The First Follower

Why Every Human-Centered Designed Solution Is Different (And Why That's the Point)

Now you need actually to do the thing. The key is that real human-centered design begins with an exercise I use in every class at UVA and in every workshop I lead. It’s called the Wallet Exercise, and it’s deceptively simple.

Here’s what happens: You have ninety minutes to redesign your partner’s wallet.

That’s it. That’s the prompt. Same for everyone in the room. Each step is the same for all participants: build empathy, define problems to solve, ideate solutions, prototype your solution, test with your partner, and present.

And here’s what nobody expects: No one ever builds a wallet.

It’s never a wallet

The Wallet Exercise, originally developed at Stanford’s d.school, is a rapid design thinking process that condenses the entire human-centered design method into 90 minutes. Interview. Observe. Ideate. Prototype. Test. Iterate.

But what makes it powerful isn’t the process. It’s what people create.

Someone who just lost their wallet doesn’t need a better wallet. They need a system that will never let them feel that panic again. So, they design a tracking device. A backup plan. A way to recover what was lost.

Someone trying to lose weight doesn’t need more card slots. They need accountability. So, they design a wallet with a workout tracker. A daily reminder. A visual cue to stay on target.

Someone carrying their grandmother’s photo in a worn plastic sleeve doesn’t need leather or RFID protection. They need a way to honor memory. So, they design something that keeps that photo visible, protected, sacred.

The wallet is never about the wallet. It’s a mirror of what matters to someone right now.

Recent loss. Future goals. Daily struggles. Hidden values. The “solution” is always a window into their life, not an answer to a design prompt.

And this is where the magic happens.

Everyone starts the same place. No one ends up at the same destination.

When I run this exercise, whether in a design thinking workshop or teaching Social Enterprise students how to address food insecurity, I give everyone the same prompt. The same time limit. The same materials. The same instructions.

And every single person ends up somewhere completely different.

One of my classes after presenting their wallets.

Twenty people in the room. Twenty wildly different “wallets.” Different problems. Different insights. Different solutions. Different roads taken.

Traditional problem-solving sees this as chaos. As inefficiency. As a sign we need to standardize the process, find the pattern, identify best practices, and get everyone on the same page.

However, human-centered design views this divergence as the very point.

The fact that everyone ends up in a different place isn’t a bug. It’s proof that the process is working. Each path reveals something true. Each divergence is data. Each person is standing in a different yellow wood, looking at a different fork in the road.

We are living out Robert Frost’s poem in real life. Two roads diverged. And everyone, rightfully, takes the one less traveled.

The question isn’t how to get everyone on the same road. The question is: Are you willing to honor that each person is walking a different one?

Iteration is how you navigate divergence.

Here’s the moment in the Wallet Exercise that changes everything.

After the rapid prototype is built and the designer has poured their insights, empathy, and creativity into it, they hand it to their partner. The person they interviewed. The person they designed for.

And then comes the reveal: The customer presents the solution to the group. Not the designer. The customer.

This is intentional. This is the entire point.

Because when the person you designed for holds your creation and explains it to others, something profound happens. They reveal, in front of everyone, whether you actually heard them. Whether the thing you made reflects what they need. Whether it works.

And here’s what I tell my students: They will tell you how it won’t work. They will tell you why people won’t like it. They will tell you what’s missing, what’s wrong, and what needs to change.

They have nothing to lose in telling you the truth.

But you do. You have ego. You have investment. You have the story you told yourself about being helpful. And your job, the hard job, is not to take it personally. To value their trust in giving you an honest answer instead of protecting your feelings.

This is iteration. Not tweaking your design to make you feel better. But creating space for someone to tell you the truth about whether your solution actually serves them.

And then, this is the critical part: you ask them, ‘What needs to be different?’ What needs to be better? What should we add? What should we remove? What would actually make this useful?

You put them in the driver’s seat. Maybe for the first time.

Because iteration isn’t about perfecting your solution, it’s about transferring agency. It’s about saying: You know your road better than I do. Show me where it goes next.

Leadership is being the first follower.

There’s a TED talk by Derek Sivers called “How to Start a Movement” that’s less than three minutes long and explains everything about civic innovation.

Sivers makes a simple point: The first dancer gets the glory, but the first follower creates the movement. The first follower transforms a lone nut into a leader. The first follower shows everyone else that it’s safe to join in.

Leadership isn’t being the first to act. It’s being the first to acknowledge that what someone else is doing is worth following.

In civic work, this makes all the difference.

You’re not the visionary who shows up with the solution. You’re the first follower who says: What you’re already doing matters. Let me help you do more of it.

The corner store owner who lets customers pay tomorrow when they’re short? That’s already working. Your job isn’t to replace it with a better program. Your job is to be the first follower who asks: How can we support what you’re already doing?

The church that shares meals on Wednesdays? That’s already a solution. Your job isn’t to centralize, scale, or bring it under your umbrella. Your job is to amplify. To connect. To be the first follower.

This is what iteration looks like at scale. You don’t design the movement. You follow the first dancer. You validate what’s already working. You help someone else lead.

And then it’s your turn to help the next person do the same thing.

Your first move: Walk the road with them

So, here’s where we are after three articles:

Part 1: What I’ve been learning on the road: You learned to see differently. The view from here is not the view from there. You realized you’ve been designing from your desk instead of from people’s lived experience.

Part 2: You actually haven’t started yet: You committed to the long game. You understand that empathy requires trust, and trust takes time. You’re willing to venture confidently yet uncomfortably into the fourth quadrant, the things you don’t know you don’t know.

Part 3: The First Follower: Now you know your first move. Walk the road with them, even when it diverges from yours.

Don’t try to solve for everyone at once. Don’t build a program before you understand the existing ecosystem. Don’t design a wallet when what someone needs is a way to honor their grandmother’s memory.

Pick one person. Start with one honest conversation. Build one thing together. Hand it to them and ask, “Does this work?” What needs to change?

Listen to the answer even when it hurts your ego. Especially when it hurts your ego.

Then ask: What’s next? What would make this better? What should we try?

Put them in the driver’s seat. Be the first follower. Validate what they’re already doing that works.

That’s iteration. That’s human-centered design. That’s civic innovation.

It won’t look like anyone else’s solution because it shouldn’t. Everyone’s standing in a different yellow wood. Everyone’s taking a different road. And that’s not a problem to fix. That’s the point.

Your job isn’t to get everyone on the same road. Your job is to walk their road with them. To honor the divergence. To be the first follower who says: Where you’re going matters. Let me help you get there.

That’s how movements start. Not with the lone dancer. With the first follower who makes it safe for everyone else to join in.

So go ahead. Take the first step. Find your first dancer. Be their first follower.

The road diverges ahead. Walk it anyway.