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How Crafting Cabinets Taught Me to Design Experiences
Robert Trahan
Partner, Mass Productive
When I started working in a cabinet shop right after high school, I had no idea that the hours spent learning how to use a table saw or measure precisely would one day shape the way I approach user experience (UX) design. Back then, the goal was simple: make cabinets that fit, look good, and work well. But as I look back now, I see how each of those small lessons—whether it was about precision, attention to detail, or understanding human comfort—planted seeds that would later grow into something more profound.
I’ve come to realize that creativity is rarely about working in a straight line from one skill to the next. It’s about gathering experiences, many of which don’t seem connected at first, and allowing them to blend, mature, and inform each other over time. Each experience has a way of revealing new layers of meaning and connection, often in unexpected ways. Here’s how my time building furniture became a foundation for UX design—and how it taught me that we should approach everything we do with intention, because we never know when that knowledge will be useful again.
In woodworking, precision isn’t optional; it’s essential. Learning to read a tape measure accurately, down to the tiniest fraction of an inch, was my first introduction to this discipline. A deviation as small as the thickness of a pencil line can add up to a cabinet door that doesn’t close properly or a drawer that won’t fit. At the time, it felt like learning to split hairs—but now, I see how it instilled a respect for accuracy that extends far beyond the physical craft.
In UX design, this same commitment to precision matters just as much. A digital interface that’s even slightly misaligned or unintuitive can jar the user, breaking the flow of their experience. And while I have a deep respect for this level of accuracy, I also find it to be an ongoing challenge—something I constantly work on, often with the help of my team.
Working alongside detail-oriented people like Hiromi, I’m reminded of the importance of careful observation. Hiromi encourages me to look more closely at the details, helping me to see how small adjustments can impact the user experience. Together, we ensure that these insights are effectively communicated to development teams so that the final product reflects this shared commitment to precision. My experience in woodworking laid the groundwork, but it’s through collaboration that I continue to refine this skill, learning how to translate respect for detail into actionable guidance for digital projects.
One of the things you learn in furniture making is that standards exist for a reason. There’s a common height for kitchen counters, a certain distance for a toe kick, and specific dimensions for tables and chairs. These measurements create a sense of comfort that people may not consciously notice, but they feel it when something is off. I didn’t think much of these "rules" at the time, but they made me realize how subtle adjustments can shape how we feel in a space.
In UX, we rely on similar standards. Users expect navigation bars to be in familiar places and buttons to look clickable. These conventions aren’t arbitrary; they’re based on what feels natural to people, on what allows them to move through digital spaces comfortably. Looking back, I see how understanding these standards in furniture taught me to consider user comfort in digital design. It’s not always about reinventing the wheel; sometimes it’s about honoring the foundations that help people feel at ease.
Interestingly, there are times when subtle discomfort is actually intentional. Some fast-food restaurants, for instance, use slightly “off” standards—making tables just a bit too tall or chairs slightly uncomfortable—to encourage people not to linger. This insight reveals that standards can be adjusted strategically to influence user behavior, creating comfort or discomfort depending on the goal. In digital design, we can use this principle to guide users in certain directions: fostering a seamless, engaging experience in areas we want them to explore and perhaps discouraging interaction with other elements when appropriate. Understanding these nuances allows us to craft spaces, whether physical or digital, that meet users’ needs in ways that go deeper than what’s visible on the surface.
In woodworking, I quickly learned that good design isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about usability. For instance, when designing a kitchen layout, you have to consider practical details that might seem small but make a significant difference in day-to-day use. For example, which way should a cabinet door open—to the left or the right? It depends on where someone is most likely to be standing when reaching for that cabinet. Similarly, how deep should a drawer be? This depends on the contents that drawer will hold and where it’s located in the kitchen. Each decision is rooted in real-world use, anticipating the needs of the person interacting with the furniture.
This awareness translated naturally to UX, where functionality is the backbone of good design. Whether it’s making sure a button is easy to find, determining the best layout for content, or ensuring that pages load quickly, usability is always at the forefront. Just as the cabinets I built had to work as well as they looked, I approach digital products with the same philosophy: every feature, every interaction must serve a purpose, rooted in real-world needs. It’s not enough for design to be visually appealing; it has to support the user’s goals in a meaningful way. My experience in woodworking instilled a respect for practical usability that now shapes everything I create digitally, reminding me that design is truly successful when it’s both beautiful and effortlessly functional.
Woodworking is full of trial and error. There were times we’d install cabinets only to realize adjustments were needed, or we’d find ways to improve efficiency as we repeated the same tasks. Each project refined my skills and taught me that improvement is a gradual, sometimes messy process. At the time, it just felt like solving problems, but now I recognize it as the foundation of an iterative mindset.
In UX, iteration is the path to a better product. We test, gather feedback, and make adjustments, knowing that every round of refinement brings us closer to an experience that truly resonates with users. Woodworking taught me to embrace the process of improvement, to see each iteration not as a correction but as a step toward something greater.
What’s particularly empowering in software, though, is that iteration comes at a much lower cost than in woodworking. Building and adjusting a cabinet has real material costs; if you mess up, you’re dealing with wasted wood, time, and sometimes an entire redesign. But in UX, we’re able to create, test, and refine ideas with far less overhead, allowing for experimentation and creativity without the weight of costly materials. This freedom to iterate quickly and without the same level of risk means we can be bolder, taking more risks to find solutions that truly meet users' needs. It’s a mindset that woodworking instilled in me, but one that software allows me to explore in a more agile, dynamic way.
Looking back, I realize that each piece of furniture I built was more than just a product—it was part of a journey of learning. At the time, it was hard to see the broader lessons I was absorbing. I didn’t know that the discipline of precision, the respect for standards, or the appreciation for real-world usability would one day shape my work in UX design. But each experience, however unrelated it seemed, was building a foundation for the work I do now.
In the end, creativity is about connecting these experiences, finding the patterns and parallels that weren’t visible before. The lessons from my time in the shop have taught me to approach everything I do with intent, knowing that today’s skills could be tomorrow’s insights. The work we do today has value, even if we don’t fully understand it yet. And that, I think, is one of the most beautiful aspects of creativity—its ability to reveal meaning over time, weaving a tapestry from all the moments we thought were isolated threads.
Whether I’m building a cabinet or designing a user interface, I approach my work with the same intent: to create something meaningful, something that serves a purpose and resonates with people. Woodworking taught me the power of hands-on learning, the importance of precision, and the value of iterative improvement. Today, these principles guide me in UX design, reminding me that every skill, every lesson, and every experience has the potential to shape our path in ways we can’t yet see.
Each project, each moment of creative effort, adds a layer to our journey. And as I continue to learn and grow, I carry with me the knowledge that nothing is wasted—that every experience, whether in the workshop or the digital world, has a purpose, and that the work we do today is building tomorrow’s foundation.