no one had any clothes, and companies like Sony had to give their
workers something to wear
each day,” Jobs recalled. Over the years the uniforms developed their own signature style,
especially at companies such as Sony, and it became a way of bonding workers to the company. “I
decided that I wanted that type of bonding for Apple,” Jobs recalled.
Sony, with its appreciation for style, had gotten the famous designer Issey Miyake to create one
of its uniforms. It was a jacket made of ripstop nylon with sleeves that could unzip to make it a
vest. “So I called Issey and asked him to design a vest for Apple,” Jobs recalled. “I came back
with some samples and told everyone it would be great if we would all wear these vests. Oh man,
did I get booed off the stage. Everybody hated the idea.”
In the process, however, he became friends with Miyake and would visit him regularly. He also
came to like the idea of having a uniform for himself, because of both its daily convenience (the
rationale he claimed) and its ability to convey a signature style. “So I asked Issey to make me
some of his black turtlenecks that I liked, and he made me like a hundred of them.”
Jobs noticed
my surprise when he told this story, so he gestured to them stacked up in the closet. “That’s what I
wear,” he said. “I have enough to last for the rest of my life.”
Despite his autocratic nature—he never worshipped at the altar of consensus—Jobs worked
hard to foster a culture of collaboration at Apple. Many companies pride themselves on having
few meetings. Jobs had many: an executive staff session every Monday, a marketing strategy
session all Wednesday afternoon, and endless product review sessions. Still allergic to
PowerPoints and formal presentations, he insisted that the people around the table hash out issues
from various vantages and the perspectives of different departments.
Because he believed that Apple’s great advantage was its integration of the whole widget—
from design to hardware to software to content—he wanted all departments at the company to
work together in parallel. The phrases he used were “deep collaboration” and “concurrent
engineering.” Instead of a development process in which a product would be passed sequentially
from engineering to design to manufacturing to marketing and distribution, these various
departments collaborated simultaneously. “Our method was
to develop integrated products, and
that meant our process had to be integrated and collaborative,” Jobs said.
This approach also applied to key hires. He would have candidates meet the top leaders—Cook,
Tevanian, Schiller, Rubinstein, Ive—rather than just the managers of the department where they
wanted to work. “Then we all get together without the person and talk about whether they’ll fit
in,” Jobs said. His goal was to be vigilant against “the bozo explosion” that leads to a company’s
being larded with second-rate talent:
For most things in life, the range between best and average is 30% or so. The best airplane flight, the
best meal, they may be 30% better than your average one. What I saw with Woz was somebody who
was fifty times better than the average engineer. He could have meetings in his head. The Mac team was
an attempt to build a whole team like that, A players. People said they wouldn’t get along, they’d hate
working with each other. But I realized that A players like to work with A players, they just didn’t like
working with C players. At Pixar, it was a whole company of A players. When I got back to Apple, that’
s what I decided to try to do. You need to have a collaborative hiring process. When we hire someone,
even if they’re
going to be in marketing, I will have them talk to the design folks and the engineers. My
role model was J. Robert Oppenheimer. I read about the type of people he sought for the atom bomb
project. I wasn’t nearly as good as he was, but that’s what I aspired to do.
The process could be intimidating, but Jobs had an eye for talent. When they were looking for
people to design the graphical interface for Apple’s new operating system, Jobs got an email from
a young man and invited him in. The applicant was nervous, and the meeting did not go well.
Later that day Jobs bumped into him, dejected, sitting in the lobby. The guy asked if he could just
show him one of his ideas, so Jobs looked over his shoulder and saw a little demo, using Adobe
Director, of a way to fit more icons in the dock at the bottom of a screen.
When the guy moved the
cursor over the icons crammed into the dock, the cursor mimicked a magnifying glass and made
each icon balloon bigger. “I said, ‘My God,’ and hired him on the spot,” Jobs recalled. The feature
became a lovable part of Mac OSX, and the designer went on to design such things as inertial
scrolling for multi-touch screens (the delightful feature that makes the screen keep gliding for a
moment after you’ve finished swiping).
Jobs’s experiences at NeXT had matured him, but they had not mellowed him much. He still
had no license plate on his Mercedes, and he still parked in the handicapped spaces next to the
front door, sometimes straddling two slots. It became a running gag. Employees made signs
saying, “Park Different,” and someone painted over the handicapped
wheelchair symbol with a
Mercedes logo.
People were allowed, even encouraged, to challenge him, and sometimes he would respect
them for it. But you had to be prepared for him to attack you, even bite your head off, as he
processed your ideas. “You never win an argument with him at the time, but sometimes you
eventually win,” said James Vincent, the creative young adman who worked with Lee Clow. “You
propose something and he declares, ‘That’s a stupid idea,’ and later he comes back and says,
‘Here’s what we’re going to do.’ And you want to say, ‘That’s what I
told you two weeks ago and
you said that’s a stupid idea.’ But you can’t do that. Instead you say, ‘That’s a great idea, let’s do
that.’”
People also had to put up with Jobs’s occasional irrational or incorrect assertions. To both
family and colleagues, he was apt to declare, with great conviction, some scientific or historical
fact that had scant relationship to reality. “There can be something he knows absolutely nothing
about, and because of his crazy style and utter conviction, he can convince people that he knows
what he’s talking about,” said Ive, who described the trait as weirdly endearing. Yet with his eye
for detail, Jobs sometimes correctly pounced on tiny things others had missed.
Lee Clow recalled
showing Jobs a cut of a commercial, making some minor changes he requested, and then being
assaulted with a tirade about how the ad had been completely destroyed. “He discovered we had
cut two extra frames, something so fleeting it was nearly impossible to notice,” said Clow. “But he
wanted to be sure that an image hit at the exact moment as a beat of the music, and he was totally
right.”
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