I almost got fired over a fiddle leaf fig. Not even kidding. It was 2019, and I’d just been promoted to creative director at this boutique marketing agency in downtown Portland. The office was exactly what you’d expect—open concept, concrete floors, those awful overhead fluorescents that make everyone look like they’ve got one foot in the grave. I was struggling, like really struggling, to generate ideas in that space. Every brainstorming session felt like pulling teeth, and my team was starting to notice.
So I did what any desperate, slightly impulsive person would do—I spent $400 on an enormous fiddle leaf fig and lugged it into the office on a random Tuesday morning. The thing was ridiculous—almost six feet tall and so heavy I had to bribe the Lyft driver with an extra $30 just to help me get it into the building. My boss Derek walked in while I was still arranging it beside my desk, dirt scattered all over the floor because of course the pot cracked a little during transport.
“What the hell is that?” he asked, coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth.
“It’s a fiddle leaf fig,” I answered, as if bringing massive plants to work was totally normal behavior. “I thought it might, you know, improve the energy in here.”
Derek looked at me like I’d announced I was quitting to join the circus. “We have a design aesthetic in this office, Jamie. Minimalist, industrial, clean. Not… jungle.” The way he said “jungle” made it sound like I’d dragged in a rotting carcass.
I almost backed down. Almost. But something in me snapped, and I heard myself saying, “Well, the aesthetic isn’t working for me. I can’t think in here. It’s like trying to be creative in an airport terminal or a prison cell.” Yikes. Not my most diplomatic moment.
To make a long, awkward story short, there was a meeting with HR. I was put on a “performance improvement plan” because apparently my inability to create in a sterile box was a personal failing, not an environmental one. The fig stayed, but only because I swore on my life that no dirt would ever touch the precious concrete floors again.
Here’s the weird thing though—that damn plant changed everything. Not overnight, but gradually. First, coworkers started stopping by my desk more often. “How’s Figgy doing?” they’d ask (yes, I named the plant, what of it?). Then I noticed I was having better ideas when sitting near it. Then other people started bringing in plants for their desks—little succulents at first, then more ambitious specimens. Six months later, Derek himself ordered living walls for the conference rooms after a client commented that our office “finally felt like humans worked there.”
That’s how I accidentally stumbled into the world of biophilic office design—this whole approach to workspaces that incorporates natural elements to improve wellbeing and productivity. And honestly? It saved my career. Maybe even my sanity.
I’ve since become a bit obsessed with understanding why that one plant made such a difference, and I’ve completely transformed my home office into what my partner lovingly calls “the rainforest room.” But the science behind it all is actually fascinating, and I’m not just saying that to justify the frankly ridiculous amount I now spend at Portland Nursery every month.
So what exactly is the deal with this biophilic design stuff? And why does it matter so much for office spaces in particular?
The simplest explanation comes from my friend Leila, who’s an environmental psychologist at Reed College. “Humans didn’t evolve to sit under fluorescent lights staring at screens for eight hours a day,” she told me over coffee last month. “Our brains are still wired for natural environments. When we’re cut off from nature, it’s like running software on incompatible hardware. Things start to glitch.”
That “glitching” shows up as decreased focus, increased stress, and the general feeling of wanting to scream into the void around 2:30 PM every workday. Sound familiar? Yeah, me too.
The research backing this up is pretty wild. A study from the University of Oregon found that employees with views of trees and landscapes took an average of 23% less sick time than colleagues facing walls or parking lots. Another from Harvard showed that people working in green-certified offices (with good ventilation, natural light, and plants) scored 26% higher on cognitive function tests than those in conventional workspaces.
But the thing that really blew my mind was learning about something called “attention restoration theory.” The basic idea is that urban environments and screens require “directed attention”—this forced, high-effort focus that depletes our mental resources. Natural elements, on the other hand, engage our “soft fascination”—a more effortless type of attention that actually helps our brains recover. It’s like the difference between running on a treadmill versus walking through a garden. Both involve moving, but one drains you while the other can actually energize you.
When I learned about this, I went full biophilic evangelist at our agency. Poor Derek. He probably still has nightmares about me cornering him by the coffee machine with yet another study about the ROI of moss walls or whatever. But to his credit, he listened. And when our lease was up last year, he actually consulted me about biophilic elements for our new space.
The transformation from our old office to the new one was dramatic. We went from a space that felt like an elegant prison to one that actually makes people happy to come to work. We’ve got living walls, a ridiculous number of plants (I may have gone overboard with the plant budget, but whatever), light fixtures that mimic natural daylight patterns, and these amazing wood acoustic panels that bring warmth while absorbing sound.
The impact on our team has been incredible. Creative output is up. Sick days are down. People actually hang out in the common areas instead of eating sad desk lunches alone. Even client meetings feel different—more collaborative, less adversarial.
My favorite story is about Marcus, our senior copywriter who was notorious for his 3 PM slump. Every day like clockwork, you’d find him zombified at his desk or making his third coffee run. After we moved to the new office, he started taking his laptop to what we call the “forest nook”—this corner with a huge monstera, some comfy chairs, and a window that actually opens. His productivity in the afternoons completely turned around.
“I don’t know what it is,” he told me once, “but I don’t get that foggy feeling anymore. It’s like my brain knows how to reset itself now.”
But look, I get that not everyone can convince their company to drop thousands on a biophilic office overhaul. My first plant-based rebellion was a solo mission, and maybe yours will be too. So here are some stupidly simple ways to bring biophilic design into your workspace, even if you’re working with limited space, budget, or employer enthusiasm:
First, plants. Obviously. But not all plants are created equal when it comes to office conditions. My fiddle leaf fig? Honestly a terrible choice for most offices. They’re divas that need perfect light and humidity. For low-light situations, snake plants and ZZ plants are basically unkillable. For desktop options, try small pothos or spider plants—they actually improve air quality and can tolerate neglect when you’re on vacation and your coworkers inevitably forget to water them.
If plants are entirely out of the question (allergies, building policies, or a proven track record of plant murder), try incorporating natural materials instead. Replace your plastic desk accessories with wood, stone, or ceramic versions. Bamboo organizers, river rock paperweights—these small touches actually make a difference because they connect you to natural textures and patterns.
Light is another huge component of biophilic design that’s often overlooked. If you can, position your desk near a window—natural light is gold for your circadian rhythm and overall mood. Can’t move your workspace? Consider a light therapy lamp that mimics natural sunlight. I got one from Lumie last year for about $90, and it’s been a game-changer during Portland’s infamously gray winters.
Sounds weird, but smell is also part of the biophilic experience. Our olfactory system is directly connected to brain areas involving emotion and memory. A subtle natural scent can transform your work experience. I keep a small diffuser with pine or cedar essential oil on my desk—just enough to give a hint of forest without annoying my neighbors.
And lastly, if all else fails, views of nature can be simulated. I’m not talking about those tacky beach posters from the 90s. Studies show that even high-quality photographic or artistic representations of natural scenes can provide some of the cognitive benefits of actual nature. My friend Tasha, who works in a windowless office in the basement of a medical building, has this gorgeous ultrawide monitor with a rotating gallery of forest scenes as her background. “It’s not the same as a window,” she told me, “but it genuinely helps me feel less boxed in.”
The thing about biophilic office design that I find most compelling isn’t just that it makes us more productive (though it definitely does). It’s that it makes work feel less like something we have to recover from at the end of each day. Traditional offices treat humans like interchangeable parts in a machine—plug in, perform function, go home, recharge, repeat. Biophilic spaces recognize that we’re organisms with specific environmental needs, and when those needs are met, we actually thrive instead of just survive.
I think about this every time I see Figgy, who’s still thriving three years later and has been joined by about 25 plant siblings throughout our office. That $400 impulse purchase was really an investment in reclaiming my humanity at work. And despite the initial drama (and the dirt on the floor, sorry again about that, Derek), it sparked a transformation that benefited everyone.
So maybe start small. Bring in a plant. Open a window. Put a rock on your desk. Find some tiny way to reconnect with natural elements during your workday. Your brain will thank you, your creativity will blossom, and who knows—you might accidentally start a biophilic revolution in your own workplace.
Just maybe don’t crack the pot and spill dirt everywhere on day one. Learn from my mistakes, people.
