Mr. Bailey, as a podcaster, journalist and author, how do you organize your story ideas?
I wish I were more organized! But I do have a notebook that has some ideas in it. I also leave notes in the Notes app on my iPhone to return to. Oftentimes I forget that they're even there. But I actually think the best ideas are the ones that tend to stick in your mind, the ones that you don’t need to write down, that you can't get out of your head, that almost turn into an obsession, you can't let them go… Those are the best ideas. Those are the ones that I end up doing. And rather than writing it down, sometimes it takes saying something out loud to make it feel more real. I can actually think back to years ago, sitting at a bar and having an idea about a company called The Slowdown, where we focused on longform media and slower consumption of media. Once I said it out loud, it felt like it could become real.
Do you think if time weren’t a constraint, you’d act on all your ideas, good and bad?
If time weren't a constraint, I don't know that I'd be able to get anything done. I feel like deadlines are the best editor because they force you to consider: how do I make the most of the time that I have? And the ultimate deadline is death, right? So we have our life, and to me as someone who experienced a near death event very early on in my life, I feel like I've always existed in that space, realizing that there is an end all, be all deadline, and that is death, however that may occur. And so what is it I'm going to do with the gift of time that I have here today, hopefully tomorrow and the next day? If my deadline were extended so far out, I just sense that my days would be kind of a random hodgepodge of: do this thing, do that thing, and I'm not sure I would ever find an end result.
“It’s simply an internal compass thing for me. My taste is based on a moment where I am paying attention, where I am sensing something; it’s the response I have...”
I guess you have to learn a balance between being patient enough to wait for the right ideas, and having enough urgency to get the right ideas done.
And that's a fine balance. It’s something I’ve really struggled with: slowing down and letting go of that urgent feeling of creative energy that's bubbling up within me at all times; this urge I have to create, this endless urge. When I let go of that, it's almost like a form of peace washes over me, where I'm so much more relaxed and at ease with whatever project it is I'm doing. If you become too all-consumed by a project, it becomes hard to actually see beyond that. But I also love the juggling act of making a book, hosting my interview podcast series Time Sensitive, managing a team and running a company. When those things are working at their best, they're coalescing and working together even though they're separate projects.
How have you learned to trust your sense of taste, especially when it comes to who you interview on Time Sensitive?
I hope this answer doesn't sound pretentious, but I don't follow trends, I don't look at books… It's simply an internal compass thing for me. My taste is mostly based on a moment where I am paying attention, where I am sensing something; it’s the response I have to something. I guess the word to describe it is awe, being in awe of someone or their work.
Does that feeling of awe manifest during your interviews themselves?
Not every interview is awe-filled, but I have had my fair share. I think the act of interviewing is sacred and should be treated as such. That means hours of research, careful question planning, yet also being willing to let go of whatever questions you've planned, willing to follow the rhythm of the conversation and go with the beat…. You’re both leading and also sitting back. It's a really careful act.
Ira Glass describes the experience as sort of like falling in love every time you do an interview.
It's hard not to “fall in love” to some degree. You’re breaking bread with somebody. You're sitting down for an intellectual or emotional meal, that's how I like to think of it. I want to feel like by the end of it, both guest and listener are somehow changed by the experience, that they're somehow different from how their state of mind was when they came into the episode. This idea of interview as portal is really interesting and profound, and maybe in a sense, that's what love is too. It’s a portal.
How do you grapple with bringing your ideas for stories to a wider team, and ensuring that everyone you’re working with has that same respect for the process?
Pick your clients! I think the key a great collaboration is a great relationship with the people that you're working with. And in this case, I have both. For example, in the publishing world, we’ve planned five books with Phaidon across five years, and we’re working with dozens of editors, photographers, and writers. We're only now publishing the first of those five books, which is called Design: The Leading Hotels of the World. But I like your question because it gets me thinking about people and how important people are in this equation. You could have the greatest idea in the world, but if you have the wrong collaborator, it could never turn out the way you want it to. It's not dissimilar from your taste question, which is to follow your inner compass about what feels right, and stand by that.
“I’ve had this innate interest in understanding people’s stories, because I know that there’s so much more to say about everybody than what is out there.”
How do the concepts for your books fit in with your love for and goal of making media consumption slower?
Well, we could have put all 420 Leading Hotels of the World in every single book, which would be a terrible book. Instead, we've slowed down. We've looked across the entire collection of hotels and identified which fit in under which theme, told their stories individually. Slow media is really in the act of how you create and how you make things. It goes back to the slow food movement: understanding how your food is grown, where it comes from, how it's handled, and ultimately, how it's made and presented. All of that connects to me in a really profound way, too. And that was sort of the initial idea for The Slowdown. It’s a way of thinking about storytelling, and how it impacts our biological, physiological, psychological selves. I want to tell stories that push against the frenzy of social media, doom-scrolling, and fast consumption of media.
Where did your desire to tell stories in that way come from?
I've always been interested in the idea of the profile, and I guess it started because my life became mediated in a way that was largely out of my control. When I was almost four, I survived the crash landing of a United Airlines flight in 1989 and in the aftermath of that, there was a photograph that was taken by a local photojournalist. That photo sort of traveled the world, and I became representative, in some ways, of the heroic rescue efforts of the crash. A statue based on that photo was even built on the banks of the Missouri River in Sioux City, Iowa. I always felt like that little boy in the statue or in the photograph isn't really me, it's a figure representing something far larger than myself.
What do you mean?
Well, the image has become almost mythical. And I guess I didn't necessarily see myself as what everyone was telling me I was. Ever since, I've had this innate interest in understanding people's stories, because I know that there's so much more to say about everybody than what is out there. I see quite clearly now that I was able to take my story back by becoming a journalist. I’m able to tell other people's stories and take up the mantle of holding a microphone to them and, eventually, becoming known for that. It’s been a journey in taking my story back.