that aim to tell stories about the near future. To Sterling (2009), design fiction
was essentially science fiction in which the science and objects adhere to design principles
and practices, allowing them to offer a grounded critique, or, as Sterling had previously
expressed, to move “much closer to the glowing heat of technosocial conflict” (2005, p. 30).
Much like Dunne and Raby’s critical and speculative design, design fiction grapples with
the cultural, social, and ethical impact of technology, but makes fewer claims to sparking
debate or encouraging change. However, design fiction likewise remains more a genre
of – or an interpretive framework for – design-in-the-world, than a practice or method for
actually doing design.
To illustrate this further, both Bleecker (2009) and Sterling (2013) have thoroughly dis-
cussed science fiction film and literature under the umbrella of design fiction. Of particular
relevance is the discussion of diegetic prototypes, or objects that are capable of representing
larger worlds and worldviews. In film, these depictions of nascent technologies or scientific
theories are intended to entertain and often create broader public interest. Bleecker (2009)
draws attention to this practice as a potent example of the mutual influence of fact and fic-
tion, as diegetic, fictional prototypes in cinema can spur interest in an emerging technology
by showing its positive impact, and quelling fears or concerns through the story in which it is
embedded. This ease with technology can, in turn, raise its profile in the public imagination,
generating demand for its development. David Kirby (2010, 2011) has written extensively
on this subject, highlighting examples of films where technology and science consultants
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were intimately involved in production to “create realistic filmic portrayals of technological

possibilities” (p. 43). For example, both Kirby (2010, 2011) and Bleecker (2009) discuss the
2002 film Minority Report at length to highlight its role in driving the recent development of
gestural interfaces.

Speculative narratives & the question of reception

Possibly due to the sheer proliferation of self-described critical and speculative design projects
online (see for example Core77, 2011; Antonelli, 2011), and accompanying public discussions
of design fiction (see for example Nova, 2013; Sterling, 2004), these creative practices began to
garner the attention of social science and humanities scholars working in the areas of emerg-
ing science and technology. For example, DiSalvo (2009) convincingly argues that speculative
 Speculative design as research method 87

design and design fiction’s modes of storytelling are found in the formal qualities of design,
the expertise of a designer, and consumer culture. Through an expert understanding of how
products are conceptualized, developed, and marketed, the speculative design “projection is
plausible and persuasive because the representations are so easily consumed in the present
(they are visually striking) and imaginable to be consumed in the future (they appear like we
envisage such ‘real’ products would appear)” (DiSalvo, 2009, p. 55). Of course, this raises ques-
tions about what is actually being challenged, and who the audience for speculative design
could, or ought to be.
Indeed, the question of how audiences might most productively engage with speculative
and critical design is far from resolved, even amongst its own practitioners. Dunne and Raby
(2001) originally placed sense-making in the hands of the audience, as they expected “the user
would become a protagonist and co-producer of narrative experience rather than a passive
consumer of a product’s meaning” (p. 46). However, subsequent practitioners and critics have
noted this is not a self-evident process. For example, despite what specific materials and forms
may communicate, Malpass (2013) points out that contextualizing information beyond the
object itself is usually necessary:

Because of their provisional and unfamiliar characteristics, many objects of speculative

design require a detailed supporting narrative to establish their use. This is established
through scenario building, where objects and technologies are situated in contexts of
use, and through technocratic visualization.
(p. 348)

Dunne and Raby (2013) also maintain that their speculative designs are primarily objects,
and to them, “[v]ideo and photography are secondary media. The physical prop is the start-
ing point for a chain reaction developed through other media rather than a reality anchor for
the video” (p. 100). However, Malpass (2013) suggests that it is actually the combination of
media that tells a story as “the critique is established through a synthesis of objects and con-
textualizing material” (p. 348). This supplementary material is also required because this kind
of fictional design is still developing, and encountered by audiences who may not know the
role(s) they are expected to play.
Malpass (2015, 2016) calls this shift towards storytelling – and the expectation that viewers
become storytellers instead of listeners or consumers – speculative design’s ‘rhetorical func-
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tion,’ or its capacity to communicate a narrative. Malpass (2015, p. 65) argues that understand-
ings of function are a significant barrier to understanding speculative works, as in design,
function is traditionally concerned with optimization, or the extent to which use is made
technically efficient and practical. Nonetheless, drawing a link to literary storytelling, Auger
(2013) affirms that viewers should recognize a speculative object as belonging in their every-
day life, and unfold a story accordingly:

The presence of the designed artefact in popular culture allows for the viewer to project
its presence into his or her own life. Then they effectively become the protagonist in
the story, playing out individual and informative roles. Their reactions become the true
products of this form of design research.
(p. 20)
 88 Anne Galloway and Catherine Caudwell

Speculative design as research method

Given its interest in using storytelling to engage audiences, can speculative design be effectively
used as a sociocultural research method? Ferri et al. (2014) suggest that without a clear and
shared understanding of what speculative and critical design is, it will not be possible to evalu-
ate projects against each other, or assess their success. More optimistically, Knutz, Markussen
and Christensen (2014) propose a typology of design fiction that can be applied for compari-
son and contrast of different projects.This involves five characteristics: the basic role of fiction,
which asks what is the ‘what-if ’ question at hand; the manifestation of the critique, which
asks how the project is critical; the design aims, which questions the possible consequences of
the project; the materialization and form, which questions the form the project takes; and the
aesthetic of design fiction, which categorizes the project’s political perspective (p. 8–10). This
humanities-based approach suggests that research methodology and validity might be found
in the critical (i.e., ethical and aesthetical) capacity of individual stories.
Embracing a more social-scientific approach, Bardzell, J., Bardzell, S. and Stolterman
(2014) ask:

How can the technologies, practices, norms, and/or ideologies we wish to explore be
expressed in the language of design? During brainstorming, sketching, and prototyping
phases, how do we know if we’re on the right track? How do we assess or evaluate criti-
cal designs? What sorts of effects do we expect, want, or need a critical design to have?
(pp. 1951–1952)

They further argue that critical design in particular needs strategies in place for reading its
works in order to convey the designer’s intended meaning – if only to encourage critical
reflection on design’s role in our present and future lives (p. 1959).
Related is the call for a clear framework for actually doing speculative design: one that
effectively addresses a specific issue or phenomena, rather than a general questioning of
mainstream design. To do so, Bardzell et al. (2012) chose a salient issue in feminist Human-
Computer Interaction research – the gendering of spaces – and created design prototypes to
give to participants in order to elicit responses regarding the perceived provocativeness of the
design. Recalling Dunne and Raby’s (2001) assertion that good critical design sits between
strangeness and normality (p. 63), Bardzell et al. (2012) interviewed participants and reached
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the conclusion that “achieving this ‘slight strangeness’ is anything but straightforward, as it
plays out across conceptual, functional, material, and aesthetic dimensions of design in com-
plex ways” (p. 294). By conducting focused conversations with people engaged in their critical
designs, Bardzell et al. (2012) were also able to highlight the impact on viewers or audiences –
something absent from Dunne and Raby’s critical practice, as they more often focus on what
their intentions are, rather than what their designs actually achieve.
Other ways of using speculative design to engage audiences includes design friction and
critical making. Forlano and Matthew (2014) employ speculative design in their workshop-
based research to encourage stakeholders to engage with frictions and controversies surround-
ing urban technologies. The authors highlight that speculative design is often criticized for
elitism as it “often does not move beyond the realm of the museum exhibit” (p. 11), but
argue that public workshops are effective means of raising questions about participants’ future-
oriented concerns and issues. Critical making is another design research practice that aims to
 Speculative design as research method 89

reflect on social and cultural values and beliefs related to technology. Ratto (2011) explains that
critical making “differs from these practices in its focus on the constructive process as the site
for analysis and its explicit connections to specific scholarly literature” (2011, p. 253). This is
achieved through a “review of relevant literature and compilation of useful concepts and theo-
ries . . . mined for specific ideas that can be metaphorically ‘mapped’ to material prototypes, and
explored through fabrication” (p. 253). In other words, rather than displaying designed objects
to an audience, in critical making it is the act of creation, fabrication, and contextualization
or discussion that is the central focus. Ratto claims that this engagement creates personal
investment in addressing matters of concern, problematizing connections between society and
technology, and creates deeper conceptual understandings of technical innovation. Ultimately,
Ratto distinguishes critical making through the notion of care, the fostering of “a ‘caring for’
that is not typically part of either technical or social scholarly education” (p. 259).
We believe that all these approaches offer productive ways of advancing speculative design
as creative practice and research method, and that a combination of humanities and social-
science devices may provide the greatest range of opportunities for future researchers. The
remainder of this chapter will provide a case study from the first author’s research and end
with shared reflections.

Case study: grow your own lamb

Counting Sheep: NZ Merino in an Internet of Things was a Royal Society of New Zealand-
funded research project that explored how contemporary production and consumption of
New Zealand merino wool and meat might be (re)shaped by emerging technologies like
the Internet of Things. The first part of the project comprised a multi-site ethnography of
NZ merino breeding, and case studies of industry production and marketing strategies. The
second part of the project ‘translated’ this research into a set of four speculative design propo-
sitions for public engagement, published online at: http://countingsheep.info/ along with
an audience survey. Grow Your Own Lamb was a near-future scenario created to explore the
possibility of both emerging technoscience and increased consumer control over animal hus-
bandry and meat production (http://countingsheep.info/grow-your-own-lamb.html).
The first option in this fictional service allows consumers to grow their own in vivo
(paddock-raised) lamb meat (http://countingsheep.info/grow-your-own-lamb-in-vivo.
html). From the selection of breeding rams and ewes, to their care, feeding, and eventual
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slaughter, consumers can use an app (and its associated identification and location technolo-
gies) to track the pregnant ewe, and later, the lamb.
If at any time the consumer is not satisfied with the treatment of the animals, they can
contact the farmer, who is required to respond within six hours; they are also invited to visit
the farm at any time. The scenario relies on audiences recognizing written and visual meta-
phors for cultural authenticity and artisanal food, as well as the well-worn trope of consumer
empowerment through technology use – although in this case the farmer (producer) is argu-
ably disempowered at the same time because of unprecedented surveillance.
The second service option offers in vitro, or lab-raised meat, as an exploration of cultured
meat markets and the possible replacement of farmers by lab technicians, alongside the rise
of a new kind of consumer-scientist (http://countingsheep.info/grow-your-own-lamb-in-
vitro.html). Again relying on a range of surveillance technologies, consumers are encouraged
to constantly monitor the growth of their meat in a refined rural-lab setting.
 FIGURE 7.1 “Merino ewes and lambs raised on lush, green pasture.” Grow Your Own Lamb – In Vivo.

Copyright Anne Galloway.

FIGURE 7.2 “Fresh lamb cutlets produced your way!” Grow Your Own Lamb – In Vivo.
Copyright Anne Galloway and Matasila Freshwater.
Copyright © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. All rights reserved.

FIGURE 7.3 “Cultured food animals listen to Radio New Zealand.” Grow Your Own Lamb – In Vitro.

Copyright Anne Galloway and Matasila Freshwater.

 Speculative design as research method 91

FIGURE 7.4 “Meat and fibre: felted racks of lamb.” Grow Your Own Lamb – In Vitro.
Copyright Anne Galloway and Matasila Freshwater.

Both the visual and written rhetoric were designed to maintain the comforting feel of the
in vivo system of production, while providing tongue-in-cheek features like being able to place
growing meat in a window with a view and Radio New Zealand for company. Playing with a
muscle and wool fibre metaphor, we decided to make the meat out of felted wool; this choice
of craft material allowed us to soften or feminize the stereotypically male space of laboratories,
as well as attempt to normalize a product that is often referred to by media as monstrous.
While we had no personal interest in promoting or condemning either option, it was
our intention as design researchers to offer a (relatively) plausible and appealing service that
might encourage audience reflection on the relationship between technology, producers, and
consumers. Besides limitations inherent in the English-speaking Internet, there was no spe-
cific target audience for our online exhibition – although we did ask survey respondents to
identify their occupation, and we were almost always able to identify location by IP address.

Audience responses & design research reflections

The Grow Your Own Lamb proposition featured what Mike Michael (2012) calls “difficult”
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objects, or ones that:

warp the scientific and the social (as mediated by the designers) – they have implica-
tions that are good and bad, individual and collective, internal and external, biological
and cultural, emancipatory and authoritarian, modest and arrogant, cruel and funny,
academic and commercial, serious and playful, and of course, designerly and scientific.
(p. 542)

Following Haraway (2008), our speculative design work aimed “to build attachment sites
and tie sticky knots to bind intra-acting critters, including people, together in the kinds of
response and regard that change the subject – and the object” (p. 287). But as we argued
above, these responses and changes are not given; rather they are both more and less than what
researchers may intend, expect, or hope.
 92 Anne Galloway and Catherine Caudwell

The first issue we encountered was the kind of public that constituted our audience. Not
only was it quite small – we received only 54 responses to all four scenarios – but a full 40%
of these respondents identified as working in a university, and design was the most commonly
selected personal interest. These data do little to counter the above-mentioned concerns that
speculative design speaks best, if not also predominantly, to itself. However, our research ques-
tions were qualitative not quantitative – and there were interesting contributions made to
‘public’ discourse on how meat is produced and consumed.
The in vivo scenario was generally well received from a consumer perspective, and dem-
onstrated a range of concerns:

This scenario seems . . . appealing because I think I’d enjoy keeping track of my in-vivo
lamb and then enjoying a nice roast.
– Unknown Respondent, Australia

I like the idea that consumers have some say in how their meat is produced, with the
ability to visit the farm.
– Farm Respondent, New Zealand

Interesting because I can have my own lamb and tracked I know who is, where came
from, the freshness of the meat, what the animal ate during his period of life etc.
– Unknown Respondent, Italy

I like the idea of being very conscious of where the food we consume comes from;
and as a consumer having a better ‘big picture’ view of the ecosystem/infrastructure/
heritage/history of food.
– Government Respondent, New Zealand

The idea is not an easy take for most people, since we’re used (at least from where I’m from,
in Brazil) about NOT having a clue about where our food comes from, who the produc-
ers are or how the animal was treated. We’re one of the largest countries exporting meat
worldwide, still we don’t have sufficient information about it’s processes. I’m concerned
about the path we’re leading to the future, and for that I believe this scenario can be appeal-
ing. Consciousness and transparency are necessary. The question is if that sort of informa-
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tion is capable of changing behaviors, of empowering people to act in a different way.

– University Respondent, Brazil

Nevertheless, more ambiguous, and sometimes negative, perspectives arose in relation to what
it might be like for the producer, demonstrating the audience’s comprehension of the com-
plexity of these issues:

Paddock raised I found interesting and provocative. This scenario is an extreme end of
producer/consumer relationship.
– Industry Respondent, New Zealand

General logistics of physically (in vivo) farming each individual . . . and the constant
monitoring of what is going on with each individual animal [is problematic]. Plus the
consumer being able to have so much input into what the farmer is doing would, in
 Speculative design as research method 93

my opinion, add stress to what is already a stressful job. Also not sure how consumers
would cope with getting to the end of ‘raising’ their lamb and then making the choice
on how/when to kill and butcher. Not a lot of people actually want to do ‘the dirty
work,’ myself included, and I have lived rurally most of my life.
– Farm Respondent, New Zealand

Some elements . . . raised go a step too far in that the consumer is driving the process but
probably doesn’t have the experience or knowledge on how best to achieve the result.
Best left to those in the know, I don’t tell my dentist how to fix my teeth, he is the expert.
– Industry Respondent, New Zealand

On the other hand, responses to the in vitro scenario were often conflicted, if not completely
opposed, and unlike the in vivo scenario, respondents commented specifically on our images:

Lab raised I found disturbing and alarming. Not at all interested or would support non
natural food production – yes I would starve before eating it . . . Everything about lab
raised is a bad idea.
– Industry Respondent, New Zealand

Turned off by the blood images and not sure I would want to eat it . . . yet I know this is
likely to be the more sustainable option for future food production and is contributing
to advances in scientific research.
– University Respondent, Australia

I like to think that I’m pro-progress and pro-science but I don’t think I could eat the
meat from the in-vitro scenario. . . . I think the photography on the in-vitro scenario
page gives the strong impression of a lab-based process trying really hard to still seem
‘natural.’Though I think if it was presented as a clean or sterile lab-based process I’d also
find it creepy. Either way it’s got a real sense of the uncanny valley about it.
– Unknown Respondent, Australia

I think it’s probably a good idea for this process to take place in a controlled environ-
ment, like a state of the art lab, in order to establish credibility and a sense of trust and
Copyright © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. All rights reserved.

order with the public . . . Initially, without reading the information included with the
images, I thought this was something grown at home. I thought it was a kit you brought
into your kitchen and grew there on the spot. Maybe instead of having technicians who
grow the meat for the customer, there could be an option where the growing process is
taught to the customer (in a workshop or the like).This way, the customer could take it
home and maybe gain a sense of attachment through meat rearing.
– University Respondent, United States of America

More positive responses were divided between support for the science itself and support for
our design work:

Growing meat in vitro would radically reduce the environmental footprint of the
substance and no animal suffering is involved. It’s a brilliant solution. Many people
might think this concept is unappetizing but if they knew how meat really is produced
 94 Anne Galloway and Catherine Caudwell

traditionally and the consequences of modern industrial farming practices (i.e. antibi-
otic resistance, animal suffering, unsanitary processing, etc.) many would consider in
vitro safer, more sanitary and overall more appealing.
– University Respondent, South Africa

Found the in vitro quite amusing, actually did laugh out loud as the lamb chop had
views of the field outside and got to listen to the radio . . . Great for opening commu-
nication between producers and consumers.
– Farm Respondent, New Zealand

It’s like a technological version of the craft socialism of William Morris. Only chops.
Tasty tasty chops.
– NGO Respondent, Location unknown

The possibility of audience indifference or disinterest rarely comes up in discussions of specu-

lative design, and even if we cannot account for it, we can still ‘see’ it at work here in the
limited number of responses – and it must be said to temper any claims of robust ‘public
engagement.’ Nonetheless, that should not prevent us from questioning what kind of public
was involved. Because the designs sought to elicit reflection on inherently political matters,
such as labour relations and surveillance, it may be tempting to claim them as examples of
adversarial design (cf. DiSalvo, 2012). However, despite respondents having divergent political
positions, we believe that without the opportunity for direct engagement with each other,
an active agonistic politics was actually prevented. Likewise, Le Dantec (2016, p. 122) argues
that “issues, attachments and the work of infrastructuring are the entangled components that
constitute a public” – and although we have evidence for the first two elements, support for
taking citizenly action on these issues and attachments was absent.
Rather than assuming a general public-in-waiting that would respond directly to our
interests and designerly expertise, or even assemble citizen publics, the Grow Your Own Lamb
scenario instead supported what the first author has previously referred to as a temporary,
or mobile, public gathered around a specific matter of concern, whose goal is to (be)come
together (Galloway, 2010). Put a bit differently, our designs can be understood as “capacitators
for moving in and out of different social gels, including the capacity to take on an identity that
is able to speak and to participate in specific contexts” (Sheller, 2004, p. 50) – in this case, our
Copyright © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. All rights reserved.

survey forum. Given the kind of respondents we had, we also find Michael’s (2012) descrip-
tion of speculative design’s public to be useful:

The public seems to be composed of more or less fully rounded persons, more or less
able to confront with cognitive and emotional maturity (for want of a better phrase)
[the] novel . . . designerly artifacts. What is particularly interesting is that this ‘maturity’
is characterized by a capacity to entertain, deal with, and explore the confusion, ambi-
guity, blurriness of the issues associated with these objects. This is a tacit model of the
public where its members suffer neither from intellectual deficit nor citizenly short-
comings – rather, it is a constituency whose role is not to be ‘citizenly’ (whatever form
that might take) within a context of policy making, but thoughtful within a context of
complexity.
(p. 541)
 Speculative design as research method 95

In addition, just as our speculative designs did not seek to solve problems, the kind of public
engagement that arose did not provide solutions. Rather than seeing this as a failure of either
our research or its impact, we suggest that the respondents’ thoughtful engagement indicates its
own form of success. Recalling previously discussed approaches to evaluating design, rather than
defining success by whether or not the intentions of the designer were met – or if we were able
to directly support citizen action – our case of public engagement might be best described as fos-
tering what Haraway (2016) calls “staying with the trouble” and sym-poiesis, or “making-with.”
In summary, we believe that speculative design offers much promise as a form of “unde-
sign” that requires a shift from viewing it solely as a form of research output or possible
solutions to possible problems, to a method of research, or means of asking questions and
generating new connections. Indeed, we might even go so far as to suggest that our case study
produced so many questions for further research that it would have been more productive to
do this work at the beginning of the project instead of the end – or at least in a more itera-
tive fashion. Ultimately, more research is needed, but we are confident that speculative design
offers the potential to support new kinds of publics and different forms of action. Moreover,
in a complex and damaged world, that may be exactly what is needed.

Acknowledgements
The Counting Sheep: NZ Merino in an Internet of Things (2011–2014) research project was
generously supported with a grant from the Royal Society of New Zealand Marsden Fund.
Special thanks to Mata Freshwater, without whose exceptional craft and photography skills,
Grow Your Own Lamb would not have been possible.

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