Even now, I can’t get over the shocked expression on Lisa’s face when she entered her newly renovated home office. She literally walked three steps into the office, swayed a bit, clung to the frame, and asked, “Why is everything… moving?” Definitely not the response we were looking for after spending six weeks designing someone’s office.
Let me explain the worst thing I personally did. I went ahead and planted a breathtaking “living wall” complete with a water feature that recirculated through copper pipes behind the plants. All of my biophilic design stuff suggested the gentle sound of flowing water lowers stress and enhances creativity. Unfortunately, in my excitement to design a perfect nature connected edspace, I forgot one little detail: the water flowing across her line of sight was exacerbating Lisa’s vertigo.
After twenty minutes, she was experiencing a debilitating migraine. An hour later, I was desperately trying to take apart my so-called ‘masterpiece’ while her husband Mark was standing in the hallway glaring daggers at me. Safe to say, not one of my more dignified professional moments.
That awkward disaster taught me something about biophilic design that I had not fully understood despite my years of studying it; the effects are profoundly personal, and at times significantly unpredictable. What comforts one individual can genuinely unnerve another. For the majority, concentrating is enhanced, but for some, it becomes a diversion. The manner in which we respond—with our bodies and emotions—to natural components is not only theoretical but also concrete, quantifiable, and divergent across individuals.
I mean, I did have the research at hand. I’ve spoken about how views of nature reduce recovery times in hospitals by 8.5% or how office workers with access to greenery and windows report 15% greater wellbeing. But somehow I had gotten wrapped up in the visuals and forgotten that these spaces are designed for real, complex humans with sensitivities and requirements.
So, after endlessly apologizing to Lisa and drastically redesigning her office—this time with a natural materials tabletop fountain that could be turned off and plants that would remain in the correct position—I became captivated with documenting how biophilic design principles quantitively impacted the individuals in my spaces. Not the staged Instagram photos of “before” and “after,” but the raw experience. The authentic material.
Brian runs a software development firm in Portland’s downtown area. When he brought me in last year for a redesign, he was refreshingly blunt. “I don’t care if it looks nice,” he said. “I care if my team stops quitting after eight months. Fix my retention problem.”
Their existing office was quite literally the most soulless tech space imaginable. There were interior rooms that had no windows. Fighting for survival under the dim and fluorescent buzz which boxed them in and made every employee akin to a zombie in some grimm audition. Conversaion in the air was so stale, one could see the endless loops of prevous days converations stuck in purgatory. There was no access to the outside world and no natural elements.
Dozens of plants, specifically selected for their filters, along with reclaimed wood and stone were brought in. Walls were knocked down so there were sight lines to the windows, dozen were added and along with a small interior courtyard which consisted of a vertical garden and seeting area, with full-spectrum lighting which imitated natural daylight patterns.
What’s important here is that I didn’t just walk away after handing him the keys. Brian was persuaded to allow me to carry out an experiment. For three months prior and six months post renovation, we monitored a few metrics: sick leaves taken, attrition rate, self-evaluated productivity alongside their satisfaction scores, and even the total submitted ideas towards improving the company.
Truly, the outcomes were a bit startling. Sick leaves taken fell by 22%. The turnover rate changed from 42% per annum to 17% the subsequent year. Self-evaluated productivity scores surged by an average of 31%, while the figure of submitted creative solutions to management triad.
However, the most intriguing findings came from the qualitative data—the responses employees shared in feedback surveys and the in-depth interviews. One particular developer, Maya, told me that she had suffered from chronic headaches relating to her work for years and always thought it was eye-strain. After three weeks in the new space, her headaches had almost disappeared. She realized that the fluorescent lights that tended to flicker were conducive to migraines she didn’t know she had.
Another colleague, Teo, noted that he had begun to sleep better within days of the renovation. “I never understood just how broken my sleep schedule was until it decided to start healing,” he said. The full-spectrum lighting that shifted throughout the day to mimic natural patterns had essentially reset his internal clock.
And Alyssa, one of their senior engineers who Brian thought might quit at any given day, “For the first time, I feel like this company values me as a whole person and not simply a coding machine. They care about my wellbeing enough to create a space where I can thrive. Why would I leave that?”
That almost made me tear up right there in the middle of the office.
Those were the most straightforward to assess. Air quality monitoring showed a 34% reduction in volatile organic compound (VOCs) and 27% increases in oxygen level during working hours because of all those carefully selected plants. The natural materials we used, like cork flooring, wool upholstered furniture, and wooden desks, eliminated many of the synthetic off-gassing sources prevalent in most modern office spaces.
My friend Natalie, an environmental engineer, assisted me with some of the effects measurements. In one of the weekends when the office was empty, she came with all these advanced monitors and testing apparatus. It was like we were a couple of mad scientists running around taking readings.
“Can you believe it?” she exclaimed while looking at one of the monitors. “The particulate matter in here is lower than in most hospitals. These plants are working overtime.”
Clearing the air space of toxins such as formaldehyde, benzene, and trichloroethylene was vital, hence, we made sure to select snake plants, peace lilies, and spider plants as they were proven effective by NASA. I positioned them strategically throughout the space, particularly where air circulation was not as free.
The improvements in lighting were another major factor. Instead of using full-spectrum LEDs which blared, we strategically placed windows in the office to maximize natural light and programmed the LEDs to simulate a more natural day-night cycle – cool bluer light in the morning to promote alertness, shifting to warmer tones by afternoon to ease bodies into rest.
About six months down the line after the renovation, when I checked in with Brian, he had this spreadsheet handy that he had been working on. The man sure loves his data and in his case, I can give him that. He tracks everything and I mean everything from meeting efficiency to code error rates.
“Look at this.” He said while pointing towards the graph which had a steady upward trend in productivity metrics. “Whatever you did with those plants and lights and stuff… it’s working. My team is happier, healthier, and frankly, making me more money.”
It was prudent to retain the redudance so let’s make it Brian’s character trait. Leave it to Brian to reduce it all to the bottom line, but hey, I’m glad to receive conclusion that makes a ‘mark’ to Brian.
The psychological effects of the redesign were harder to quantify, but during my follow up interviews I could easily notice them although they were impossible to miss. Employees consistently reported feeling ‘calmer,’ ‘more focused,’ and ‘less drained’ towards the end of the work day. Several mentioned that they no longer experienced the 3 pm energy crash that previously sent them diving for the coffee pot.
An even more unanticipated effect was observed on collaboration and social interactions. The new design added several biophilic “breakout” spaces—small clusters of seating surrounded by shrubs, with natural materials and views of green spaces where possible. These spots quickly became the most desirable locations for ad hoc meetings and collaborative activities.
“People actually talk to each other now,” Brian told me, somewhat surprised. “Like, departments that never interacted before are suddenly having conversations and solving problems together. It’s weird. Good weird, but weird.”
I told him that this was, in fact, the effect of biophilic design, which spaces have documented effects. Research from the University of Oregon showed the employees who could see, trees and landscapes, took an average of 57 hours less sick leave per year than those without the views. A study from the University of Exeter proved that in employees working in spaces with natural elements became more productive by 15%, reporting significantly higher levels of well-being and creativity.
The more psychological effects these natural features were having on his team were not disclosed to Brian because, in my opinion, explaining would have shocked him. Types of elements such as natural constructions stimuli activate the parasympathetic nervous system which is also referred to as rest-and-digest system as opposed to “fight or flight”; Which decreases cortisol and adrenaline while increasing serotonin and dopamine, the feel-good neurotransmitters.
This makes people feel good does not just stop there. People’s interactions change on a fundamental level. Compassion goes down, creativity goes up, collaboration goes up, and defensiveness to criticism and challenges goes down. Failure to be in a low sustained state of stress which is synonymous to the majority of conventional office setups rationale in control sheds some light on this phenomenon.
During the visits for follow-up I got to see live a product development meeting that I consider to be one of the most straining tems of the more constructed areas of the old office. Apparently these two team members strongly disagree each have a different technical approach to resolving an issue. One of the former spaces used to have support from previous coworkers saw this as a passive-aggressive spiral into violent confrontation or vice-versa loop.
They had a productive discussion while sitting at a plant encircled, well-lit corner, while soothing background sounds emerged from a small fountain on the desk. They came up with compromises, listened to one another, and found common ground, integrating the most effective aspects of both proposals into a unified solution.
Jun, one of the senior developers who has worked with the company for several years, later pulled me aside. “I don’t know if it is just me getting older or what,” he began, “but I used to get angry, a lot, and lately, not so much. I can really listen to what is being said instead of waiting for my turn to respond.”
His explanation might have seemed too simple, too straightforward, yet accurate. After all, it wasn’t a mere matter of him getting older, it was rather the fact that his environment was aligned in a supportive, rather than triggering stress response, encouraging his best self.
Research surrounding those benefits has been particularly interesting to track. A variety of studies confirm that the presence of natural elements positively impacts attentiveness, memory, and problem solving skills. A 2015 Journal of Environmental Psychology study uncovered that employees who were able to view nature performed 20% better on mental functioning and attention tests compared to those who couldn’t.
I remember when I persuaded my friend Ellie, who owns a small graphic design studio in Southeast Portland, to redesign her office using biophilic principles. The designers on her team of five were skeptical, to say the least, and so was Rafael, who vocally argued that plants are just dust collectors with extra steps.
Three months after the renovation, Rafael confessed, albeit a bit too timidly, that his creative block rate had dropped drastically. “Hitting a wall and just staring at my screen day dreaming was part of my daily routine, but now I face this only once a week,” he told me. “15 rogue ferns around the room changed everything. If I do hit a wall, I sit next to the ridiculous fern for ten minutes and my mind returns to my control,” he claimed.
By the way, the fern Rafael refers to is a Boston fern, which is absolutely thriving in their studio. Now he gets genuinely worried when it drops a frond and with some convincing, he now refers to it as his creative consultant.
Designing attractive biophilic spaces does not fix unhealthy organizational dynamics, nor does it resolve toxic management or company cultures. I recall how Brian’s business improved after our redesign, yet it was apparent that the success was built on decent pay, reasonable expectations, and management that was at least somewhat willing to change.
And, as my experience with poor Lisa’s vertigo illustrates, the outcomes are not all-encompassing. What is optimal for 95% of people could be truly detrimental for others. This is why ISTU’s “Design For Everyone” notion resonates with me; it demands further exploration. For everyone else who does not have effective solutions posed to them, I ask all primary users of space specifics during interviews-screens are easier to use and control at this stage of planning.
As an example, for most, natural sounds like flowing water or rustling leaves decrease stress levels, however, for those with sensory processing sensitivities, such sounds may be unbelievably distracting. Likewise, most people benefit from being exposed maximally to natural light. However, some people with photosensitiveness or certain migraine triggers need more control over their light exposure.
The best biophilic designs integrate a sense of choice, offering variety in light levels, sounds, and types of natural features present in the space to allow users to navigate according to their current needs. This replicates the way we interact with nature, as we instinctively move towards shade when feeling hot, water when thirsty, or sheltered spots when needing to rest.
I’m involved in a design project for a community mental health center located here in Portland, which is incorporating this principle. We’re designing a set of biophilic “microenvironments” throughout the facility, such as an energizing and activating bright atrium filled with plants, a darker cocoon-like calming area with soft water sounds and heavy natural textiles, and a midrange space with gentle patterns of light and soft natural features.
Clients and therapists will have the option to select the environment they feel best supports their current mindset and therapeutic objectives. It is the application of biophilic design not as an aesthetic element, but as an active intervention.
Especially excited for clients with trauma histories is how this might help according to the center’s clinical director, Dr. Samira Wade. She explained, “Having spaces that support the regulation of the nervous system—that make it easier to feel calm and grounded—could be transformative for our work.”
Besides that, I’m collecting data on this project alongside an OHSU researcher. Their study includes tracking heart rate variability, cortisol levels, self-reported anxiety, and therapeutic outcomes. I’m particularly excited to see if specific biophilic elements correlate to particular psychological effects.
While focusing on measurable outcomes, I try to reconnect people with the elements of nature in a profound way. Creating spaces that are insightful and honor our evolutionary biology is meaningful—they recognize we are animals that as species evolved in relation to the natural world.
As my mentor Carmen always says,”We spent 99% of our species’ history in nature. Did we really think we could ignore that without consequences?”
From the profile of prominent architects and designers, I have come to understand that biophilic design is far more complex than its superficial aesthetics. Over time, I have come to realize that it is rooted in empirical research and, perhaps, it is slowly tending towards adopting a personal philosophy. As a biophiliac, I have made changes to my home and workplace, which has profoundly impacted my wellbeing. My seasonal depression lifts more easily. My sleep quality has improved. I feel more creative, more centered, more embodied.
Oh yes, and I still get many things quite wonderfully wrong, like the one time I built a moss-covered green wall for a client who, It turned out, was terribly allergic to the preservation chemicals. (For that, my sincerest apologies, David.) Yet each of these blunders brings me one step closer to capturing the elusive التضاريس, or terrain, of how we as people respond to natural elements.
The biophilic design literature that has emerged is certainly noteworthy, but for me, its impact is best demonstrated in the anecdotes. In one account, Lisa loved her new office so much that she began working from home more frequently. In another case, Brian’s team developed a strange yet charming practice of referring to each of the plants in the office by name. Rafael had his “creative consultant” fern, while a therapy client who was quiet sobbing shared with Dr. Wade that the new calming room was, “the first place I’ve felt safe in years,” which elicited equally emotional responses from the rest of the session.
As my examples illustrate, biophilic design has effects on our bodies, minds, emotions, and communities. These effects are not simply nice to have in an era where we spend 90% of out time indoors. As someone who once caused a vertigo attack with an overzealous water feature, I can tell you that achieving the goal of uncompromising decency design—truly getting it right for the specific humans who will inhabit a space—is an art and a science worth mastering.
